Mullet Madness

The American Heritage Dictionary defines the mullet as “a.) Any of various stout-bodied, edible fishes of the family Mugilidae,” or “b.) A hairstyle that is formed by cutting the hair short on the the top and sides and allowing it to grow longer in back.” Although the Lenten season and all-fish Fridays will soon be upon us, I can’t say I’ve ever eaten the mullet fish, and I certainly have no desire to extol its merits as a culinary delight. Instead, I’d like to talk about the mullet as a haircut. Last week, even before Brittany decided to sport her iconoclastic hair-do, I embarked on my own “hair-owing” journey to grow a mullet.


Why a mullet? Now that I’m wearing one, I’ve been asking myself that same question. There are a lot of reasons, not the least of which is my faith-based conviction that, as the King James Bible so eloquently writes, we as Christians ought to be a “peculiar people.” What greater way to demonstrate my peculiarity, I wonder, than with a peculiar mullet? Perhaps there is no better way to show folks that I spurn the world and all its vanities than with a haircut that shouts “Anti-establishment!” Especially here at Georgetown, where my mullet stands out particularly harshly against the sea of short-trimmed, ivy-league hair-dos, I’ve had many opportunities to demonstrate how I am certainly not “of the world.” No, sir, I don’t want an internship at the State Department this semester. No thank you, ma’am, I don’t want to make $70,000 upon graduation. I just want Christ… and a mullet.


Beyond the ultra-spirituality of my new do, the mullet is a way for me to connect with my roots in rural Ohio. No haircut says “hillbilly” like the ultra-sheek style, especially when I wear it in conjunction with my fashionable collection of plaid. I’m from a working class Ohio family, for heaven’s sake. I’m not the son of a wealthy Rhode Island lawyer, so I don’t wear polos and I certainly don’t have a clean haircut. I am blue-collar at heart, and I enjoy tank-tops, Wrangler jeans, and bad hair.


The final reason for my mullet, and perhaps the most compelling, is that I may never have the opportunity to wear my hair this way again. Just as my college days are quickly coming to a close, so too are the times when I will be able to make perhaps silly, but ultimately really fun, decisions on my own. Responsibility is knocking at my door. A real job, a real vocation, a real life is quickly hounding me down. When I settle down, I won’t be able to chant the mullet mantra -- “business up front, party in the back” When I have a wife, I won’t be able to afford the luxury of a rat tail. For these reasons, I’m doing my best to enjoy this mullet season of life. I’m kicking out solemnity and grimness from the quickly-moving car of my life, rolling down the window, and letting the winds of youth and frivolity blow through my untamed mane of mullet manliness.




After all, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”


P.S.- I don’t really have any spiritual convictions about my mullet.
P.P.S.- Mom, I promise I’ll cut it off before graduation pictures.