Reidblog [The Reid Report blog]

Savol was styled in a jarring puzzle of hip-hop cliches, business casual jackets and debate club eyeglasses. His jeans were oversize and with the kind of washed-out look that announces their designer credentials. His style signature became boxy jackets and loose-fitting camp shirts. He always seemed to be swimming in yards of fabric. Occasionally, he wore a suit jacket. It gave his shoulders more definition and made him look more polished. But then the next week he would be back in a baggy, striped shirt that looked like it had been cut from the same material as a lawn chair.

His glasses did not evoke nerd chic or artistic intellectualism. They certainly did not speak of rock star sex appeal. (See Usher. See Lenny Kravitz. See Bono. See the guy on the corner peddling eyewear.) Savol's glasses said, "I've managed to get you a larger deduction for your charitable giving."

Idols make the audience envious. Covetous. Savol inspired empathy. He darkened his hair and invested in a puddle of gel. He looked like a guy who was trying so very, very hard and not quite getting it right. The audience knows that guy. There's a million versions of that guy sitting at home watching "American Idol." Why idolize someone else for being what you already are?

In Savol's many performances, he had a tendency to wave his hands about in a self-conscious display of thug-boy gestures. All that was missing was a crotch grab and an exclamatory "Yo, yo!" The body language and the clothes and the hair did not give him a charming demeanor. Gesturing like you want to send a shout-out to your homies does not make sense while singing "The Impossible Dream" from "Man of La Mancha."