When you catch yourself thinking "whoa that guy SO needs a haircut", only to discover it's your own reflection, it's time to make that call. I have a confession to make - I've a mullet in the making. Not quite short enough on top. Not quite the length behind. But it's close, people... Real close... Disturbingly close.
It's a peculiar thing that my old '70s leather jacket remains retro and funky (in a good way), while my almost-mullet is not. I'm tempted to have a No.1 and be done with the whole "style" thing. Nothing more user-friendly than the prickly scalp that will only ever be one style. Ah, the joys of a vigorous cranial splash of icy water to start the day. Even my wife has given the go ahead. Problem is: I don't have a tidy head. It isn't neat and round and symmetrical. No. Instead, my head is rather more volumous at the rear. Like the trunk of those old Lincolns with the bulge for the spare tire. I know this because I had a mould of my head once - for a commercial where I got to play a C3PO-like robot in a suit for 14hrs without ventilation or the ability to see, sit or hear "cut" when everyone broke for lunch and I was left standing like an asshole, deaf dumb and blind until a grip took pity on me and tapped me on the shoulder to tell me it was over. But that's another story...
Where was I? Ah yes - the head. The bulge. The lack of symmetry. It's like this - if everyone else has an apple, I have a pear. Now don't get me wrong. I like my pear. I'm just gonna keep a few leaves at the stalk, okay?
(By the way, mullet in the dictionary is defined as "a common food fish". Enough said.)