Few things in contemporary American society have so clearly illustrated the duality of man with such exquisite panache as the mullet hairstyle. Business in front, party in the back – there’s not much more that needs to be said than that. Name another fashion trend that announces to everyone in the room, “Oh, I’ll take you to task in this board meeting; but when we’re two beers deep at Dave & Buster’s afterward, you’re going to get to know the REAL me.”
Sadly, the once wildly popular mullet has had its heyday. While it maintains a foothold as the coiffure du jour in obscure, far-off places like Upstate New York, South Jersey, and the rest of North America, the more cosmopolitan parts of our great land have shut down the party in the back to focus more on the business in front. But as America’s once mighty hairline begins to recede, there is a steady upwelling of resistance to the soulless corporate machine, and the brazen new uniform for this defiant non-conformity is the destination ball cap.
In and of themselves, the caps aren’t all that noteworthy. They’re little more than tourist shop tchotchke — simple cotton ball caps with the name of the destination embroidered on the face. They’re usually adjustable to any sized head, but come pre-faded to give the impression of rugged individualism. Everyone has one sitting harmlessly in their closet at home, but such a ball cap worn in concert with a business suit on the morning train instantly becomes a badge of subversion.
Like its flowing predecessor, the recklessly casual destination ball cap adorning a crisp Brooks Brothers ensemble makes a strong statement. It says, “Oh, just because I’m a ‘businessman,’ it doesn’t mean I should be labeled. In fact, two weekends a month I like to load up the ol’ Porsche Cayenne and shoot out to LBI, Stowe, Hyannis — wherever the hell is embroidered on my head — and just get back to basics. While I’m there I sit in absurd amounts of traffic, buy useless crap at expensive stores, and spend way too much money on a meal at a restaurant. Man, it’s nice to get away every now and then.”
Bolder still are those sporting destination ball caps from locales beyond the weekend’s drive. While those slave drivers at the global corporate HQ demand the suit and tie, the insolent destination ball cap says “Sure, I may be the extravagant son-of-a-gun who’s carelessness precipitated a worldwide economic downturn, but that doesn’t mean I don’t find my inner self by flying out to Whitefish, Montana and shooting something dead. I’m all man, baby — and I bring that killer instinct with me to the boardroom. It’s not like I had my assistant get this ball cap on eBay, you know.”
Yet there are those who question the sincerity of the destination ball cap/suit combo, wondering whether it’s little more than self-delusion. Some say wearing a ball cap with a suit is a lame misrepresentation of reality, like putting a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac. And just because a man wears a hat from Saranac Lake, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’d have the intestinal fortitude to survive there any longer than a winter holiday weekend. But far be it from me to judge. I’m sitting right there on that commuter train with him. Frankly, I’d rather be in Saranac Lake — even if it meant having to mow that toolbag’s lawn.
Christopher M. Halleron, freelance writer/retired bartender, writes a biweekly humor column for The Midweek Reporter. Like a well-made Manhattan, he’s stirred but never shaken. Feel free to drop him a line at chris@chrishalleron.com or follow him at http://twitter.com/HALLERON.