Hair-Raising

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Forget about the economy, crooked Voter ID laws, or the fate of the Affordable Care Act;  our country’s biggest problem might just be the appaling number of biddies with terrible hair.

HAIR DONT’s:

The Fishtail Braid

Why the tits would you want a fish on your dome? This is some mangey rat-tail on crack nonsense. The fact that this is trendaaayyy at fashion week or whatever is a travesty. People, STOP PINNING this ish on Pinterest.

The Long Island Prom Curl

Holy smokes is this fugly. WHY GOD WHY do brides and pageant pansies across ‘Amurica continue to curl the pretty out of their strands and insist on looking like total cheese dicks?? Put down the curling iron and slap yourself.

The Taylor Swift “Pube Head”

A continuation of the fake-curl craze, but with a Nashville taint. Young girls are not only being subjected to this f-tard’s terrible boy rants, but to spirals of shame growing from her skull.

And now, the most comical and horrible of them all:

The Kate Swamp Possum

Sure, this Middle American baby-making machine of filth has a new hairstyle these days that properly matches her Dancing with the Stars cosmetic surgery “weight loss,” i.e. plastered straight platinum mediocrity. But the damage has been done. Her adaptation of the lady mullet is unforgiveable. Just visit Ohio and you’ll see what I’m talking about. You can’t swing a discounted Coach bag without bopping into a suburban Sally sporting this Skunk style.

Then again, she might have borrowed the concept from Marcy the pesky neighbor on Married with Children:

Marcy!

Yes, easy for us to say. Weave magic comes naturally to Feinbergs with thick, lustruous manes. But heaven knows each of us had had our moments of coif malfunction. At my going-away party at SHARK LOUNGE, I got a little tipsy and asked for a lighter from a bum on the corner. Dumb Dumb Babygirl didn’t realize said lighter was in fact a crack torch and ended up singeing the front section of her hair, resulting in the wonky-ass bangs that took a damn year and countless bottles of Bioltin to finally grow out. Word to the wise, self-trimming doesn’t work.

Anywhoobidtyboobles, Babygirl has a very particular aesthetic when it comes to dome piece stylings: semi-retro, teasing at the crown, and volume volume volume.

Here are some of my suggested HAIR DOs:

The Icey Half-Up

The “my little pony” tail

The “non-trailer park” middle part

The Whispy Whisps/Strategic Piecey Layers

The Side Angle

The Hooker Hair Extension

Like a Boss.

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I’ve always known I wanted to get my MBA. Why? Because I’ve always wanted to be RICH and in charge. That’s right: I exited the womb with my eye on the prize, and I couldn’t be less sorry about it.

So off to corporate finishing school I go… if only to ensure I don’t end up like this guy:

 

But the bidness learning doesn’t end at whatever quantitative flimfammery I’ll be subjected to for the next two years. To really learn the ways of a boss, it’s important to glean wisdom from the very people makin’ it rain.

Which brings me to one of my favorite workaday internet distractions: the Corner Office series on the New York Times website.

Yup, while all you future middle-managers are over at TMZ reading about whatever sadsack former child star totaled their Range on Sunset today, I’m boning up on the little-known secrets of our country’s business elite.

You see, if I’m going to own an ocean-side Scarface-esque beach house in LBI, a ski-in/ski-out lodge at Stratton, four jet skis and a live-in dog sitter by the time I’m 35… I’ve got some stalking to do.

But before I feature some of my favorite golden wisdom nuggets from Corner Office, a caveat: I only read the interviews with female execs. Why? Because I’ve seen my fair share of not-that-awesome dudes who’ve made it in business. Successful women, on the other hand, are ball-busters across the board. And aWOmen to that!

Note to self #1: Slap on that doofy outfit and tee up!

Q. What do you consider the most important leadership lessons you’ve learned?

A. Early on, it was clear to me that if I was going to build a successful business, it was going to be about building relationships. I figured out that relationships were built in business on the golf course, and that’s when golf started becoming such an important part of my culture, even though I had never golfed before. I had never been an athlete.

[...] I started with lessons at a local driving range with a golf pro. Then I started to play in these golf outings and saw the kind of relationship-building that it allowed me to do. I started to get competitive, and I took more lessons. I was introduced to an L.P.G.A. pro, and she started giving me lessons and I got better.

Note to self #2:  Being the youngest child makes you automatically awesome.

Q. Have you always been an observer?

A. I’m the youngest of four. The other three are very close in age, and then there’s a big gap to me. I never wanted to be the little sister who nobody wants to bring around, so I think it started there. I would watch them to figure out: “O.K., what do they do? How can I be a little bit more grown up so that I fit into their world?” So I’m naturally one who listens more and talks less. It was a plus in terms of watching people’s leadership skills.

 

 

 

 

Note to self #3: Don’t be an unfriendly, anal biatch.

Q. Were there other early lessons for you as a manager?

A. A great lesson for me was to learn to open up more and let people get to know me, because I can be very buttoned up. And that tends to be somewhat intimidating. If you want to be approachable and if you want people to let down their guard, you have to be a bit more casual. And people want to know your personality. They want to know what you like to do on the weekend. It doesn’t need to always be about work. Learning to humanize myself as a leader was something that was really important. After that, it was a different level of engagement and interaction with my team.

 

 

Note to self #4: You can be an unfriendly, anal bitch… as long as you’re passive aggressive about it!

One lesson I learned is from a phrase I picked up called M.R.I. It means the “most respectful interpretation” of what someone’s saying to you. I don’t need everyone to be best friends, but I need to have a team with M.R.I.

Q. Can you elaborate?

A. You can say anything to anyone, as long as you say it the right way.

Maybe you need to preface it with: “I’m just curious, and I want to understand what you’re saying better. Right now, my point of view is quite different. So can you help me understand why you don’t want to do this, or why you wanted to do this?”

Casting Couch

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Sweet fancy Moses was this weekend a success. Sunshine, poolside fits of yelling at noisey children, visits from family members, Pinterest drinks galore.

Most importantly…I started reading 50 Shades of Grey. Holy. Shit.

Every suburban mother has this masterpiece stashed in her Longchamp by now, but Babygirl has had this work of art on Amazon backorder since March Madness. That’s right, Mr. Grey has been sitting on my bedside table next to the Benadryl and faux topiary gathering dust.

Well obvi, I first had to first finish the most recent Sookie book, which was an epic failure by my girl Charaline and as Betsy can atest, upon completion of this mess I threw it onto my Chard-stained living room floor and proceeded to do a Riverdance jig on its smashed-open cover.  What filth. What blasphemy! * SOOKEH SPOILER ALERT * If dumb dumb southern Tits McGee winds up with that mangey quasi-Ginger bartender (Sam) which is where I think this saga is headed, I’m going to light myself on fire. Seriously. I’m going to pull a Lisa Left-Eye (RIP) and torch this mother in effigy. Sookie winding up with Sam is like Miss Piggy marrying Tinky Winky the Teletubby. I mean, c’mon now. First Charlaine went and removed Vampire Beeeehl from the equation for being a LIAR, that took a few weeks to get over. Then as the books moved along through shiteous plotlines about fairies and whack-ass Vin Diesel Tigers and bewitched hayseeds chugging Mountain Dew, Charlaine’s now hinting at getting rid of Eric’s Swedish chiseled abs train from Ms. Stackhouse’s tweety bird – nightshirt-wearing heap of undying love. Needless to say, the Sookie Stackhouse books are failing me.

Enter Plan B. Just like I’ve been tediously trying to squirrel away monz for the upcoming Last Train to Clusterfuck Paris Feinberg Family Tour, I’ve been patiently waiting (like 50 Cent) to skim the pages of the 50 Shades of Grey humpity bump-n-grind odyssey until I was vulnerable enough to need a distraction.

The time has come.

I’m barely 200 pages deep and although Beezus thinks she covered this topic already for you blogreaders, let me just say that apart from grossing out Larry, Paula Abdul 2.0 left out one of the most important pieces of subtext from current hulabaloo surrounding this Mommy Porn phenom: it’s going to be a movie and Grey is going to be someone reaaaaaaal hot.

Rumored options include:

Ryan “I was sexual and violent in Murder By Numbers” Gosling

Michael “Not sure who you are but Mama Likey” Fassbender

And as if on cue from the Lord above, in some kind of act of kindness and compensation for Charlaine Harris/Alan Ball’s epic failure in nakeifying him to the fullest… Hollywood suits are rumored to be considering none other than…

Sheriff of Area 5/Hormonal Hurricane

In a perfect world. Askars would be Grey and I would be Ana and Lilo would be Kate. Alas, the more likely situation is that they’ll cast some terrible rando or cringe-worthy, possible Vamp-related young ingenue like (shudder!) Kristen Stewart, Nina Dobrov, OR go real big with f-ing Carey Mulligan or Rooney Mara. I will cry if that happens. But maybe we’ll all get lucky and they’ll tap someone worthy to fake-mattress dance with this Swedish meat stick like. My picks for the non-annoying Ana options:

Amanda Seyfried. I’m a mouse, Duh.

Dianna Agron

America the Brave

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Happy Memorial Day Weekend! If you’re like me and stuck in the office till COB, I feel your pain.

We here at the Festivus love all things America and have mucho respect for those that serve our country and protect us from evil-doers. And who doesn’t love a man in uniform? Besides New Years, I’d say Fleet Week in NYC is my favorite damn hollday.

Marjorie helps foster international diplomacy and Beezus likes picnics. But obviouslyyyy I consider myself the most patriotic of the bunch, seeing as I live in a swing state, am the closest to military hotspots like Ft. Bragg and Camp Lejeune, loathe European hygene standards and hostels, and have made out with the most Republicans.

Jasper Johns

To honor our fallen heroes, and those who lived long after their time of service, I think one of the best ideas our country ever came up with was USO shows! What a way to give those mens what they want. Some booty shorts and some wiggles. The late Marty and Arthur Feinberg not only kicked some Nazi anus back in WWII, but were appreciators of good looking broads.

Ah, Nam.

So here’s to all the brave men and women who fight for Amurica. Whether you’re piling onto the Hampton Jitney or at a backyard BBQ listening to Jason Aldean, I hope everyone remembers to thank a vet and think of all those still overseas, merking the bad guys. Buy them a drink, like this one:

 

HoC Week 2: It’s Cookie Time.

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Calling shows like The Bachelorette “reality” television is one thing. Clearly it’s about as close to reality as Emily Maynard’s dentures are to real teeth.

Emily Maynard’s teefs. File under: I’m not over it and may never be.

But this season the ragtag band of jokers who call themselves producers over at ABC have gone too damn far.

Let’s all get something straight. In REAL life, no well-adjusted man under the age of 35 is down with a girl (no matter how uniformly-sized and pearly white her chompers may be) who:

  1. Has a kid with the same name as her ex-fiancee who died in a tragic plane crash (I’m not the only one who calls her daughter Ricky Bobby, right?)
  2. Forces you to bake cookies for said kid instead of going sky diving/base jumping/scuba diving as is expected on The Bachelorette
  3. Talks ad nauseum about how her #1 priority in life is to make minivan upon minivan upon minivan of BABIES!!! and how she will drop your ass faster than you can say “vasectomy” if you’re not down with procreating the minute the door to the fantasy suite closes.

There is only one contestant this season and one contestant only who I truly believe is down for filling up tons of Mercury Villagers with gender-neutrally named behbehs, and that contestant is sweat-tastic single dad Tony.

Why? For one thing, he’s fugs (photoshop did wonders in this picture) and casually throws around words like “slacks.” Also, he already has behbeh-baggage of his own, so what’s 17 more?

Which brings me to my next subject: contestants who make it farther than they ought to on the Bachelor/Bachelorette because the producers want them there for added drama.

Lord knows there were a select handful of dudes in that original harem of oiled-up insurance brokers that gave Emily Maynard a good old-fashioned lady boner. The rest, however, didn’t stand a chance in tract mansion hell. But ABC has cash money to make, and so they convince these sorry souls to stick around so we can all watch them crash and burn in the fires of unrequited pretend-love. If you’re into free helicopter rides, public humiliation, and white wine, it’s actually a pretty sweet deal.

Other than Tony, my favorite guy with absolutely no shot at putting a ring on it this season is Stevie.

Two things I’m almost positive about when it comes to Stevie:

1) He is actually the one and only hairless wonder of Myrtle Beach, Stevie Janowski, after some brand new eyebrow stick-ons and a little time at the gym.

2) He may have showed me how to correctly Electric Slide on more than one occasion at Bar/Bat Mitzvahs across the New York/New Jersey metropolitan area. He may have also gifted me with a blow-up guitar or two.

You’ll always be a winner in my book, Stevie!

Creepy Veepy

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Allow me to shed some Festivus light on HBO ‘s latest homerun: the Julia Louis-Dreyfus vehicle Veep. Before we get into anything else, let me point out that Veep heralds the return of one Anna Chlumsky, aka Vada Sultenfuss from the early 90′s tearjerker My Girl. Classic stuff.

Veep revolves around Vice President Selina Meyer, a loose equivalent of Sarah Palin had she actually (shudder!) ascended to 2nd in chain of command. Selina, as played by Louis-Dreyfus, is hilariously negligible, acutely aware of her own delusions of grandeur. Her staff, which includes personal aide Gary (Byron from Arrested Development!), Chief of Staff Amy (Chlumsky) and 3 others spends much of their time dithering over meaningless bills and internet rumors.

NYMag has a great article on their site today, in which they rightly point out that “the real insight of the show is that the inevitable failure of everything does not come about because Meyer and her staff are buffoons . . . What’s buffoonish is the system itself — the stupid and trivial media, the utter futility of trying to communicate sensible policy to an America that, unlike the country imagined by Aaron Sorkin, does not hang on every word uttered by its public servants.”

If anything else, what fascinates me about the show is precisely the amount of useless dithering that happens in politics. Useless dithering happens in all industries, so I suppose it shouldn’t be any different for government, but like many Americans I often fall prey to the notion that politics carries a sense of gravitas lacking in non-critical industries like say, luxury goods and fine arts. Wrong-O.

But enough of my own dithering, watch this preview and watch the show on Sunday nights. It nestles snugly between Game of Thrones and Girls. BOOM – you’re whole night right there.

 

Who Would You Rather . . . .

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It’s no secret that men and women have varying definitions of “hotness.’ A few weeks ago I had a rousing argument with a male friend about the aesthetic merits of LeBron James. Aforementioned male friend is a raging Knicks fan and thus lacks a degree of objectivity on the subject, but he swore up and down that LeBron is widely regarded as one of the less attractive players in the leag. I don’t think LeBron’s so bad. Certainly no worse than Melo. Kobe’s no prize either. Which got me thinking about the age-old question – “Who would you rather?” On to the contestants . . . . .

EXTREMELY FAMOUS HOOPS PLAYERS
Lebron James

OR
Carmelo Anthony

THE STARK BROTHERS from GoT
Jon Snow

OR
Robb Stark

POSSIBLE CHRISTIAN GREYS
Michael Fassbender

OR
Ryan Gosling

SEX ON FIRE
Caleb Followill

OR
Jared Followill

HOT CHRIS’ FROM THE AVENGERS
Chris Evans

OR
Chris Hemsworth

LESS FAMOUS HOOPS PLAYERS
Danilo Gallinari

OR
Blake Griffin

THE MEN OF GIRLS
Charlie

OR

Adam

90201 HAS-BEENS
Dylan


OR

Brandon

or
David

Glam-ma Ramma

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Since I turned a ripe 24 on May 1st, my thoughts have turned to getting old… and how to do it right. My days of naturally dewey, wrinkle-free skin are numbered and it’s time to take matters into my own clammy little carny hands.

Luckily for us Feinbergs, we have the ultimate example to guide us into the twilight of our youth: our very own glam-ma, Penny Feinberg.

Penny (right) in Rome with her BFF Goldie circa 1978.

Come on, get a load of this lady! In today’s world, both of the above getups would land you on a street style blog faster than you can say “military-chic jumpsuit.”

The fact of the matter is this: as great as it may be to figure out how to look faaaabulous when you’re young, it’s no easy feat to be killin’ it later on. That’s why Ari Seth Cohen of Advanced Style is a genius. He’s taken the Sartorialist model and moved the average up from 27 to 77, paying homage to the stylish geriatrics who could teach us all a thing or two about turbans and statement jewelry. Fact: If Penny were still alive today, she would be the queen of Advanced Style, no questions asked.

Using the fashionable memaws of Advanced Style as my muses, I’ve assembled a guide to looking fly when your drink of choice is Metamucil and you pop more prescription medications each morning than Lilo on a Saturday night at the Chateau Marmont.

1. A) HATS!

Old ladies love hats. Everyone knows that. My dodo brain sisters and I inherited some particularly awesome chapeaus from Glam-ma Penny, including a furry one fit for jetsetting to St. Moritz and a straw number much like the one below. I may not be in my golden years just yet, but I’d rock that thing all summer long if it weren’t buried somewhere in our parents’ basement.

1. B) TURBANS!

As a corollary to the above, let’s not forget the Hat of the Orient beloved by geriatrics from Boca to East 72nd street: the turban. But beware… if you try dabbling in turbans before you’ve got grandchildren, you will look AFOOL. Just ask Kourtney Kardashian:

Now this old bird knows what she’s doing:

2. FUR!

Old ladies get cold easily. It’s a natural result of having been born before the invention of A/C. But because they are regal and awesome, they are not about to throw on some ratty old Sorority sweatshirt or some run-of-the-mill cableknit sweater circa the Gap 2003. They need, want, and deserve to don the pelts of formerly live animals. And amen to that!

3. OVERSIZED EYEWEAR!

Iris Apfel is all the rage in the fashion world at the moment. And for good reason. All hail the queen of the old-lady-in-bugeyed-glasses look! Iris, we salute you.

This look is both uh-maz-zing and slightly over-the-top for a Sunday afternoon shopping trip to Grace’s Marketplace. The following may be more appropriate for purchasing criminally overpriced nova and shmear:

4. JEWELS!

I can’t even begin to describe the vast coffers of GORGEOUS costume jewelry left to us by Glam-ma Penny. Glitzy cocktail rings? Check. Gigantic brooches? Check. Down-to-your-bellybutton necklaces in every color for layering? Check Check Check. Oh, and it helps that she was the muse to Uncle Jay in his earlier incarnation as a jewelry designer. We are lucky, lucky girls.

The great thing about being a senior citizen is that you can wear awesomely gaudy jewelry in plain daylight and totally get away with it. It’s like “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just moseying down to Duane Reade wearing 5 pounds of baubles around my neck.”

5. ‘TUDE!

You know when you’re out in public with your grandparents and they say insane things that are not socially acceptable for people under the age of 65 to say but that they get away with because they simply don’t give a rat’s tuchus after all these years? It’s the best.

Glam-ma Penny may have died before she ever got that crusty, but she was always as tough as her impeccably manicured nails. That chutzpah is the defining attribute of anyone who has ever aged with style.

So here’s to all the glam-mas and glam-pas out there, without whom Bergdorf’s would go out of business!

Humpday

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Happy Humpdizzle, Peasants.

Yeah Yeah blahibity bloo babbity blah it’s been a while since you’ve gotten your daily dose of crazy. Sorry I’m not sorry if I took a well-deserved blog break. Or perhaps my creative hiatus is due to the fact that I’ve been getting semi-stalked and creeped out by some rando Buffalo Bill Jr. Word to the wise: I’m considering getting a conceal and carry permit. The South makes it real easy for chickenheads to procure a glock. And if a loony bag like me with a firearm doesn’t scare you, I don’t know what will.

Anywhoowhoo, Hump Day means a gratuitous Mean Girls reference, obvi:

Speaking of Cady Heron My Twin Lindy Lohandiddle, bitch is getting all sorts of bent out of shape for her upcoming Lifetime portrayl as the equally troubled but awesome hot mess, the late great Liz Taylor.

I’m sorry but that is some serious Babygirl blue steel face/costume shiz

According to the always reliable Perez Hilton, “Lindsay wants somebody more A List than the 3 actors the producres are currently considering; Matthew SettleCraig Robert Young, and Sean Maguire… Lindsay is being an absolute nightmare about who should play Burton. The producers don’t need to get Lindsay’s approval of who will play Richard Burton, but they want to keep her happy. They are already in pre-production and it’s very hard to conduct any rehearsals without the pivotal role of Richard Burton.”

Don’t yank your own weave, sis.

First off, shut your piehole, Perez. Calling Lindsay a “nightmare” is frankly comical coming from a guy that took a lie detector test to prove to the world that he mouth-raped made out with John “gutter wangis” Mayer one time at the Roxy. Who hasn’t tapped that? Two words for you: SHARK LOUNGE. Ugh Perez. Nice speech impediment, Donkeydick. Try being as funny as our hero at Dlisted. Oh wait, impossible. That guy is a genius. A lucite-loving, Silver Fox-enthralled genius.

But back to my long-lost TH #3: Lindsay, apart from throwing shade at her producers, is also rumored to be getting really into character. I applaud you.

Method acting is the way to go. BE the baller. If there’s one thing in this world I consider a surefire confidence-booster it would be Costumes! Sometimes, before a big day at the Legislature, I’ll watch Game Change, Recount, or a snipit from The American President to get in the zone. Heckle for a freckle and holler for a dollar.

Chris Harrison’s House o’ Creepers

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If The Bachelor is more aptly called Chris Harrison’s House o’ Floozies, then The Bachelorette has to be Chris Harrison’s House o’ Creepers.

**Runners-up included Chris Harrison’s House o’ Greasy Cabana Boys and Chris Harrison’s House o’ Dudes who are Allergic to Shirts. I went with the pithier option, natch.

THE BACHELORETTE - On the premiere, "Episode 801," Emily's journey begins in her hometown of Charlotte, North Carolina, where she lives with her six-year-old daughter, Ricki. After saying "good night" to Ricki, Emily arrives at a southern mansion where she meets her 25 potential soulmates who have traveled across the country. They include a biology teacher, a mushroom farmer, a marine biologist and a ex-professional football player. Emily is nervous, but her anxiety slips away and soon turns to laughter as a single dad produces a glass slipper and proclaims her a princess; a youthful entrepreneur swoops in on a skateboard; a party MC shows off his dance moves; and a southern gentleman brings something special that symbolizes his dedication to protecting her and Ricki. But although one man's grand entrance in a helicopter impresses Emily, it only makes him a target of jealousy and ridicule from the other bachelors, in the eighth edition of "The Bachelorette," the female version of ABC's hit romance reality series, premiering MONDAY, MAY 14 (9:31-11:00 p.m., ET), on the ABC Television Network. (ABC/CRAIG SJODIN) AARON (OBSCURED), KYLE, ARIE, CHRIS (OBSCURED), JEF, NATHAN (OBSCURED), JOSEPH, MICHAEL (OBSCURED), ALESSANDRO, RYAN (OBSCURED), EMILY MAYNARD, ALEJANDRO (OBSCURED), SEAN, DOUG, TRAVIS, CHARLIE, KALON

A toast to creatine and hair gel!

I’ll be honest here: I prefer watching House o’ Floozies to House o’ Creepers. But HoC works as a tolerable stand-in while the producers over at ABC are busy scouring every dental hygienist training program in America to find the 25 girls with the largest collections of circa-1997 Caché prom gowns and the highest number of immediate family members who have met untimely deaths.

But before I get started on our HoC topic of the week (hint: it grows on your head and it’s made of dead skin cells), there is one pressing matter that must be addressed. And that matter is Emily Maynard’s dental situation.

When I was watching the Bachelorette this week, I said to myself, “Margaret, it’s time to focus on the nuanced, intellectual dialogue and the totally original story lines in this serial work of artistry.” But as hard as I tried, all I could think about were THOSE TEETH!

Behold the wonders of modern cosmetic dentistry:

Emily Maynard in her 2004 senior class photo (yes, 2004):

Emily Maynard with what may or may not be dentures:

Phew! Now that we have that burning issue out of the way, we can turn our full attention to the follicular situations of a number of this season’s suitors.

I am of the school of thinking that men should keep their hair short and simple. Like G.I. Joe short and simple. If you’re a good-looking guy, futzing with your hair is only going to distract from the gifts bestowed upon you by your parents’ comingled DNA strands. If you’re fugs, you’re only going to make yourself fuglier. Lay off the goddamn pomade.

While Bachelorette contestants on the whole tend to spend about 3 hours too many sculpting waves and flicks onto their domepieces, these looks really stole the show on Monday:

Since Ryan’s ‘do offended me the most and the above picture makes it look suspiciously normal, here it is again:

Take a moment – breathe. It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this together.

….Until next week!

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