Aaargh! The world's silliest haircut is back and it's huge on the catwalk. But can a real woman pull off a MULLET?

My mother’s mouth falls open and her eyes fill with tears. My boyfriend will dump me immediately, she warns. And I’ll never be taken seriously at work. Spinning me around, she continues to brutally assess my 'silly' new haircut. 
Just an hour earlier, my conventional shoulder-length hair was hacked into an Eighties-style mullet - short on the top and sides, longer rat-tail-like spikes at the back. 
The reason? It seems this long-buried monster, last spotted upon the heads of footballers like Chris Waddle and Kevin Keegan, DJ Pat Sharp and rock chicks Kim Wilde, Toyah Willcox  and Suzi Quatro, seems to have been disinterred, and is now uber-cool. So I’ve decided to try it out.

Holy hairdo! Laura before with sleek blonde locks; and after taking the plunge, with a retro mullet

My mother, who has had her hair done at London’s upmarket Vidal Sassoon salon for the last 20 years, is the first to see the results and she’s horrified. 
'You know that men only like long hair?' she snipes. I’m sure she believes my new appearance has destroyed her chances of grandchildren.

Before leaving, she offers one final bit of advice: 'Oh, and if you stick with that look you can never wear dungarees.'
Mum’s implication is clear – the mullet makes me look like one of those other Eighties throw-backs, the women from Greenham Common. A tad narrow-minded, maybe, and hardly flattering. 
So what possessed me to have a mullet cut? Well, unbelievably, the two-tiered hairstyle is back in fashion. 
Jean Paul Gaultier shook up Paris Fashion Week earlier this month by sending models, including the big-browed Cara Delevingne, down the catwalk wearing mullet wigs. 
And every fashion magazine is espousing the wonders of the mullet after it triumphed as the biggest hair trend to come out of the Autumn/Winter 2013 catwalk shows. Everyone from Fendi to Marc Jacobs was channelling their inner punk princess. 
I know I am going to have to dig deep to find mine: my hair has never seen anything more controversial than a slick of hair gel. I don’t even have my ears pierced!
For my transformation, I head to Hari’s salon on the Brompton Road.  Hari’s caters to well-heeled Chelsea residents and a haircut and colour can set you back up to £500. At those prices, I figure my stylist, Chelm, must be a genius. 
I stare at my luscious, sheeny locks tumbling to the floor as she pipes up: 'The mullet isn’t a hairstyle - it’s a lifestyle', before telling me all of London’s coolest people are copying the cut.

Eeeek! The mullet in its 80s incarnation as sported by footballer Chris Waddle (left) and DJ Pat Sharp

I stare disbelievingly at the spikes emerging from the top of my head and sprouting from my neck, and struggle not to cry. 
Now, to complete the look, it’s time to bleach the ends of the spikes. A gaggle of hairdressers quickly assemble to gush over me and insist that my shorter hair highlights my eyes and cheekbones. 
I’m flattered but not convinced. It’s amazing how I suddenly start to notice everyone else in the salon – there isn’t another mullet among them. Is it me, or is the woman in the chair next to me, with the impeccable, bouncy, feminine blow-dry, suppressing a smile?
Transfixed, I gawp at my reflection. I’m the spitting image of Nineties TV presenter Pat Sharp. I look like the kind of girl who starts fights in nightclub toilets. 
Out on the street, I certainly turn heads. A man who’s well into his sixth decade winks at me and I find myself walking with more swagger than usual as I duck into the Underground.
But when I leap onto a Tube — horror of horrors — I see my childhood sweetheart’s stepfather staring back at me. I have no choice but to go over. He seems nonplussed. It transpires my new hairstyle means that he doesn’t actually recognise me so I awkwardly introduce myself. 
'It’s Laura, Fred’s ex. The mullet is back in fashion …' I stammer. He politely compliments my new hair and hurries off at the next stop.
Another passenger, a 20-something woman with dyed purple hair and half her head shaved gives me a conspiratorial nod. She clearly thinks she’s spotted a kindred spirit.
But the true test, of cource, will be when my boyfriend of a year, Drew, sees what I’ve done to myself.  He has always loved my hair loose and natural, and I’m welling up with panic as I jump in a nearby taxi. 
The burly driver keeps stealing looks at me in the rear view  mirror. Taxi drivers are famous for their opinions on the world, so what does he think of my hair cut, I ask.
He does not disappoint – or hold back. 'I’d prefer a woman with a shaved head to one with a mullet. That’s even worse than a perm,' he says. 
I must admit, his vehemence makes me giggle, and gives me a bit of attitude as I flick him a  tenner. Is this what it feels like to rock the establishment? As I meet Drew in the pub, I hide behind a door and call him on his mobile phone to warn him how awful I look.

Catwalk cool? The mullet backstage at Jean Paul Gaultier and on the catwalk at Louis Vuitton

When I eventually  reveal myself he bursts into laughter, examines my hair for a full minute before declaring: 'You look like you should be swigging beer from a can, sucking on a cigarette and boasting about the crocodile you wrestled this morning.'
Is that a compliment? Has he just told me he finds the new edgy Laura a little bit naughty and exciting? Apparently so!
‘You’re still beautiful and I admire your guts,’ he says, before consoling me with a cuddle. Some friends arrive and one kindly comments that I look like a deranged cartoon character. Then – can this really be possible –I spot my ex-boyfriend, Dominic, with his new girlfriend.
Of course, she has long, luxuriant chestnut hair which would give the  Duchess of Cambridge a run for her money. 
I turn my back, mortified, only to over-hear a cruel stranger talking loudly about Mane 'n' Tail. 
'It’s a horse shampoo that humans can use to make their hair grow faster,' she explains. I want to run for the hills, preferably via the nearest wig shop.
News travels fast — especially in this digital age, and it’s not long before I am joined by various curious friends, all desperate for a peek — and a laugh — at my hair-do.
My old friend Will looks at me quizzically. 'You look like a girl I used to fancy, crossed with Chris Waddle,' he says. 
'I don’t know whether to buy you a drink or take you for a kick-around in the park,' which, of course, brings the house down.
But then, at last, a compliment. As I leave, an attractive stranger stops me to call me 'bold and beautiful'. I float home. 
No one ever praised my mousy ponytail. Maybe I’ll do the unthinkable and actually keep the mullet?
But, back home, I look in the mirror and yes, Pat Sharp is still there, in the mirror, looking at me with a horrified face. Time to research wig shops after all.