When I'm Sixty-Four

Here's a year-old self-portrait I did in an awesome master's class with the great Peter Zokosky. (What a man!) The project was about envisioning how you'd look as an old person.

Can you say silver fox? And by the way, Mr. McCartney, my dad's a year shy of 64, and he looks fine! And you're no spring chicken yourself.

I have no idea why I'm coming down so hard on a former Beatle right now, but there you have it. It's silliness, I tell you!

Owen Schumacher is the Fop

Cravats, spats, three-piece suits and boots with a champagne shine.

These're a few of my fa-vor-ite things.

Anyway, playing the part of some erudite man-about-town is a lot funner than actually being one, because actually being one requires an unwarranted measure of pride and self-delusion—and since I make a point of avoiding pitfalls of that sort, I'd rather just take the laughable visage and accoutrement, thank you.

Still, it'd be awesome to be Lord Byron for a day—but only for a day! I'd hit it and quit it.