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18 In Praise of Comb-Overs Those acts of antigravity afforded by applied layers of hairspray are not just living paradoxes, but things of beauty, elaborate daily pageants, defying descent: The Shell’s a lacquered wave along the part; The Forward Sweep splits into Alfalfa bangs swept hard right and left; the Forward Foldback doubles the hair back on top creating a hairline to die for—all are fine. But it’s the Las Vegas Swirl of L. A. Roy, the mesmerist, that denies all logic and invention, wrapped around his head like a silver turban taking five cans of Sudden Beauty to maintain balance and sheen. Where’s the romance in shiny pates, plugs, or transplants? With mullet websites abounding, why not create one coffee table book of comb-overs, from Taj Mahal-overs to Tumbleweed-overs? Oh, I love the bowled-over, yet demure, presence of a pseudo-pompadour. I would stand and applaud the auteur under his work 19 for the illusion of full stoppage of time, well coiffed, wind the only nemesis. ...

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