Billy Ray Cyrus. There. I said it. Okay? Fine. FINE!

I guess it was inevitable that he'd show up here...



what with him being famous for That Haircut. You know what I'm talking about. The Mullet. It's the hairstyle most associated with all of us hicks, yokels, and country bumpkins.


Personally I think you gotta love the guy just for his name alone. C'maaan. Billy Ray Cyrus. It's like a sacred trinity of hick names. It's right up there with Billy Bob Thornton and Tommy Lee Jones.

In 1992, Jethro and I were in our 86 Mercury Capri (not quite a Mustang) on our way to Memphis Tennessee. At every truck stop, rest stop, pit stop and s*** stop, there was the evidence of Billy Ray Cyrus. Racks and racks of T shirts proclaiming "Don't Tell My Achy Breaky Heart" and "I do the Achy Breaky Heart Dance" assaulted us on our way to the fast food line up. Stacks and stacks of compact discs with Billy Ray's solemn face and magnificent waterfall of hair greeted us when we paid for our fuel. We could not get away from Billy Ray.


I didn't like him back then. I couldn't stand the song. I have a real love-hate for those insipid hit songs that get in your head and won't leave, much like they take over the #1 spot at every friggin radio station everywhere. You know what kind of song I'm talking about. You love-hate them too. They're kind of genius in a way. And there was poor Billy Ray, not quite free of the 80s yet in his acid wash jeans and horrid huge T shirt with the arm holes cut down to the ribs. I always hated acid wash.

But the hair. Let's just be fair for a minute. This is a pretty democratic, equal opportunity haircut. Business front, party back, everybody's happy. Billy Ray Cyrus was the poster boy for the Mullet.

And then he disappeared from my awareness, for about twenty years. Apparently there was a parade of albums that I didn't even know or care about. Eventually one night I was flipping channels- didn't take long, I've never had cable TV- and saw Billy Ray on some Doctor Show. He'd moved on to a lovely feathered kind of thing accompanied by a beard. I thought he was much better looking with a few years on him. I wondered if a world existed where a doctor could be a good ol country boy like that, beard and longish hair and all, and if so, where the heck was he when I got bucked off a three year old colt and busted up my ankle? Huh?

And then he was gone again.

But he's baaaaack! We have been watching Dancing With The Stars. We have to, because my Girl is a ballet dancer. I'll come right out and say it- I love this crap. Love it. I love John "Cliff Claven" Ratzenberg and his mostly-naked-while-wearing-a-dance-costume-and-big-grin partner, Edyta. I love Heather Mills dancing on an artificial leg and showing the rest of us that we should not be complaining about our limits. DO NOT get me started on Apolo Anton Ohno because OH NO I am such a dirty old chick and he's got this Young Kiedis kind of look. And I dig the Cyrus. I do. (Sorry.)



See? I said it! No shame!

He's moved on to a Keith Urban kind of look. (I sorta like Greasy Keith too.)

Billy Ray was never a great dancer and he knows it. He might even be going home tonight. If so, I'll miss his drawl and his clumsy attempts at ballroom sophistication. I'll miss the goofy soul patch under his bottom lip. I'll miss his teardrop shaped eyes. And yeah, I'll miss his big arms.




Since this blog is called HICK CHIC and you know that I am somewhat mostly about the clothes, let's have a look at Billy Ray the Phosisticated Reality TV Star:



...a look which to me says, "I ain't so big on this here shiny stuff but dang if it don't feel kinda nice on my skin."

Go Billy Ray! I hope you stick around another week so that the judges can come up with more clever descriptions for your dancing, such as "Hanky panky in the back of a Chevy" which may or may not be a compliment...but sure as heck is entertaining!