Your new haircut is awesome and magical like no other haircut in the history of haircuttery. Your friends have wished to shower you with compliments, but they lack the words to convey the respect and envy that your miraculous new hair inspires. Men are reduced to mumbling, self-loathing husks whenever you’re near. Women involuntarily orgasm at the thought of you. Children quietly yearn to call you “Dad.” Animals lick themselves with jealousy.
With your new haircut, everyone now sees that you look like Ryan Gosling—a somewhat heavier, paler version of him, perhaps, but everyone recognizes that in the days of old, a few extra pounds and a wan complexion signified wealth and power. Indeed, your new haircut has accentuated your aristocratic superiority to the point that you are now unapproachable to anyone other than royalty, immortal god-level beings and Daniel Day-Lewis.
Your new haircut is a FULL-BLOWN FUCKING DISASTER. Your now-former friends cringe at your desperate and wildly unsuccessful attempt to be accepted by society. Men silently plot to humiliate and destroy you. Women become infertile simply knowing that you’re not dead. Children call you unoriginal but nevertheless hurtful names behind your back. Animals lick themselves with contempt.
Someone might think you now look like Ryan Gosling—if Ryan Gosling happened to be a blindingly pale, overweight nonentity with the worst haircut of all time. More likely is the scenario that the general population will now confuse you with a life-sized pile of steaming, diseased excrement. Indeed, your horrendous new haircut has landed you in the ranks of lepers, cannibals, and ventriloquists—your days of being acknowledged by other humans now behind you forever. Rather than wonder why no one has commented on your haircut, you should just be grateful that no one has murdered you for being such a disgusting loser—though they likely will soon.
You wore a hat for most of the day.