"The Legend of Cheese Mullet", Otherwise Known as Woe Be My Tressess

Over the past year or so, I noticed an unfortunate trend in which people are the victims of crime via scissors. Alas, I'm talking about bad haircuts. Now personally, I always read and hear these sob stories with a huge grain of salt and equal dose of skepticism. I was a firm believer that whatever misfortune may occur to ones hair, it grows back and can always be fixed as long as there is length to work with; yadda yadda yadda. I would witness friends literally sprint away from group photos, shielding their faces while claiming that they'd be good to go in a month or so, once their hair had gotten longer, and was insta-worthy once more. I would roll my eyes and pray for more emotionally well-adjusted friends. Then one day everything changed.

One fateful day, exactly one week before my university graduation, I walked into my regular salon with a long flowing unicorn-tail mane of hair, equal in both length and gloriousness. Being South Asian, a large percentage of my pride lies in the shininess and length of my hair. However, my stylist mentioned the word "lob" and 90% in part due to my love for portmanteaus, (the art of combining two words, in this case "long" and "bob"), I was sold. One sloppy chop later, I could feel a mild breeze on my shoulder that I had never felt before, and officially started proclaiming myself bald. After a few blonde-ish highlights, I was sent merrily on my way, and I eagerly drank up all the newfound attention people lavished on the upper portion of my cranium.

And then it all went downhill fast.

Disregarding the saying "too much of a good thing", and wearing the overconfidence of a homecoming queen, I toddled back into the salon a month later to touch up my roots and get a trim. When my stylist's superior suggested that we go lighter, I was hesitant, but she talked me over by using fancy words such as "tone" and "not ratchet I swear."

"This will be me!!" I told myself delusionally.

When she suggested we go shorter, I almost burst into spontaneous dance. My attention-whoring knew no bounds, and I was loving the lob life. What could go wrong!? What started as a lob soon became something closer to a mullet. The color, what was once a gentle chestnut brown, was totally bleached and then re-toned. The image of myself as a platinum blonde will haunt my mind for years. Once re-dyed I left with some sort of blend between a carrot, Dora the Explorer, Barbie, and Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber.

Now the best part of this entire scenario would have to be the fact that I thought I looked good. It's super in/I can pull it offis what I haughtily sniffed to my mother when she angrily demanded to know if I had paid someone to do this to me. Hell, in my head I was Alexa Chung reincarnated. When unfortunate beautification happens to most sane people, they usually instantly realize it and make immediate amends. In my case, I literally told myself I was hot shit, and that the stares from passerby were because they were jelly of my overalls and Dora the explorer haircut. However, reality is inevitable. I was slapped in the face with my own reflection about 5 days later while innocently shopping at Bruno's. I caught site of my own face in the door of the milk section and did a triple take. I needed three, because the first time I looked, I didn't believe it was me, and the last two were necessary for extra horrification. It was then that I realized that what was on top of my head very closely resembled a rather cheddary hued mullet. A Cheese-Mullet if you will. To commemorate the occasion I stood with my cheesy brethren.

Later that week, I showed that photo to someone and they said I resembled "One of those flamboyant New Yorker guys who goes clubbing and gets their hair dyed orange." Although she had no idea who he was, I quickly knew who it was I resembled...

I may have little to no dignity/shame, but a person can only take being called Stefon so many times. I quickly ran to Shoppers and grabbed the first dark hued box of dye I saw, ran home, and dumped it on my head. It was called something along the lines of "Leather Car Seat." I have never been so happy to be the color of an automobile's interior. And although the cheese aspect of my (hopefully not for much longer) mullet is now gone, she will never be forgotten. The legend of Cheese Mullet will live on in my mind forever.