Some public figures have hair that is so...particular, so recognizable, so inextricably a part of their persona that it should never change. I mean, it should have changed long ago, but that fact that it didn't is such an "I don't give a shit what you think" move that we just shut up and learn to accept it.
But now? (See his "new hair" after the jump)
No, wait. Let's call it "The Fuck," as in "The Fuck did Newsom do to his hair?"
Gav, we're about the same age. This is how I know that with your formerly shellacked and glossy hair (with the immaculate comb lines) you've been single-handedly representin' the early nineties, well, for a while now. I see your hair and it makes me want to listen to 2 Bad Mice while fixing myself a Midori Sour. We never would have met, though, because you're kind of a Marina/"Triangle" guy and I was more of a Gathering/"Rave Called Sharon" kinda girl.
I have to give you credit for never changing your look in a city as smug and as fickle as San Francisco. Aaaah, 1990-1993. That was our heyday, right? Those were heady times when men greased their hair back like they were characters in an Edward Burns movie, and women wore lingerie that doubled as day clothes. You had Joico Joi Gel, we had velcro rollers and matte "Russian Red" MAC lipstick.
I admit it. I didn't vote for you. But when you told the federal government to kiss your ass and started marrying gay couples in San Francisco, I immediately wrote you a letter thanking you. Despite your hair, you do good work. You'll probably be president some day. You're that kind of guy.
In this city we tend not to pry to deeply into the private lives of our public figures so when you dated
that coke head Yasmine Bleeth and married that lady who talks a lot and wears too much foundation, we looked the other way.
But now, I think it's time for San Francisco to speak up. Especially the gays.
We can't have our Mayor McHottie walking around like Mayor McGaiken.
San Francisco holds its breath. The world waits.