Consider this photo of Donald Trump, visiting his ancestral homeland on the Isle of Lewis in Scotland yesterday. In many ways, he looks the same as he always does. His expression is stern, his brow furrowed, as though he’s about to come down on some unsuspecting villager for being a “loser.” He does not look particularly happy to be there. But then there’s his hair — the shades of blond, white, and lightest auburn have arched away from his ruddy scowling mass of face and lifted off into the air, where they are dancing a veritable jig of joy. You can practically hear the bagpipes. Looking at this photo of Trump, we feel fonder of him, more understanding of him than ever before. His hair is big, we have come to believe, because that’s where he keeps his feelings.