THE role of American president is a bastion of modern democracy, requiring a rational mind, a trustworthy demeanour and, above all, being a completely sane, non-weird sort of person.

But did you know that the very first US president won his position not for his military achievements or oratory finesse, but by having a f**ked-up head of hair?

Recent scholarship on early American politics has shown that the young nation was so preoccupied with the state of George Washington’s mop that it inexplicably generated a groundswell of populist support.

A recently discovered letter from Alexander Hamilton to fellow Founding Father Thomas Jefferson shows key evidence of the mane mania: “My good fellow Jefferson, when Commander Washington crossed the Delaware, he showed us the great man he truly is. Especially when the wind picked up – did you see the way his lustrous hair blew off to one side?

‘His opponents keep pointing to his policies or, worse still, his thoughts and actions. Why are we so preoccupied with a President’s views? Sure, he’s got nasty teeth and some very questionable opinions about slavery, but by god is that rug charismatic, wig or not.

‘It’s not just the colour, it’s the texture too. Apparently he went on a sixteen-minute spiel about a cherry tree when he was signing the old declaration, none of the boys care if it’s true or not, though. Anything sounds great when it’s coming from below that crazy cloud.

‘So, Jefferson, I urge you to join me in electing Washington. Our people have fought long and hard to escape the tyranny of an egotistical ruler with erratic behaviour who’s obsessed with making everything gold. Now we have the glory of democracy, we have the power to never, ever again return to such a warped potentate.

‘That is, unless he has a wacky ‘do. Then he’s bound to be a pretty stand-up guy.’

And so, in spite of Hamilton’s distractions with spoken-word musical numbers, George Washington was elected President and became an inspiration for nutjobs with toupees for centuries to come.

Next week, to 1863, when Abraham Lincoln cut short the Gettysburg address so the crowd could just listen to music and do a little dance.