The astute and championship gentleman has at his disposal a broad menu of hairstyles appropriate for the merchant and bodice-ripper of distinction and breeding. Among these are the Tousled Authority, the Hesitating Delacroix, the Dead Christian, and, natch, the Hair-Fellow-Well-Met.
One will note, however, that Mr. Jayson Werth’s latest coif does not appear within our Manifest of Acceptables. Bear solemn witness …
Pictured abovely is a look known derisively throughout history as the “Señor Buttcheeks,” and it is to our national shame and injury that Mr. Werth has dragged it howling from the vaults. This, Mr. Werth, is why Oleg Cassini doesn’t come around much anymore.
(Giggly hair-pull: Nats Enquirer)
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