THE CHIC PHENOM OF THE '90s?

Paul E. Tsongas was up early the morning following his victory in the New Hampshire primary. The Today Show, Good Morning America and CBS This Morningall wanted him on the airwaves.

And after shaking hands with Bryant Gumbel and Charles Gibson, Tsongas later in the day met a slightly different television personality: David Letterman.

It was fitting for the former senator from Massachusetts that he spend the evening celebrating with Letterman. The two have something in common.

Letterman, despite his status as a cultural icon, continually reverts back to a standard routine of self-deprecating humor. He'll grumble about the paucity of viewers, lack of "babes," etc.

Similarly, Tsongas has spent the last few months reverting to his problems: lack of charisma and similarities with another Greek Democrat from Massachusetts.

Since his very first election to the Lowell City Council, Tsongas has been known for his firm, generally liberal stands on a variety of issues, but never for his style. So the candidate who has been called droopy, boring, bland and uncharismatic has changed his approach--now he makes jokes about being droopy, boring, bland and uncharismatic.

"I intend to make lack of charisma the chic phenomenon of the '90s," Tsongas says.

Setting national trends might not be easy for Tsongas. But playing the role of "uncharismatic man" certainly will.

For one thing, there's his Elmer Fudd-like monotone, punctuated by a slight lisp and a twitch in his upper lip.

Then there's the drooping jowls. He slumps. And his head always seems to be a tad off center. For good reasons, Tsongas seems uncomfortable standing at a podium.

Tsongas' supporters, of course, point to substance of positions and intellectual integrity as attributes far more important than appearance on a podium.

But even when it comes to substance, Tsongas, who refers constantly to his 86-page manifesto A Call to Economic Arms tends to get bogged down in his favorite subject: solving America's economic problems.

This turned out to be a big plus in New Hampshire where voters weary of the recession gave him a victory in the first primary of the 1992 race for the Democratic nomination.

But Tsongas faces what could be a tougher battle against Bill Clinton, his nearest competitor in New Hampshire, when the two vie for votes in the South and Midwest, where citizens may be looking less for economic realities and more for a touch of flair.

Clinton, meanwhile, in his fifth term as governor of Arkansas, is the smoothest of the smooth. While media critics were accusing Tsongas of being bland in the last few months, Clinton drew fire for allegedly sleeping around on his wife.,

Few have charged Bill Clinton of being boring.

And even after Tsongas beat Clinton by eight percentage points in the New Hampshire primary, the Massachusetts Democrat seemed to take his victory less well than Clinton took a defeat.

At his victory rally Tuesday night, Tsongas seemed awkward. Of course, few would be their most refined after winning an big election, but Tsongas' repeated fist-clenching arm-flexing gesticulations struck some as rehearsed.

And from his first words, Tsongas' rhetoric perplexed many of those watching.

After hugging his wife, Tsongas took the podium and said, "Well, New Hampshire, you did it again. You gave them hell."

Slightly inebriated party-goers erupted in joyous celebration, but several members of the national media and at least one campaign aide were seen turning to colleagues with a look that said, "What was that supposed to mean?"

And Tsongas grew visibly frustrated as his victory speech was interrupted several times by chants, applause and supportive screams. The rally staples appeared to be causing him to lose his train of thought.

"Hey," he shot in the direction of one outburst, "this is my speech."

Still, Tsongas did go home that night the winner. And for a man who entered the race for the presidency 10 months ago to chuckles by a few and disregard by many (some called him Tstupid), Tsongas has truly accomplished something.

For a man who can sometimes come across as an automation, Tsongas' brand of humor--unique to politics these days--may have something to do with his success.

"I came from a disadvantaged home," Tsongas likes to say at the beginning of his stump speech. "My parents are Republicans."

And in the age of spin doctors and sound bites, Tsongas filmed a television commercial of himself in a swimming pool.

"If you think it's tough to take on a president with a 90 percent rating, try being 50-years-old and having your picture taken in a Speedo bathing suit," reads one Tsongas campaign brochure. "Now, that's courage."

There is something endearing about Tsongas' Letterman-esque humor although, admittedly, he works a harder at it than Letterman needs to and the wit is not at the same level.

Listen to Tsongas on President Bush:

"I started when George Bush was at 91 percent," he says referring to the president's popularity rating, "and you've seen what I've done to him."

On American cars, and the first car he bought, a Ford Pinto:

"The people who built this car, why do they hate me? What did I ever do?" Tsongas asks in his stump speech. "Then I bought a Chevy Vega. They hated me, too."

Tsongas even jokes about his bout with cancer in the 1970s, when he retired from the U.S. Senate to undergo treatment.

Of the time he told his kids that he would seek the presidency, Tsongas says, "Their immediate thought was that I had gotten sick again. But we assured them it was much worse."

And then there's the topic of one Michael S. Dukakis.

The Duke, whose name has become a euphemism for the Democrats' woes in presidential politics despite capturing 47 percent of the vote in 1988, may be a slightly more sensitive topic for Tsongas.

When Tsongas was unable to hear a question about the similarity to the former Massachusetts governor at one rally recently, the supporter had to repeat it.

"I'm sorry I heard you," Tsongas said dryly.

"When I got into this race, it was not because I thought the earth was crying for a Greek Democrat from Massachusetts to run," Tsongas has said in stump speeches.

Still, Tsongas' humor is one way in which he tries to set himself apart from Dukakis, who often came across to voters as cold.

Of course, Dukakis also is faulted for his inability to take the offensive when Bush's labelling of him as a liberal hurt him in the polls.

And going on the offensive is something that Paul Tsongas is awfully serious about.

So despite the obvious similarities between Dukakis and Tsongas in substance and in style, Tsongas appears to be making every effort to shake the comparison.

And in an interview with The Crimson this week, Dukakis said he thinks the comparisons were mostly unfounded.

"Paul and I share some similarities, [but] we're obviously different people," he said. "He has his style and I have mine."

These days, Tsongas' style is in demand. His Letterman appearance, though it lasted only 61 seconds (as indicated by an on-screen clock to insure fairness to all candidates) and consisted of smiling and shaking hands but not speaking, demonstrates a fascination with this most recent addition to the national political scene.

Tsongas and his wife, Nikki, had to be shooed off stage by Letterman when the politician began shaking hands with camera operators and audience members.

Some have also rumored that Tsongas has been invited to appear as a guest host on Saturday Night Live, but that could not be confirmed this week.

And while a drop from the presidential race to enter the world of stand-up comedy seems unlikely, it is clear his mixture of humor and politics have given Paul Tsongas a shot--at least a shot--at the presidency.