*Donald Trump’s most recent ruse — offering to donate five million dollars to the charity of President Obama’s choice if he’ll release his college transcripts and passport application — simply underscores the man’s shameless envy and dire need for attention.
According to The Donald, under fire from both friend and foe for this latest annoyance, he presents his proposition in the sincere interest of the nation and getting to the truth.
What Trump doesn’t grasp is that the people he wants to upset don’t take him seriously. He can’t be taken seriously because he engages in silly public feuds with people; because of his nonsensical way of talking down contestants when he’s about to fire them on “The Apprentice;” because he continually injects himself into national politics as if anyone cares what he thinks.
But mostly, Donald Trump can’t be taken seriously because of his hair.
Most of us have one jones or another that friends, family and strangers ignore in honor of our goodness.
However, when one appears bent on being an ass, their foibles are often magnified. Thus, everywhere he goes, Donald Trump is preceded by his hairdo.
You can tell a lot about a man by how he wears his hair. Especially at a certain age, when he starts dyeing it, often a shade too dark. Or when he’s still trying to rock braids or chemically treated hair or dreadlocks, or a ponytail or something else, when, stylistically, physically and morally, it is just wrong. Trump’s hairdo is a sin against mankind that screams fear and insecurity. His seething ego manifests itself in that doo-doo of a ‘do he desperately clings to.
He gives going bald a bad name. In his pathetic refusal to allow his hairline to go quietly into the night, Trump ends up making a damn fool of himself by engineering the mother of all wraps. There isn’t a strand of dignity in a wrap, Mr. Trump. No sense of clear judgment, either.
But this kooky, dysfunctional coiffure, which requires its wearer to believe that which is not true, is fitting for a man who, despite irrefutable proof to the contrary, continues to insist that Barack Obama was not born in America. After Trump solves this mystery, he’s going after Big Foot. The monster will take one look at the scary thing on Trump’s head and bolt back into the hills.
The most remarkable thing about Trump’s hair is that he doesn’t have to wear it. He can buy the best toupee money can buy. He could join the Hair Club. He could buy the Hair Club. He could wear a weave. He can pay a man with a healthy head of hair to walk alongside him. “This guy is wearing my hair,” he can tell people.
Or, he can do what I did more than a decade ago and find the balls to shave what’s left of it. I’ve known Donald Trump’s pain. I remember avoiding fluorescent lighting, fearing the wind as if it were nuclear rain. I perfectly understand the burden of looking in a mirror from a certain angle and buying into the illusion. I did it.
However, what I don’t understand is Trump even THINKING about clearing his throat, wetting his lips, readying his vocal chords and opening his mouth to utter a single negative syllable to or about anyone or anything, at any time. Ever. Not with that hair.
Steven Ivory, journalist and author of the essay collection Fool In Love (Simon & Schuster), has covered popular culture for magazines, newspapers, radio and TV for more than 30 years. Respond to him via [email protected]