I'm usually not really sure what I'm going to blog about until I actually start writing, but I assure you, I never in a million bajillion years thought that I would ever take up valuable bandwith talking about ... oh my God, I can't even say it, so here: let me show you instead.
This lovely woman is Shannon Waters, and she's a contestant on "Survivor: Samoa," the current (19th!!) season of one of my favorite shows. She's 45, from Renton, Washington, and she is the first female Marine Sergeant to play the game. At the moment, she does not annoy me, so she is allowed to live.
And let's not avoid the elephant in the room: she is also rocking one of the world's most spectacular fe-mullets.
Is this ... a thing, now? Because I am seeing more and more fe-mullets in the wild (if you can consider my office building in the suburbs, just off the Main Line, to be the "the wild"), and I would be remiss if I did not admit to being more than a little bit ... horrified. Scared for my life, even.
I am not really one to judge people on the basis of their hair; I myself have locks that are, on a good day, the approximate color and texture of moldy hay. My hair is baby-fine and poker-straight and, lately, ponytail-resistant. The Guinness people have not yet certified my collection, but I believe that I have one of the largest collections of scrunchies still in captivity, and I don't care if they "went out of style" five or five hundred years ago -- they can have them when they pry them from my cold, dead hands.
Damn dirty apes.
But this whole mullet thing, I just do not understand. A girl I know, who is young and tall and thin and stylish and probably lovely enough to win "America's Next Top Model," she recently got her hair cut into a sort of mullet-y ... thing. I don't know how else to describe it. She loves it, so I am in no position to judge, but I just don't get it. Like, she deliberately paid someone large American dollars to do that to her head? She wants people to mistake her for a hockey fan -- or worse, for a Canadian?
And don't even get me started on the return of leggings and, for the love of God, fucking stirrup pants. No, thank you. If this is what is passing for style these days, then I will continue to dress like Dorothy Zbornak in a bad Ann Jillian wig. Plus, everybody knows that there is really only one woman on Earth who actually looks good in a mullet, anyway: