Dilly-Dalì

My father lived in Paris in the late 1960s, and likes to tell tales of restaurants, rendez-vous, and evenings spent at l'opéra. Among the latter, there are two legendary stories: one revolves around a roast duck, too much wine, and some inappropriate laughter during the production, the details of which may never be revealed (I am sworn to secrecy). Take a look at this beautiful madness and forget I even mentioned it.

The second took place at Les Invalides, where, wonder of wonders, dear old Dad found himself two seats away from the inimitable Salvador Dalì. Yeah, this guy.

Bearing an uncannily great resemblance to the infamous almost-murderer of the world's greatest Jamaican crab, it's hard to believe Pops was able to focus on the concert while bumping moustaches with this dude.

"He's a misleading man!"

For our own Surrealist trip to the opera, twist that moustache (nary a hipster strand in sight) into shape with a healthy dose of Murray's Pomade, cheap hair ambrosia to the gods. Pairs rather nicely with an evening gown and opera length gloves.

Man Ray. Who else?

Add the maddest, raddest, longest lashes you can find - with some glass tears if you're feeling fancy - et voilà! If you can't manage to see anything out of your mother-of-pearl opera glasses due to the extravagance of the decorations adorning your eyeballs, well, isn't that the whole point?