There Is No Right Way To Wear A Mullet.

Billy Ray Cyrus. A God-fearing, family-loving, mullet-wearing Southern man.

One of the more interesting cultural encounters I have had during our last 9 months of Euro/British travels was at an English hair salon.

I grew up in Alabama where mullets were not uncommon. Being a blunt-cut kind of gal back then, I never ventured into the “business up front, party in the back” she-mullet style myself, although Alabama would have been the place to give it a whirl.

I am English. I am angry. I scoff at mothers with young children.

I never expected that England would give me a second chance. Mullets are everywhere here, particularly among young-ish women who are considered fashionable (ie: fishnet tights, dark makeup, tight black clothing) and appear otherwise to take their sense of style seriously. The look here is a sharp, spiky mullet, usually applied to white-blonde or jet-black dyed hair. A kind of angry, robo-punk vibe. Much less lovable than the mullets of the deep South.

After doing a little online research, I see that there are theories that mullets can be worn well, cutting-edge even. I have been around the world observing mullets now for nearly three decades, and I believe the answer is no. But I did have my chance to try one.

After putting off a Euro-haircut for 7 months, I timidly showed up at the salon… advertised as a prestigious international salon, mind you, which I patronized in the hope of being able to describe my usual American, conservative-enough layered haircut. Also, we are expecting again (hip hip hooray), 15 weeks along, and I thought a little pick-me-up was in order.

I should have turned and run when my stylist looked like this.

This is approximately how I looked. And felt. Afterward.

My handsome and ever-supportive husband, back from a week of traveling, feasts his eyes on my new do.

My fashion-conscious five year old daughter was reassuring: “Mommy, you didn’t get a good haircut, but it’s the lady’s fault not yours.”

Fortunately, I have some hair cutting experience, since I practice often on my children. In reckless desperation, I shortened the “party in the back” and toned down the “business up front” and found a way to wear a pin to make it a suitable do, for now. But Sarah, my excellent hair stylist back in the U.S., now has her work cut out for her. Born in Philadelphia and trained in NYC, I wonder if Sarah has ever repaired a twice-mutilated she-mullet. There’s a first time for everything.

There is no right way to wear a mullet.