The Mystery of the Mullet. This WOYT is dedicated to the memory of my good friend Stephen Colwell—a man who truly appreciated the beauty of a mullet. Business in the front, and a party in the back. That’s one of the many ways in which I’ve heard the mullet described. And to me, the mullet has always been hilarious. Hilarious, but hideous. I remember, way back when, on the inaugural Sketchy Tuesday (when it was actually on a Tuesday, of all things) all of the laughter at the various forms of mullet that had popped up. There was also, however, a vague feeling of unease. There was something unsettling about the mullet; something that seemed to rebel against the natural order of things. And thus, in an effort to hide our unease, we laughed at the mullet. Now I find myself in China; a country where the clothing is an odd mish mash of 70’s leisure suits and the worst of 80’s workout clothing—and a country where the mullet still rules supreme. In the 70’s and 80’s, and even hanging on into the early 90’s, the mullet was king in America. It was the symbol of rebellion; the symbol of fighting against the system while still being in the system. Somewhere along the way, someone finally had the nerve to pipe up and say ‘Hey, wait a sec . . . this hairstyle looks really dumb.’ The rest of the culture wised up too—except for various parts of the south and most of Idaho—and traded their mullets for other, more respectable, follicle fancying. Apparently, no one has had the guts to stand up and say this in China. Either that, or they have, but the message has gotten lost somewhere among the 1.4 billion people wandering around in this country. In China, the mullet is not only common, it seems to be stylish. I can’t tell you how many She-Mullets I’ve seen, nor can I keep a count of all the barber shops I’ve passed with young men inside who’ve attempted to bleach their hair (bleaching black hair, incidentally, only turns it to an awful shade of orange), and have then proceeded to spike the short front while letting the back grow. I even saw some guy who had permed his mullet. I think even Medusa would have advised against that one. It is, for these reasons, that I have not yet had my hair cut while I have been in China. In America, I avoided it because I was cheap. Honestly, how can they justify charging me 15 bucks to give me a crew cut? In China, however, it has nothing to do with cost. Most places would give me a haircut for less than a dollar. No, my fear is that I would walk in with shabby, but respectable, hair, and then walk out with a permed orange nightmare mullet. This, simply, is a risk that I am not willing to take. In my fear, however, I realize that I have become that which I feared the most: I have grown a mullet. Or at least, I have grown the necessary parts for a mullet. But there’s something even more frightening than that, and it occurred the other day while looking in the mirror. I stood there, looking at the unruly mane that had become my hair (similar to Joe Mann, circa freshman year), and was thinking about what I ought to do with it. My hair kept getting in my eyes, and it was really starting to bug me where it was hanging over my ears. But I didn’t really see the need for a full-blown haircut. I thought to myself, I’ll just get the ears trimmed up, shorten the stuff in front, but I’ll leave the long stuff in the back. I stopped in mid-thought as the dreadful reality dawned on me: I was honestly thinking about cutting a mullet! What’s more frightening than that, however, is that I have begun to understand the attraction to having a mullet. That’s right. I said it. Go back and read it again if you must, but it’s true. You see, I’m beginning to think that most people who have an honest-to-goodness mullet (and aren’t just sporting one for a laugh), didn’t start out thinking ‘I want to have a mullet.’ Rather, I think it was a gradual process, much like mine. The hair in front can be annoying—getting in your eyes, always wisping around, making you look bad—so why not trim it up? The hair in back, however, isn’t hurting anyone. You never have to look at it, and in the winter it keeps your neck warm. And there’s a certain amount of pride in it—after all, you grew that hair! It represents an investment of your time, a part of your life. I mean, anyone can have short hair, lots of people have no hair, but to have long hair? Now that’s something. Hair represents strength, vitality. I bet if Samson were still around, he’d have a mullet. And personally, I learned that my hair starts to get curly when it grows long enough, and that’s cool. All of a sudden, you find yourself delusional, mad with mullet pride. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve caught my self playing with my hair, or looking into the mirror thinking Wow, that’s some great hair. Fortunately, in my mullet-induced delirium, I’ve become lucid enough to realize that it’s time to get a hair cut: the mullet must go. And I will get it cut. Not like tomorrow, but soon. I mean, once it warms up again outside and stuff . . .maybe I’ll take just a little off the top.