Matthew Mayer’s hair is the real March Madness for Baylor

There are some things we’re just supposed to “get.” Water is wet. Peanut butter and chocolate is a god tier combination. The mullet is the shotgun wedding between business and party. Then I saw the flowing locks of Baylor’s Matthew Mayer, and my world was turned upside down.

Mayer’s hair isn’t so much a look, as it is it’s own living, breathing entity. It’s like someone binge watched all three seasons of Stranger Things, screenshot every character, then went to the salon and said “Yes, I’d like all of them.”

Every time you see a different angle of Mayer’s hair it brings something different to the table. Sometimes it looks pretty normal.

On other occasions he looks like Joe Dirt’s long lost brother.

Then there are times, in the heat of action, when everything goes buck wild and he looks less like a basketball player, and more like a hunter who had to kill a small animal and use its pelt for cranial warmth.

The reason this mullet is so special is that it completely tears apart our assumptions of the classic “business in front, party in the back” format. There is no business here, only partying. Two very different, distinct forms of partying.

The front of Mayer’s hair listens to Vampire Weekend, but only their old stuff. It wears polos, not for the golfing aspect, but the irony. The biggest rager thrown at the house of Matthew’s hair front is pairing expensive artisanal cheeses with Pabst Blue Ribbon, and discussing the recent work of Sufjan Stevens, while converting his rare vinyls to FLAC for archival purposes.

In the back something very different is brewing. The free-flowing throw down the back of the head is planning is a hot mess. It’s thrown in a dusty Texas field, recently plowed for its yield. It slams 40s, sets off bottle rockets, listens to White Snake off an old, yellowed cassette-to-aux cable purchased from a gas station in 2004, one where bathroom keys exist, but zip tied to an old toilet seat so they can’t be stolen.

The front of Matthew Mayer’s hair wouldn’t be caught dead in public with the back, and vice versa. They’re two entirely different worlds, sharing real estate in the same zip code. The front feels like a fish out of water, the back loves a fish out of water — but wrapped in foil, and cooked on the engine block of a 77’ Chevy Silverado. They will live their Goofus and Gallant lifestyle until Matthew Mayer dares to get a haircut, then the music will fall silent, and the world will become a little colder.

Until then, we will always have this duality to appreciate as Baylor keeps on playing.