Today’s must-reads from around the Internet.
Breaking news: today is, apparently, Tweed Day.
Now, we’ve taken a pretty hard-line stance against bullshit holidays in the past. We even spent the requisite paperwork and fees to name a “No Bullshit Holidays Day” (get excited for May 10, gentlemen).
But we’ve also been known to bend the rules every so often, because… tequila. And today, we’re revising our stance once more to include the glorious celebration of a fabric that we rely on so dearly during the fall and winter months but won’t see much of for the next six or so. Like most of these holidays, the founding is dubious at best—but ultimately, it feels like a good enough reason to give the rugged wools a proper farewell until we meet again.
It’s easy to forget what a slick bastard Alec Baldwin was in his prime.
It’s not that he’s fallen off; just the opposite. He’s aged so gracefully, it’s hard to remember he wasn’t always the jolly playboy uncle he is now. But over the years, he’s passed through a wide range of styles, from “young hunk” to “slicked-back corporate raider” to “mountain man,” and he’s never seemed like anyone other than himself.
So we thought we’d take a minute to celebrate the evolution of Mr. Baldwin, in five easy pieces…
1980s metal, without a doubt the most absurd era of grooming in music, hits the big screen this June in Rock of Ages, and we like what we see: really good actors with really bad hair, including Tom Cruise, Russell Brand, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Mary J. Blige and Alec Baldwin—who, in the trailer released along with Sherlock Holmes 2, declares, “This place is about to become a sea of sweat, ear-shattering music and puke.” Ah, 1987.
Simply put: the dudes looked like ladies, thanks to Technicolor spandex, eyeliner, cocaine and a shitload of Aqua Net Purple, glam-rock’s preferred brand of hair spray. In fact, it’s rumored that members of Poison would exhaust one or two bottles each, every show. Thus the whole ozone layer conundrum.
Leading men used to look like, well, leading men: moderate amounts of body hair in appropriate areas and, when the part called for it, moderate amounts of hair elsewhere as well.
Now it seems studio executives only cast protagonists with Bieber-esque hormones (and/or Joan Rivers-esque grooming assistants).
We, like The Hoff, are disturbed by the trend which, regrettably, now appears to be the norm. “Guys used to come to the [Baywatch] set all the time with no chest hair,” Hasselhoff said in a recent interview. “They just looked like drowned rats to me.”
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