I have none of the three photographs which originally accompanied this piece. Not the suave normal author photo, not the Before pic, nor the After.
Look like a bit of a dufus in the latter. From December 12, 1990. Update!! Missing pics at bottom. – JDW
T-shirt from three beginnings ago. Still casting a shadow. Grooming by N.O.Body.
Photo from a fundraiser at the Green Parrot (Key West) for a bartender with cancer. I collect dog art, paid $80.
Life Is Good with The Dog behind the wheel.
Separated at birth? Let’s put it this way. Nobody’s ever seen that face before. A two-hundred-and-thirty-five-pound, eighteen-year-old Airman Second Class put the moustache on. And that’s where it stayed.
If a moustache could talk, oh, the tales that one could tell.
You’ve seen those periodic reports about the suburban housewife with the three kids and the day job and the husband whose team is tied for third place in two different bowling legues. Some writer takes her to a fashion expert who chooses a new wardrobe, then to a salon where the woman’s entire head is reshaped, and finally to a cosmetologist who draws on a happy face.
They take a picture of this beaming smile, heavily made-up, in an outfit she could never afford in real life, properly lighted. And they compare this portrait with the BEFORE picture, which looks like Squeaky Fromme’s passport photo.
I always wanted them to do a normal guy, a sheet metal worker who drinks Hamms and hunts elk. Somebody I could relate to.
Never happened. So, I decided to get one myself. Not just a makeover.
No lube and oil, no tune-up for me, no, not me. I went looking for a major overhaul.
I wanted to see change, improvement. I wanted to look better. That’s what I told Linda Harrington of Harrington Executive Clothiers. My image consultant. Since I obviously appeared to be doing everything wrong, she skipped right by the usual four-page questionnaire.
Because one of us is busy, we abbreviated the two-hour interview, which includes a discussion of your business profile and career goals. Do you want to get ahead, or are you just trying to hang on to what you’ve got?
A conversation follows about your lifestyle, social life, sports and hobbies, that kind of stuff.
A wardrobe inventory is done. What do you have now that you like?
Finally, there’s… the budget. Can you afford new clothes?
“I believe,” says Harrington, “That people should have as much money hanging in their closet as they do parked out in the garage.”
Guess that means I need a cheaper car.
By now Linda had a fairly accurate impression of my Internal Image Personality. With the help of a one-hundred-and-twelve-word (112) quiz she designed herself. Harrington seems able to determine my own opinion of my image.
Basically, the test proves nothing new. I think I favor Schwarzenegger: I actually do look like DeVito. (I have the fashion budget of Ratzo Rizzo.)
Also, I scored fifteen (15) points on the Adventurous Classic scale, which is real high. Steve McQueen was – not surprisingly – in the same category.
Another quiz indicates I am a Creative. “A compatible response,” Harrington assures me. “You can wear a moustache if you want,” she says, “because an Adventurous Creative doesn’t care if it has a negative effect on people. You somewhat enjoy that type of response.”
We did a color analysis – I’m a Cool Winter. “You can wear black,” Linda tells me. Good, ’cause that’s all I own. (By the way, in the AFTER picture, that’s a nine-hundred-dollar ($900) wide-shoulder, full-chest, double-breasted, custom-made suit by Harrington’s. And a ninety-five-dollar ($95) custom-made silk tie.)
“The whole key is looking good,” Linda counseled, “is to be comfortable with the way you look.
I blurted out a confession. “I wouldn’t mind looking younger.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” she asked, like she’d just heard a hot piece of gossip. She went to the phone and called Larry.
That’s Larry Granger at STARE WAYS, Portland’s Premier Appearance Studio,” Linda walked me right over there herself and told Larry that I was a risk taker who was willing to do just about anything to look better.
“And he wouldn’t mind looking younger,” she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Right,” Larry whispered back discreetly. You could tell he understood exactly. “I understand exactly.”
Larry started by rubbing bmy head with some environmentally correct oil, massaging my scalp. It was so relaxing, I almost didn’t pay attention as he told Linda, “I’m looking for a fresher…”
“What’s wrong with this?,” I interrupted, pointing at the mirror. Larry looked at me like he was first-at-the-scene and I was the accident victim.
“For your features, it makes you look older, it dates you. It is an unstable look.”
He directed his speech back to Harrington. “I’m definitely going with a cleaner, sharper edge. It will make him look like he’s got it together. Cut it along the natural wave to bring out more of the cheekbones and give him a stronger jaw line. Definitely a suit-and-tie style, but also a weekend-and-jeans type of cut. He’ll look like he knows what he’s doing.”
They never asked me what I thought about it. Which was all right, really. They’re the experts. (You don’t go to Ron Paul’s and tell the man how to cook dinner.)
“You know, of course, that facial hair is out this season,” Larry said.
I stopped pirouetting in front of the three women in curlers. No, I did not know that.
Linda was looking at me intensely, nodding here head up and down.
“The moustache has to go,” Harrington said. Larry nodded his head.
“It’ll be fine,” she comforted. “You can always grow it back.”
I took several deep breaths. Tried to focus on a spot on the other wall.
Asked myself a question.
Am I wearing this moustache or is it wearing me?
Update! Found the original photos.
The young redhead took one look at that second photo and said, “They’re trying to make you something you’re not.”
Well, I conceded a bit of a dufus.
“Eric Trump comes to mind.”