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Trump Tries Out a New Hair ‘Do and it Goes Over Just Exactly Like You Might Expect

His fans think he's Adonis, but the rest of us think he's a dork.

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It really is a tiny bit unsettling to me how many articles I write about hair, for a political website. I haven’t yet done a deep-dive analysis (you know I love to do those) on what it means for the state of American politics that we’re led by a guy so obsessed with his hair, but without crunching a single number, I can confidently say it’s probably not good.

But the fact that I so often wander off into the thatching isn’t unfamiliar. It’s actually a running theme in my life. The door to my girlfriend’s hair salon is less than ten feet from me right now, and with the constant stories about Trump’s coiffure and the sound of clippers in my right ear, it’s hard not to imagine my girl styling the postiche politician herself.

My friends, she would not have done to him what he proudly wore on his melon-tinged melon into the reception room of the Trump International Golf Club in Palm Beach yesterday.

MAGA hat in hand, Trump strolled into frame in a video posted by one of his guests sporting what looks like either he had his trademark locks lopped off with the pruning shears his Mar-a-Lago gardener uses to shape his hedges into giant breasts* or he’s been wearing that red ballcap to bed on the last hole of the sizer in back.
*I have no idea if Trump has whimsical hedges, but that’s what I imagine their shape would be if he did

What’s got me rattled about reporting this particular story is that all of the other hair-related issues that have come up have all involved it being messy, or an obvious combover, or him not being happy with the way it looked. I don’t think there’s ever been a news report from any outlet, ever about Trump having a different hairdo. Trump’s had that cotton candy-like wisp of yellow downy feathers on his head since I was in diapers.

Imagine if Alfred painted the Batmobile neon green. That’s where my head is right now. Here, let’s get your head there too:

Let me tell you, dear reader, the internet was unkind to the president-elect over his new style. I can only hope for his hairdresser’s sake that they come from the same salon as his makeup artist, because he seems to forgive the unforgiveable when it comes to his appearance.

In truth, we’re still not absolutely positive that it’s not just hat hair. It’s just so hard to imagine that the bloviating egomaniac would sit still while someone tortured his tresses like that.

There were plenty of comments suggesting it’s “merely” hat hair, to which I say seriously, step away from the hats, then. If your hat hair makes you look like a toddler whose dad just took him to the barber shop for the first time, you’re doing it wrong.

The other part of this appearance debacle for Trump is that his new cropped ‘do seems to have reminded people that he looks like he’s got enough KFC gravy waiting in his fridge at home to fill an Olympic-sized pool. There’s something about getting a very short haircut that accentuates your waist when you’re shaped like a half-filled Hefty™ bag of Asian pears to begin with.

Four days ago, Trump — the man who’s about to be President of the United States — tweeted this mockery of fellow rotund politician Chris Christie from his official X account:

With the video of him waddling out with that new haircut, people reminded him that he also appears to have a fondness for food of the fast sort.

We already knew the man lies about his height and weight. Now he’s going to have to convince people that he narrowly escaped a band of roving drug-addicted immigrant barbers who managed to get his head before he got away.

Andrew Simpson
meet the author

Andrew is a dark blue speck in deep red Central Washington, writing with the conviction of 18 years at the keyboard and too much politics to even stand. When not furiously stabbing the keys on breaking news stories, he writes poetry, prose, essays, haiku, lectures, stories for grief therapy, wedding ceremonies, detailed instructions on making doughnuts from canned biscuit dough (more sugar than cinnamon — duh), and equations to determine the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow. A girlfriend, a dog, two cats, and two birds round out the equation, and in his spare time, Drewbear likes to imagine what it must be like to have spare time.

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