Here’s to where you cop to your ridiculously unfair biases against the OP subjects simply because of the way they look, especially irrespective of the truckloads of talent said target(s) may possess.
Because of the obviously over-the-top, volatile thesis, each Unlookable should be qualified with whatever given attribute(s) they may have, so, when I duly acknowledge the obvious virtuosic blues mastery of SNL guitarist G.E. Smith, I also have to shed light on the fact that…well…
I’m talking - it’s a really instantaneous “ACK I can’t look at that!” inner primordial shuddering repulsion that compels you to look away faster than a church mouse; no innocuous trifle, like “oh Ryan Reynods’ eyes need to a bit further apart while Uma Thurman’s could stand maybe a centimetre closer together” or “would Matthew McConaughey stop looking like some strung-out lankly wastrel after a week-long bender?”
Steve Buscemi. He’s generally seen as odd-looking, anyway, but I find his appearance (especially those eyes) downright disturbing. I’m sorry, Steve, but I can’t.
Pretty much the entire cast of Billions. Damien Lewis supposedly looks like Steve McQueen, but I only see Stan Laurel. Paul Giamatti made a career as an everyman schlub with an extraordinary inner fire, but in the remainder of S5, it’s apparent that he’s been bad sick. And Corey Stoll: he’s in everything, with a face that looks like his mother fed him with a slingshot.
Interesting. Damien Lewis and Corey Stoll are definitely on my “heck yeah, I would” list. (I do hope Paul is okay.)
I can’t think of anyone who repulses me to look at (besides Trump). I like interesting faces. Oh, got one: Shane MacGowan of the Pogues. Those TEETH…I just cannot bear it.
I was going to mention Shane but I discovered he’s had his teeth fixed. Yes, he was literally hard for me to look at before. Seeing the remnants of his teeth and trench mouth made my teeth hurt.
Unattractiveness (however you measure that) isn’t usually what repels me to “can’t look at their face” territory. For me, it’s usually smarminess or poorly done fakeness.
I met Iggy at a film festival once. He’s exactly as you’d imagine: a wiry stack of gristle, with a speaking voice that sounds like baritone barking even when he’s being friendly.
Any of the Kardashians. They look like painted synthetic flesh molded onto wireframe receptacles of drama regurgitators and festooned with the gaudiest of American excess and shallowness.
(I do hope Paul is okay.)