I rag on Ziggler a lot for his current look, which is justifiable given that it's legitimately the worst thing to happen to wrestling since a barely literate Vince Russo convinced Linda McMahon to hire him to write for the WWF Magazine (a moment in history that, like the birth of Adolf Hitler, time travellers will one day be queuing up to undo). Looking like the guitarist from Poison fell asleep on a beach in Tunisia, the current iteration of Dolph Ziggler is a hilarious amalgamation of 1980s cliches. He's grown out that yellow pasta he has instead of hair (the word is that all he had to do was get someone to push his head down, and the hair grew out on its own in seconds). He's worn 'Native Fauxmerican' style war paint, bandannas, sleeveless denim jackets with the logos of old school metal bands patched onto it. The gruesome list goes on and on, like a hair metal guitar solo. I was raised in the eighties. Even back then, dressing like a cock rock superstar was a fashion faux pas - and that's if you were a cock rock superstar. Three decades later, there's no amount of irony that can alleviate the grim bleakness of this look... especially since the blotchiness of his fake tan makes him look like a sun-damaged satsuma, too. See if you can spot the Ziggler in the picture above. Fifty Internet points if you can tell any of them apart, because I can't, and I sourced the images!
Professional writer, punk werewolf and nesting place for starfish. Obsessed with squid, spirals and story. I publish short weird fiction online at desincarne.com, and tweet nonsense under the name Jack The Bodiless. You can follow me all you like, just don't touch my stuff.