Like anyone remotely sane I try to subscribe to Bret Easton Ellis’s anti-anti-Trump stance. Trump may try your sanity to the very limit, but you can’t help being bored beyond tears by the incessant snarling and whining from his antagonists.
So, I’m not going to get into the extraordinary, possibly treasonous buffoonery that made it impossible for the Democrats to forgo a fruitless impeachment process. Or the despicable betrayal of the Kurds. But I am going to return to a favourite subject with David Letterman, when Trump was still an ordinary television celebrity billionaire.
His hair.
Stay with me. I’m actually trying to make a serious point. The point is that nobody with a sense of the absurd could wear his hair like that. It’s the hair of someone who can’t spot the absurd, even though it’s right on top of his head. Donald Trump’s hair is basically a blond beacon, signalling a serious flaw in his personality.
Never trust someone who takes the absurd seriously.
I didn’t fully appreciate the importance of Trump’s hair, until I saw the president in white tie during his state visit to the UK this summer. Looking at that remarkable waistcoat, protruding a full ten inches from below the front of the tailcoat, it suddenly struck me: he’s Widmerpool.
A summary for those of you who have yet to read Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time. Kenneth Widmerpool is an unsettling character that pops up at the very start of Powell’s 12-volume novel.
