Dear Mr. Clooney,
We don’t know each other. Well, I kind of know you. Or I should say, I have seen you. Okay, that sounds weird. I have seen your movies and TV shows. Some of them, I guess. I’ve seen the Ocean’s movies. I’ve seen the one with the girl from Twilight (ugh, so bad with names) and The Descendents was pretty cute (I hope you don’t think that “cute” is offensive, I really did like it). And, I mean no disrespect at all, I am certainly a fan. But I have to be honest here, I mostly know you from smutty gossip magazines, red carpet coverage and other press related, or not, to promoting your films and incidentally, your hair.
Here’s the deal though. I think you may be disrespecting the salt and pepper hairstyle. I know what you’re thinking “haters gonna hate,” but I just kind of feel like you haven’t really earned your stripes (figuratively speaking). I mean, I am sure staying up late wooing the ladies and being forever single can take a toll on a gentleman’s locks. And sure, there is probably a lot of stress associated with your profession that could jar any follicle into permanent grey status (although science now says that stress is not a good indicator of greying hair, so there goes that idea). But I happen to live with and be married to someone who has definitely earned every white hair dispersed ever so perfectly and ever so evenly across his well-tended to scalp (Why does this look so much better on men than women!).
When we first married, Hubs had nary a grey. In fact, his grey took longer to develop than my own. Marriage and graduate school nipped my poor little dark brown hairs in their buds, lending them to bloom grey much more quickly than my man’s coif. But sure enough, marriage, kids, a stressful job, nighttime waking’s by wandering four year-olds, week-long vacations that felt more like boot camp than rest, thirteen hour-long Disneyland days, financial stress, family stress, do we or don’t we put the cat down stress (we didn’t) and just good old-fashioned life began to make its mark on the numbered strands. I offered to cover it with a box of my favorite drug store dye, but husband sharply declined. Not sure why.
I guess what it boils down to is that every little grey hair tells a story and although I do think you are a fine actor, producer and director, I don’t think it’s fair to be running all over Hollywood taunting those attractive locks and mugging for pictures that get splashed all over the tabloids and Men’s Fitness magazines when you present a very unrealistic lifestyle for salt and peppers across the land. You make it look effortless, dapper. And while my husband certainly looks dapper, he will not be donning a tux and sauntering down the red carpet anytime soon (unless that little red rug I have in the kitchen counts, and then he will be all over that thing tomorrow).
I am, however, proud to say he will be taking his salt and pepper hairdo to the next U6 soccer match, Preschool drop-off and late night grocery store run to procure treats for me. I believe those are honorable ways to sacrifice strands for the good fight!
p.s. seriously though, your hair is perfect. Forget I ever said anything. No really, say hi to Brad. He has great hair, but so does Matt Damon. Say hi to Matt too. And I just had knee surgery, so if Stacy gets mad about this post tell her I need another six weeks to get back in the gym and train before she tries to squash me like a bug. But tell her I think she’s pretty and that she did really good on DWTS and seriously with those legs! Get out! Okay, that’s it. Bye.
Categories: All The Rest