Nic Vaughn, Jaws. Photo: Brent Bielmann Nic Vaughn, hairy Jaws. Photo: Brent Bielmann

It happens to the best of us. To the worst of us too. Matter of fact, it happens to everybody. We’re born to this earth looking like bug-eyed little aliens. Some of us come already wearing a coat of very fine hair on our heads. For others, hair fills in during the first few months. But the hair always comes. And when it does we get years with lush, thick heads of flawlessly pigmented hair. We can grease it with product. We can light it on fire. Or we can brush it until we look perfect. Then, follicle by follicle, our beloved hair goes gray. This sucks.

Gray is the color of confusion. It’s the crest of defeat. It’s the tint of a twice-divorced financial consultant whose best friend is Captain Morgan and favorite TV show is Orange Is the New Black because he thinks it’s sexy. Fucking Gray.

If there’s melancholy in going gray, then there’s nirvana in owning it. Here’s Nic Vaughn at Jaws. It’s grayer than the arctic dawn. Grayer than the area between really liking Hello Kitty and actually being insane. Grayer than Jordan Belfort’s soul. But here’s Nic Vaughn at Jaws. Owning it.