Mullets and Masculinity

(Author’s note: This article was originally written and published two years ago, but the content remains as relevant as ever.)

I first realized I had a mullet in the checkout line at Fry’s Food and Drug on Cave Creek Road and Tatum. The pandemic panic was then only a few weeks away, and I had an old friend’s wedding to prepare for in the Philippines. In front of me, my dad — who was buying separately — was trying to make out the little numbers on the Ingenico card terminal so he could type in his PIN.

“I can’t see very well,” he said to no one. His vision has gone all blurry since the cataract surgery.

I unloaded the day’s haul from my cart — a canister of hair mousse, a bottle of Vitalis hair tonic, a round boar bristle brush, and a jar of chunky peanut butter — before looking over his shoulder. I hoped he would figure it out on his own. Not for my sake but for his. He has been having a bit of an insecurity complex about the whole thing, which I suppose is only natural. As I nudged in beside him to type out the numbers, the cashier briefly eyed me askance. She had no idea we were related.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” he said with a nervous titter. He picked up his groceries and stood behind the bag boy, waiting for me.

I walked up next. The cashier and I exchanged the usual pleasantries as she scanned the four…