Yeah, I had a mullet, so shoot me

It's sort of disconcerting to wake up one day to realize that everyone in the world is laughing at you, and that the haircut you had throughout high school and college has become the subject of widespread Internet ridicule. It sure makes looking through old yearbooks a painful experience. It's a good thing (I guess) that I spent my formative years cultivating a strong penchant for self-deprecation (perhaps a sub-conscious acknowledgement that, no matter how cool it seems at present, my mullet would someday be seen for what it really is: ridiculousness. It is only through the lens of ironic self-awareness that I can today put a positive spin on what most people would deem an egregious fashion mis-statement. Above you see a chronological depiction of my high school years, grades nine through twelve. Below I provide captions for each picture.

Far left - At age 14, I am still the portrait of innocence and naivete, yet untainted by satanic influence of heavy metal music. Look closely and you will see the pin feathers of a fledgling mullet beginning to sprout at the bass of my skull.

Second from left - By 15 my mullet had really begun to take on the luster and sheen I so longed for. I credit the hours of vigorous bedroom head-banging for the rapid hair growth of my early teens. It's a little known fact that violently thrashing one's head to the brutal rhythms of Metallica helps to promote rapid hair growth by effectively jarring the follicles into action. And the blanket-like comforting effects of the mullet is another of the extensive list of benefits this style holds in store. Never had my neck been so well protected from the elements. Oh how I long to feel that warm embrace again. But no! Society mocks the mullet now! Even Canadians think mullets are tacky. That's saying a lot.




Third from left - Ok, so maybe 16 was an awkward year. my mullet was a twee bit lop-sided, poofy on the right, limp and lifeless on the left. I secretly hoped that the lack of symetry would convey just enough of that "devil may care" rebelliousness that the hot metal chicks were into. "Wow, that Tom," they would say, "what a bad ass. He doesn't even care that his mullet is lopsided." "Yeah," her hot friends would agree. "He's dreamy. I would totally go with him."

Far right - by my senior year, I had achieved mullet nirvana. Note the delicate manner in which my hair rests on the shoulder pads of my tux dickie. Too, gaze in wonderment upon the center-parted perfection of my "business front." Even grandma approved of this particular cut because my handsome face was still on full display for the ladies (and gay men) to stare longingly at.