I had no idea folks used the term “plug-ugly” back in days of yore. I would have loved to hear my grandparents tell me someone’s hair was plug-ugly. But there’s a good chance they’d heard it:
The Plug Uglies were a street gang operating out of Baltimore, Maryland in the 1850s…Gangs called the Rip Raps, the Know Nothings and the Plug Uglies fought pitched battles in the streets and these events were widely reported at the time…’Plug-ugly’ is an expression mostly found in the USA. In other parts of the English-speaking world you are just as likely to hear ‘pug-ugly’, which has the same meaning.
Not only are pugs hard on the eyes, they reign as the Chevy Nova of the canine world.
No matter how you slice it, pugs are defective. And plug-ugly.
Well, maybe not this one.
It is an uncontested fact that the men of Cobra Kai, while not victorious against Danielson, did in fact possess enough feathered hair to construct another Feather Bed for John Denver’s grandma, which we all recall was “nine feet high and six feet wide, soft as a downy chick, and made from the feathers of forty ‘leven geese…” Or in this case, three Cobra Kai.
It is also a universal truth that Farrah Fawcett wore the crown of queen bee for female feathered hair. However, I have just discovered evidence of a firm runner-up to the title.
This unnamed vixen was a member of Akers’ Angels at the University of Texas, whose job it was to show prospective Longhorn football players around campus. No, that doesn’t sound like an escort at all. She evidently took the title of Angel seriously, by copying the hairstyle of one of Charlie’s Angels. But while Farrah’s locks twirled and swirled like a spiral staircase, this lady’s feathers formed an impenetrable brick wall, eight inches high, so that neither fiery darts nor a linebacker who looks as confused as Moose in Archie Comics could get through it.
Yes, her hair is powerful. But here’s a word of advice: stay out of the humidity before it goes all Kristy McNichol on you. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
So I’m watching–yes–another episode of the FINAL (gasp!) season of What Not To Wear, while wearing a crazy cute floral skirt and blouse myself, feeling confident and yet saddened by the former Jennifer Keaton of Family Ties fame, played by Miss Tina Yothers. First off, I can easily get past her substantial weight gain; we all get old and puffy (even Renee Zellweger at times). But I cannot get past her black Goth hair. Right now, she is telling Ted, the stylist, “Once you go black…” But, in this case, that is untrue. I had black hair when I was 17 years old, but I’m not 17 anymore. You CAN go back. I realize this is a free country, and I realize this is also a rerun, so I should have gotten over it by now, but I simply cannot. There is freedom, and then there is sanity. Freedom of fashion choice does not exclude one from the NEED to dress age-appropriately. Or wear age-appropriate hair. You might look pretty cute in pigtails or a Crissy Snow side-pony, but you wouldn’t go in public like that over the age of 12.
There are only four reasons to have black hair if you are a porcelain-skinned white girl like Miss Tina:
1) You were born with it.
2) You are Katy Perry (herself a natural blonde who will probably grow it back out once she matures).
3) You are Veronica from Archie comics.
4) You are Snow White.
Now back to Tina. For one thing, she says she hasn’t tried clothes on in a dressing room in “like five or six years.” WTH? Do you know many how styles have come and gone in six years? You think six years isn’t much? Think about your cell phone six years ago. Think about your laptop and your old beige monitor. Having kids is not an excuse for giving up. Don’t be that woman in pajamas at Wal-Mart. You are better than that. It’s not about being trendy or even about vanity; it’s about being the best version of yourself.
Tina, like another guest named Teresa (“T”) whom they tackled on Season 8, has a fear of wearing dresses. I DO NOT GET THIS!! Admittedly, T had some serious issues she needed to work through, regarding mandatory Catholic school uniforms or something like that, so now T is rebelling (too old to rebel) against society and now nobody tells T to put a dress on. In fact, T often gets mistaken for a male. She wears men’s clothing, wifebeaters, and Crocs. I wonder if she goes by “T” because the name “Teresa” is not masculine enough? All I know is T has a winning smile and lots of potential. Rejoice in what you are: a woman. And cute, too boot! You don’t have to prance around like Shania Twain, declaring, “Man, I feel like a woman!” But sweet Mary and Joseph, I think feminists go so far trying to be the Anti-Barbie that they might as well grow their armpit hair out and wear a cup. You can sit in the middle of the see saw, sweetie. You don’t have to soar to the end of the spectrum. T even admitted at the end of the show, “This process has shown me you can be powerful and still be soft.” What what?
And, yes, I understand that Jane Lynch and Ellen Degeneres are never going to be out buying A-line skirts and flouncy dresses, but why is this a hurdle for straight women? If you enjoy your femininity, why do you abhor dresses? Do you feel objectified or sexualized? Dresses are actually pretty freeing, and your thighs stay well-ventilated. Shallow or not, most women want to feel attractive. They want to have a good hair day more than they would EVER want world peace, and they want their lashes to look full and not to have raccoon circles under their eyes. You can talk a good game upside down about how you want equal pay for equal work, but you know a good support bra and panties that don’t ride up rank right up there, too. Keep this mantra in mind: It’s nearing the end of the show, and Tina is wearing a coral dress and a black blazer. She just said, “I feel like a woman…It’s beautiful, and I love it!” Yes! Victory! One week under the tutelage of Clint and Stacey, and her broken brain got unbroken. They fixed it, reprogrammed it to the default setting, which is XX chromosomes=embrace your womanhood. Look, it’s 2013. We’re not cattle rustlers in the Old West, forced to wear long, hot skirts in the heat and dust. You shouldn’t have to ride sidesaddle in a skirt. I get that. You should have the right to throw some trousers and chaps on.
But guess what? We can vote now, so go ahead and wear your clamdiggers and your slimming jeans and even your yoga pants with the holes in the crotch. But don’t walk into a clothing store, having already written off half the inventory. Rock a dress or skirt every now and again. There is a balance between Amish and skank. Find it. And BTW, it’s soooo much quicker to pee if you’re in a dress. Just lift and go.
Now Tina is looking in the mirror, giddy, saying, “I can’t believe I’m wearing a scarf.” There you go–she not only conquered the dress obstacle, but cruised right on into accessorizing. And that black hair might just be growing on me… Either way, It’s a new and improved Tina. You go, girl.
In a couple of days, bloggers everywhere will be posting about the fourth anniversary of Michael Jackson’s passing. Many less will mention Farrah Fawcett, who passed on the same day. Farrah, who changed the spelling of her first name from Ferrah, was a hair and fashion icon to girls of the 1970s, despite the fact that she only spent one season on Charlie’s Angels. Although her legacy does not impact the world in the way that Jackson’s does, I wanted to give her a shout out.
We can see these images in our minds: Farrah with the healthy glow, Farrah on the skateboard, Farrah in the infamous Mexican blanket swimsuit poster, too cliche for me to post. Long before The Burning Bed, the ups and downs with long-time lover Ryan O’ Neal, and the crazy stint on Letterman–the same year she turned 50 and posed in Playboy–she was a stunner. And presumably sane.
Here is mid-1970s Farrah with Wella Balsam hair, voluminous and sexy enough to rock right now in 2013.
Early 1970s Farrah flashes her Ultra Brite smile.
Even before the feathered locks, 1960s Farrah was a beauty, .
Like so many others, cancer claimed you. So rest in peace, Farrah. The world has not forgotten you.
For a glimpse of her doing her best Marilyn Monroe voice, see her “cream” Joe Namath in his Noxzema commercial:
Three months into blogging, clearly there is plenty that I don’t get. My inability to grasp things may allow endless blogging fodder for years to come. Here’s one such item: The site http://www.menwholooklikekennyrogers.com/ has existed since I was in my TWENTIES. It was a hoot back then, if for nothing more than the sheer volume of men who actually did resemble Kenny Rogers. Please tell me how this site can remain up for soooo long, and yet there is no site yet devoted to Barry Gibb’s glorious lionesque mane?
If you don’t know who Barry Gibb is, I forgive you. I do resent, however, having to explain that he was the eldest of the three Brothers Gibb, which consisted of his twin brothers, Robin & Maurice, now both deceased. They peaked with the disco soundtrack of Saturday Night Fever, gracing the cover in tight white suits. Say what you will about disco (R.I.P.), but they sold a crapload of records, over 220 million. That’s more books than any of us can hope to publish. Combined. And they wrote all their own songs, as well as hits by other artists, including “Grease” and “Islands In The Stream.” No kidding.
But it’s not their tight three part harmonies that deserve a website; it’s the tresses of the elder brother. Barry’s hair was glorious from the get-go. Even in the late 60s, he was rocking Elvis sideburns with style (and a white suit).
Like Samson and his strength, so, too, was Barry’s sexiness connected to his lovely locks. Here he is all Farrah Fawcett, minus the Mexican blanket.
Is it any wonder children purchased these lunchboxes in droves?
Note the halo effect, as though he were the archangel Barry. Perhaps that’s just the heat generated from his Saturday Night Fever.
And just when you thought he couldn’t feather it anymore–BAM!–superultrafeathered. In combination with the brooding bedtime eyes, gold chain, and chest hair, you can almost imagine the puddles of testosterone seeping out of his pores.
And this? This is how Grizzly Adams saw himself in dreams.
Here we see the Bee Gees with younger brother, Andy, a solo artist in his own right, also deceased. Even with Andy’s good looks, his hair was still no match for the wild and woolly Barry Gibb. You can see it in Barry’s stance; he knows he is the alpha Gibb.
You know, this pic has got me wondering–if men receive their hair pattern gene from their maternal grandfather, how could one brother be bald and one brother be blessed with a thickness and volume of crown otherwise unknown to man? Don’t they all have the same maternal grandfather? I am vexed.
Time has thinned his mane and turned it silver, but a trace of its glory exists. Not enough for me to add it to this fine collection of pictures, but you get the point. You had a good run, Barry. Longer than most of us could ever dream of. And that’s no Jive Talkin’.