David Fuggelhoff

I fear that something terrible has befallen America’s Germany’s Sweetheart.

I know, I know, even heroes have to age. But those aren’t just the hollow cheeks of the chronologically damned; no, there’s something around the eyes. Something tweaked. Something… Redford.

I curse the eye job that turned him from “Craggy But Still Hot” to “Craggy With Eyelids That Look Propped Open By The Power of Surgery.” And I have a nagging suspicion that The Hoff has wandered down this same path — this dangerous road of premature nips and tucks that somehow manage to expose your age rather than defy it.

Not long ago, Herr Hoffbrau looked like the Mitch Buchannon we fondly remember, albeit ever so gently kissed by Father Time and a fraction less likely to trot around in orange shorts.

He could still furrow his brow back then. He was… well,  himself, and not the wax-figure version of himself that looks sort of soulless and plastic.

We miss your natural manscape, Hasselhoff. We certainly hope whatever happened is magically reversible.