A little over a month ago, my best friend Annie, my new friend Sarah, and I traveled to a town called Senoia, GA to hear Annie’s husband’s band play at the Southern Ground Social Club. (They’re The Josh Brannon Band, in case you’re curious, and they are hot and awesome, so check them out if you’re so inclined, www.joshbrannonband.com.)
While the trip, complete with a late night ghost hunt in our haunted B&B, was a blast and the show was fantastic, one experience from the weekend getaway stands out to me, an experience that demonstrated to me fully the untapped power of the femullet.
Femullet: a mullet haircut (business in the front, party in the back) on a female.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this in previous posts, and if I haven’t that’s crazy because this is a big part of who I am. I love to dance. I mean, I LOVE to dance. When I hear music, I find it difficult to stop myself from dancing. When I’m running, sometimes I dance-run in spasmodic, terrifying bursts. So it was only natural that listening to one of my favorite bands in a club with plenty of room for dancing would cause me and everyone else there to dance.
What I wasn’t expecting was for at least half of the men in the bar to flock to the Femullet.
The Femullet looked to be somewhere in her late forties to her early sixties. The eponymous hero (yep, I went there) did not have a hairdo that could maybe be interpreted as a mullet if you saw it at the right angle. No, it was like she walked into the hairdresser and said, “Gimme the 1992 Billy Ray Cyrus!” Not only that, she was basically wearing a Canadian tuxedo, with sneakers, jeans, and a denim vest over her striped shirt. Overall, you would not imagine in your wildest dreams that this was the woman all the men in the club would naturally gravitate toward.
Yet gravitate they did. First, it was just a couple of men. You remember that guy from “Happy Gilmore?” The giant who said, “And you can count on me waiting for you in the parking lot.” The first guy all up on her looked exactly like that dude. That seemed pretty normal to me. The second guy was maybe a few years older than me and absolutely normal-looking. He had strawberry blond hair, glasses, and a nice face. And he was all up on the Femullet.
Soon a whole cadre of men were vying for the attention of the Femullet. She couldn’t keep them at bay, I thought she was going to have to beat them back with a mic stand.
I know there’s a lid for every pot and much like women, men have tastes and preferences that run the gamut of human diversity. However, I was shocked by just how many men were inexplicably drawn to the Femullet.
Naturally, I began polling the women around me, trying to decipher her secret. I sure as hell don’t know how to attract men to me like lemmings off a cliff the way the Femullet could, and on that night, it became painfully clear that the ability to do so might have nothing to do with overall attractiveness, fashion, or dance ability.
Some people said she was a hooker. Others a sorceress.
A girl we met at the show named Abby gave what seemed like the most reasonable explanation. Accessibility. She concluded that the Femullet was fun and approachable, imminently obtainable, and with just enough quirk to make her interesting. That made much more sense than my theory, which was that more men than we realize have a mullet fetish.
So let this be a lesson to my fellow single gals out there. The next time you’re out dancing, don’t try to be the sexiest woman on the floor, the best dancer, or the most fashionably dressed. Wear something comfortable, look like you were transported from the eighties, and repeat the sprinkler over and over until you have your pick of any man on the planet.