You weren't exactly an endangered species if you didn't have a mullet, but you were outnumbered.
They were everywhere, all colours, all ages, from toddlers to geriatrics. It could, of course, only be Mulletfest at the Chelmsford Hotel and now in its third year, they had come from far and wide.
If last year's number of 168 entrants was enough to draw international television coverage, this year blew it out of the water. There were 245 entries, and with a distinctly international flavour. There are even plans afoot to take the event to three days next year.
This is one mullet that just keeps growing. Up on stage were entrants from the USA and Canada, from the UK, from Norway (a 26-hour flight), all proudly showing their hirsute pride and joy, as well as numerous interstate entries, with Melbourne and Brisbane especially well represented.
The Chelly was pumping, beer sales were through the roof - plastic cups only - and every room in the grand old pub was full.
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For those who wanted to capture the moment for posterity, a couple of rooms on the top floor had been set up for photographs.
"This has to be the most mullets ever in one room," organiser Laura Johnson called to the crowd.
"I don't know if it's a Guinness Book of Records, but hey, we're claiming it"
It would be hard to argue. There was even a video section where those who couldn't make the journey to Kurri, could still be part of the fun. The star was probably the German man, mullet proudly on show, who took us through how he prepares his hair before explaining "my father thinks I need to grow up."
It's that sense of irreverence, of good old-fashioned fun, that makes Mulletfest a winner, probably best exemplified by the people up on stage being interviewed as they shamelessly strut their stuff.
Last year's Extreme winner, Lynne Fry, has since been diagnosed with malignant bone cancer, but she was back - now in the Vintage category - with the aid of a walking stick. She drew a rousing reception.
There was Tim from Philadephia who, when asked whether mullets were common in his home city, said: "I forged this path alone".
There was Strudel, who was bald on top but long at the back. Why so thin on top?
"Too much passion against the bedhead," he explained as the crowd erupted into laughter.
Steve Upton, a category winner last year, was back to explain there had been "no cuts since last year".
Pete explained that a mullet "isn't a haircut, but lifestyle".
All sorts of people, all with different stories, cheered on by a crowd where the preferred accessory for the mullet was shorts, preferably football shorts supported by thongs, and as often as not a covering of ink.
Mulletfest has somehow found a place where so many thing overlap: a sense of larrikin, a touch of bogan pride, more than a pinch of self deprecating humour, international flavour, a touch of nostalgia, maybe even questionable taste, but overwhelmingly a sense of fun.
A place called Kurri.