What Donald Trump’s Hair Teaches Us About Life

Donald Trump’s hair. Yeah, it’s iconic, isn’t it? Whether you love the man, loathe him, or fall somewhere in the exhausted middle, that hair has become a hallmark of his public persona. And I know what you’re thinking: how much can a man’s hair actually tell us? Well, stick with me here—because I think it tells us way more than you might expect.

Let’s start with this: hair is never just hair. For as long as humans have been wandering this earth, the way we wear our hair has been symbolic, deeply personal, and often culturally significant. Trump’s distinct style—strategically combed, tauntingly overgrown, and dyed a shade of blondish gold that defies nature—almost seems like his personality incarnate. It's intentional, even if it looks chaotic. It’s bold. It doesn’t apologize for existing. It’s loud, larger-than-life, and, let’s face it, polarizing. In many ways, his hair tells us the same story as his words and actions: "This is me. Take it or leave it."

But what does that say about the man beneath the follicles? Well, for starters, vanity and confidence. You don’t wake up every morning committed to maintaining a hairstyle like that unless you care—a lot—about how the world perceives you. And, let’s acknowledge it: vanity isn’t necessarily bad. After all, don’t all of us care, on some level, about how we present ourselves to the world? Samson, in the Bible, literally drew his strength from his hair (Judges 16). His flowing locks weren’t just there for show—they symbolized his connection to God, his role as a judge and protector. The minute Delilah cut his hair, Samson was stripped of his power. Trump’s hair operates in a similar way—it’s his brand. It’s his armor. It says, "I am untouchable." It doesn't matter if people make fun of it; he doubles down, proving he couldn't care less. Or maybe—and here’s something to chew on—maybe the hair is his Achilles’ heel. Who’s to say?

Haircuts, hairstyles, maintenance—they’re reflections of personality. Look at Alexander the Great: he insisted on being clean-shaven, breaking with the traditions of his Macedonian heritage. He chose to present himself as youthful and distinct, another way of broadcasting his power and virility. Trump’s hair, in its unusualness, functions similarly: it screams uniqueness. It strives to set him apart. And isn’t that what we all want—to be remembered, noticed, differentiated? Ego is woven into every strand of that hair meticulously swept across his head.

Philosophically—it’s fascinating to think about what someone’s choice of hair says about their inner world. Friedrich Nietzsche, in his exploration of the "will to power," reflects on the lengths people go to in order to establish dominance or assert themselves in their environment. Subconsciously or not, Trump’s hair emanates that will to power. It says, “I’m in control.” This is perhaps why it rarely changes—it projects consistency, even if everything else around him is unpredictable. It’s as though he’s saying, I am unshakable; my exterior reflects the enduring image I want you to remember. Nietzsche also warns us, though, about the dangers of letting self-presentation dominate over authenticity. Is the hair armor? Or artifice? Does it reflect confidence or an undercurrent of insecurity? Maybe it’s both.

Shakespeare has something to say here, too, doesn’t he? "All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players." Trump’s hair is part of his costume, his stage prop. Would someone so theatrical—appealing to the crowd, demanding attention—settle for a plain, no-fuss haircut? Of course not. His hair plays the same role as Lear’s crown or Hamlet’s madness—it’s a symbol of interpretation. It forces you to watch him, whether out of curiosity, fascination, or disbelief.

And let’s not overlook the spiritual dimension. Ecclesiastes 1:9 reminds us “there is nothing new under the sun.” The man’s hair—wild as it feels—isn’t unprecedented. The act of using your appearance to communicate status, ambition, or ego has been present in every culture, every era. Louis XIV—the Sun King—used his wigs to tower above others, to project superiority. Trump’s hair is his own sort of modern crown. He doesn’t “need” to wear a literal crown like Louis did—his hair performs the same function, propping him up visually (quite literally, too, if you think about those angles).

I look at Trump’s hair and think about the balance between control and chaos, or artifice and authenticity. There’s something biblical about this as well. In Matthew 23:27, Jesus warns about the dangers of polishing the outside of something while neglecting the inside: "Woe to you, teachers of the law…and Pharisees! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of bones and everything unclean." It makes me wonder: when we put so much energy into our outer presentation (as Trump seems to with his hair), are we doing it to express confidence, or to cover up the vulnerable reality underneath? Trump’s hair, to me, is as much a shield as it is a message.

Let me throw this one out there too—what is our obsession with his hair saying about us? Are we projecting judgments onto him because of it? There’s a certain irony to how intently we analyze someone’s looks, creating entire memes and think-pieces (like this one!) about something like hair. Could this obsession reflect something about our fixation with appearances? With how we view power and success? When we boil down Trump’s personality or leadership to his hairstyle, aren’t we reducing the man to surface-level features—and isn’t that exactly the trap we’re trying to avoid? Maybe we mock his comb-over because, deep-down, we feel drawn to the superficial too, and that scares us. It cuts close to the bone.

I’m also struck by how hair itself is fleeting. It grows, it falls, it changes—just as life does. Marcus Aurelius reminds us in Meditations of the impermanence of all things: “Soon you will have forgotten the world, and soon the world will have forgotten you.” Trump’s hair, though seemingly obsessed with defying age, eventually succumbs to the passage of time. His is a story of a man trying to hold onto an identity carved out in youth—like so many of us do—but the reality is, no matter how you comb it or style it, time marches on, impervious to hairspray and dye.

In a way, Trump’s hair mirrors us all—it’s flawed, fascinating, trying to make an impact in a world buzzing with opinions. Every strand tells a story of projection, protection, pride, and maybe even fragility. Just like everything else in life, there’s far more to it than meets the eye. So, next time you see that thick sweep of gold on his head blowing in the wind, ask yourself—what am I projecting onto the image? And, more importantly, what does how I respond to that image say about me?

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