Once upon a Tuesday (because Mondays are too serious), my son woke up and declared war on boring hair.

It all started with a peanut butter sandwich, a pair of kitchen scissors, and a mischievous glint in his eye. He told me he wanted to look “fast… but also like a rockstar.” I blinked once, and there it was: the front stayed business, the back went full party.

At first, I tried to fix it. But every time I snipped, he swerved—like a mini tornado fueled by Capri Suns and chaos. Eventually, I stepped back, looked at the wild masterpiece, and said, “Okay… this is who we are now.”

And that’s how the mullet—a.k.a. the Helmet of Chaos—was born.