They've Got Some Skin In The Game

 Noooooooooo! It's a freaking fashion faux pas!

How in the name of sartorial holiness could this happen??  I know, thanks to sticking around past my expiration date, that there is a time for every season under heaven.  (Special shout out to the Byrds.)  But, what is the very big deal with these young guys sporting whitewall haircuts and leftover junior high school graduation sport coats?  I understand the economy of clinging to dress-up duds once perfect for a lad forty pounds lighter and, probably, fifty-thousand brain cells brighter, but get real Mr. Blutarski.  Sure Americans are orca-fat these days, but I was happily unaware of the fact that all mirrors had been removed from households containing young males.

WTF?????

The whitewalls are what I like to call "Dad's Revenge."  These scalp jobs are identical to the hideous premeditated hair homicides doled out by Floyd the barber for a dollar fifty back in the '50s and early '60s.   Floyd was most likely on Pop's bowling team and maybe even mustered out of the service right after the BIG ONE along with the old man. I still recall the embarrassment of that eternal (see two-week) wait before the latest hair atrocity looked good enough to engage a girl in conversation.  The psychic damage done to we boomer boys is felt to this day.  I know I'm not alone in my horror at the sight of millennial and Gen-X guys, with no knowledge of what has gone before, proudly showing off the nakedness above their ears as they struggle to button what appears to be a long ago confirmation or graduation jacket.  Have they no sense of fashion history, or is it just one more failure of our dumbed-down education system?  

Listen up, young bucks!  Do yourselves a favor and drag out some of your dad's or drunken uncle's high school yearbooks and cop a gander at how idiotic males of yore looked with haircuts and clothes you now deem to be "the cat's nuts."  This trip to yesteryear should make plain the pure NUTINESS of tight jackets and too much skin north of your ears.  

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to old man fantasy camp where I'm twenty pounds lighter and Floyd still wields those clippers like the landscape butcher he always wanted to be.  Anybody got a buck-fifty?

                                                                        " Hold my beer."