From Founding Fathers to 2026: Why Grooming Is a Tool, Not Vanity
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My teenage nephews asked if they could come with me to see a museum exhibit.
Let me repeat that: Teenagers. Volunteered. For a museum.
It's the Freedom Plane exhibit (modeled after the famous Freedom Train exhibit during the bicentennial.) I was at the L.A. opening this week, and it was SO COOL!
Ben Franklin's signature on the Treaty of ParisMarked-up draft of the Constitution
There was Ben Franklin's actual signature on the parchment that ended the Revolutionary War (the Treaty of Paris for those of us who didn't take AP History).
Inches from my eyes, a draft of the Constitution marked up by a delegate from New Jersey. There are edits, strikethroughs, margin notes. You can see where they argued over words.
When I mentioned it to my nephews, I expected polite disinterest. Instead, they wanted in. They wanted to see it. Stand-in-front-of-it. Not a photo, not a Wikipedia entry, the actual thing.
Something's shifting.
The Year We Got Tired of Screens
2026 is being called "the year of analog" across social media... which, yes, is ironic. But the data backs it up.
Social media usage peaked in 2023 and has been declining ever since. Read that again, here's the proof!
One survey found, half of Americans now deliberately disconnect from digital spaces to protect their mental health. According to Michaels, searches for analog hobbies like journaling, knitting, and painting have surged 136% in the last six months.
My hairstylist told me this morning she's been off social media for more than six months. "I'm terrified to even open it," she said. "I know I'll slide right back into the doomscroll."
Gen Z - the first generation to grow up entirely online - averages nine hours of screen time a day. Nearly half have a diagnosed mental health condition. They coined the term "brain rot" to describe what it feels like to be algorithmically overstimulated seven days a week.
This isn't a trend. It's a correction.
What Analog Actually Means
The analog movement isn't about hating technology. It's about reclaiming physical space. It's the difference between watching life behind a screen and experiencing it in real time... including the joy, pain, boredom, and wonder.
And 2026 is delivering physical space like never before. America's 250th birthday is pulling people outside and together. Philadelphia alone has dozens of exhibitions, performances, and historical reenactments planned. Concerts and festivals are booming. Experiential events - the kind where you actually go somewhere and do something - are surging because people are starving for experiences that can't be reduced to content.
When you see the Treaty of Paris in person, the wax seals look impossibly fragile. The signatures are faded but unmistakable. You realize: someone's hand did that. In a room. On a specific day. History didn't happen in the cloud. It happened in real life, with real people, in physical space.
And so does yours.
The Founders Knew: Showing Up Matters
Here's what the guys who signed the Declaration understood that we've temporarily forgotten: when you're in the room, people notice.
George Washington didn't wear a wig. He spent hours on his actual hair. This was his actual routine, according to National Geographic:
Grease it with pomade
Fluff the side curls into "twin projecting wings"
Powder his head using a protective cone
Bunch his ponytail into a silk bag to keep powder off his shoulders
Why? Washington's meticulous grooming showcased his awareness of presentation and public perception, projecting authority and respectability.
Benjamin Franklin went the opposite direction, strategically. When he arrived in France in 1776 to negotiate an alliance, he showed up at Versailles without a wig, shocking French courtiers who considered wigs essential to good society. Instead, he wore a coonskin cap to play up the French belief that Americans were wild frontiersmen. Franklin was an urbanized gentleman who'd never spent time on the frontier. He originally wore the fur cap to keep his balding head warm during the voyage, but continued wearing it for political gain. His "frontiersman" look was pure branding.
Two different strategies. Same principle: appearance was a tool, not an accident.
The Problem with Being a JPEG
Living online: you're always curated. And if you're not, then you've certainly noticed that everyone else lives a "shiny" life.
Physical presence is unforgiving.
When you walk into a room, people see your actual face. They see whether your skin looks tired or clear. Whether your hair is working or just... there. Whether you look like someone who takes care of himself or someone who's been too busy/stressed/checked-out to bother.
Confidence Is Built in Rooms
I'm not here to sell you a serum.
I'm here to say: the way you show up matters.
Not in a performative, Looks-Maxing way.
Grooming isn't about looking perfect. It's about looking like you give a shit. It's part of how you tell your story.
The founders understood this.
America 250 is a reminder that history happens in real life. Ideas are birthed in meeting houses, over meed and ale. They're argued over in rooms, where alliances are made. Hair powder is applied, coonskin hats adorned... history tells your story.
Confidence is built in rooms, at tables, on sidewalks, in museums with your nephews, in conversations where someone can see your actual face.
The screens will still be there. But 2026 is asking: what if you weren't always behind one?
From Founding Fathers to 2026: Why Grooming Is a Tool, Not Vanity
My teenage nephews asked if they could come with me to see a museum exhibit.
Let me repeat that: Teenagers. Volunteered. For a museum.
It's the Freedom Plane exhibit (modeled after the famous Freedom Train exhibit during the bicentennial.) I was at the L.A. opening this week, and it was SO COOL!
There was Ben Franklin's actual signature on the parchment that ended the Revolutionary War (the Treaty of Paris for those of us who didn't take AP History).
Inches from my eyes, a draft of the Constitution marked up by a delegate from New Jersey. There are edits, strikethroughs, margin notes. You can see where they argued over words.
When I mentioned it to my nephews, I expected polite disinterest. Instead, they wanted in. They wanted to see it. Stand-in-front-of-it. Not a photo, not a Wikipedia entry, the actual thing.
Something's shifting.
The Year We Got Tired of Screens
2026 is being called "the year of analog" across social media... which, yes, is ironic. But the data backs it up.
Social media usage peaked in 2023 and has been declining ever since. Read that again, here's the proof!
One survey found, half of Americans now deliberately disconnect from digital spaces to protect their mental health. According to Michaels, searches for analog hobbies like journaling, knitting, and painting have surged 136% in the last six months.
My hairstylist told me this morning she's been off social media for more than six months. "I'm terrified to even open it," she said. "I know I'll slide right back into the doomscroll."
Gen Z - the first generation to grow up entirely online - averages nine hours of screen time a day. Nearly half have a diagnosed mental health condition. They coined the term "brain rot" to describe what it feels like to be algorithmically overstimulated seven days a week.
This isn't a trend. It's a correction.
What Analog Actually Means
The analog movement isn't about hating technology. It's about reclaiming physical space. It's the difference between watching life behind a screen and experiencing it in real time... including the joy, pain, boredom, and wonder.
And 2026 is delivering physical space like never before. America's 250th birthday is pulling people outside and together. Philadelphia alone has dozens of exhibitions, performances, and historical reenactments planned. Concerts and festivals are booming. Experiential events - the kind where you actually go somewhere and do something - are surging because people are starving for experiences that can't be reduced to content.
When you see the Treaty of Paris in person, the wax seals look impossibly fragile. The signatures are faded but unmistakable. You realize: someone's hand did that. In a room. On a specific day. History didn't happen in the cloud. It happened in real life, with real people, in physical space.
And so does yours.
The Founders Knew: Showing Up Matters
Here's what the guys who signed the Declaration understood that we've temporarily forgotten: when you're in the room, people notice.
George Washington didn't wear a wig. He spent hours on his actual hair. This was his actual routine, according to National Geographic:
Why? Washington's meticulous grooming showcased his awareness of presentation and public perception, projecting authority and respectability.
Benjamin Franklin went the opposite direction, strategically. When he arrived in France in 1776 to negotiate an alliance, he showed up at Versailles without a wig, shocking French courtiers who considered wigs essential to good society. Instead, he wore a coonskin cap to play up the French belief that Americans were wild frontiersmen. Franklin was an urbanized gentleman who'd never spent time on the frontier. He originally wore the fur cap to keep his balding head warm during the voyage, but continued wearing it for political gain. His "frontiersman" look was pure branding.
Two different strategies. Same principle: appearance was a tool, not an accident.
The Problem with Being a JPEG
Living online: you're always curated. And if you're not, then you've certainly noticed that everyone else lives a "shiny" life.
Physical presence is unforgiving.
When you walk into a room, people see your actual face. They see whether your skin looks tired or clear. Whether your hair is working or just... there. Whether you look like someone who takes care of himself or someone who's been too busy/stressed/checked-out to bother.
Confidence Is Built in Rooms
I'm not here to sell you a serum.
I'm here to say: the way you show up matters.
Not in a performative, Looks-Maxing way.
Grooming isn't about looking perfect. It's about looking like you give a shit. It's part of how you tell your story.
The founders understood this.
America 250 is a reminder that history happens in real life. Ideas are birthed in meeting houses, over meed and ale. They're argued over in rooms, where alliances are made. Hair powder is applied, coonskin hats adorned... history tells your story.
Confidence is built in rooms, at tables, on sidewalks, in museums with your nephews, in conversations where someone can see your actual face.
The screens will still be there. But 2026 is asking: what if you weren't always behind one?