Czech Republic and the Mullet of Doom

First and foremost, I have to state that the Czech Republic is a country that I will always have a true love for. I lived in a town called Uherské Hradiště (it took me nearly 3 months to pronounce that correctly) in the south-eastern corner of the country and about 50 km from the city of Brno for approx. 8 months teaching English to school kids, but that is a story for another day. What I am really here to do is bring your attention to the fashion sense (or lack of) that seems to have dug itself into the consciousness of Czech society and which refuses to peacefully move out on its own accord. Now, the idea of socks worn in combination with sandals has always been a no-no since the dawn of time, but this may not always be easily noticed. Imagine yourself walking into a pub to have a nice glass of Czech beer, knowing that you will not develop a hangover due to the mystical brewing process the country has perfected, and having a glance at the locals who have seated themselves around the tables that are interspersed within the confines of the wood panelled walls and viewed via the uninviting harsh, bright lighting that most older Czech pubs seem to have. During this intake of visual delights, you cannot always see under the cloth covered tables to judge if the old man sitting to your right snacking on Bohemia Chips between slurps of Gambrinus is committing the aforementioned crime of sporting the sock/sandal combo. What you DO notice, though, is the horror of the outdated by any country’s standards head of hockey hair that oh-so-unsubtly ‘frames’ his time worn face. Yes, dear reader, the mullet is alive and flourishing in this former Soviet bloc country, and its influence seems to be spreading like a rampant virus. I say spreading, because I have recently encountered more of these creeping round the streets of Kraków lately. I thought that Poland had somehow emerged from this pit of fashion hell (thanks to John Paul II ?), whereas Czech Republic was left behind to fend for its heathen self, but I have been proven wrong. The mullet seems discontent with the idea of remaining within the confines of a single country. Its will is strong, and the consequences are terrifying. I myself have never been the epitome of style, but ever since my outing with bad taste during high school and subsequent brainwashing to leave behind the white socks with white, high-top tennis shoes, I now know what one should not wear and how to at least groom myself in a relatively decent manner. Just as I question the logic of the first individual who ever dined upon an oyster (Come on … whoever looked inside the shell of an oyster and thought, “that looks scrumptious!” should be in counselling), I question the lost souls that think the mullet is the way forward in hair style. There is something inherently wrong with human nature (The need of governments to cut spending on education to boost military might. At least we have smart bombs, right?), and those people that actually breed with the mullet-toting species and think “Oh, my god! That just looks so hot on you, honey!” frighten me to the very core of my being. Evolution, I am sorry to say, seems to be losing not just the battle, but the war.