Fancy! (aka I Clean Up Good)

I say often that Cat Deeley's hairstylist (or stylist in general) should live in my closet.  I warn any hairstylist that I go to that my hair will never look as nice as it did when I leave their chair because I don't style it.  Heck, I don't even blow dry it in the middle of winter.  Most of them laugh me off.  The few who take me seriously and give me a great cut that looks awesome after I do nothing are worth every cent I pay them.  Seriously.  I blame my mother for this. 
As a child, my mother had my hair cut short.  Really short.  I was mistaken for a boy short.  It wasn't ego boosting, and I'm not posting pictures.  And while that haircut made the most sense for a mother with short hair who had no idea what to do with her daughter's hair, it meant that I never learned what to do with hair other than wash it and comb it.
In high school, I won a perm in a draw, and I started to grow my hair, much to my mother's chagrin.  I believe that my hair may have been the biggest rebellion of my high school career.  Like every other girl in my high school, I had a spiral perm for years until I looked at my yearbook and discovered I had the same haircut as 90% of the female population.  At which point I went back to straight hair, had it bobbed, and never looked back.  While it has been all lengths from my ears to my shoulders, I have had the same hairstyle for the past 20 years.  It works with my hair, it's easy to maintain, and it's wash and go.
Which when you come right down to it, isn't a bad thing.  I buy shampoo and conditioner and steal J's hairspray on the off chance I need it.  I've experimented wildly with colour, which really is a hobby in and of itself, but so long as I can pull my hair into a ponytail with a black covered elastic, we're good to go.
But I admire people with fancy hair.  People who can braid it, and put it up and make themselves look good.  The height of my skill is really twisting it and holding it in place with a big clip.  If I'm looking for fancy, I'd rather buy a great hat.
Hat wearing is a lost art.  Not basball caps, but proper high tea or Sunday service hats.  I was born in the wrong time.  I have many.  Both winter and summer.  With feathers, and ribbons and even earflaps.  I have never been so happy to have a good, solemn hat as I was at my great aunt's funeral on the 22nd of December when I whipped out the earflaps under the brim of my hat.  This summer I decided that I wasn't buying a new dress for wedding (How thrifty!), but I would buy a new hat (How extravagant!).  I spent as much as I would have on a new dress.
I started searching for a facinator, which led to Etsy, which led to a local girl who specializes in wedding accoutrements.  She donates part of the proceeds to a project in Ghana, and she does fantastic work.  I custom ordered a facinator from here.  If you're looking, I highly recommend Corrinne!  Check out her stuff at Buds and Blooms.  I'm now in love with her headbands.  Sigh.
The thing with a great facinator is you need equally great hair, which we've already determined that I can't do myself.  So, I found someone I think I'm happy with, and I'm now ready to unveil Sarah's fabtastic wedding hair, also known as I wish I had talent to do this:
This is me, after the ceremony.  Unfortunately, Mr. Blue shirt behind me means you can't really see the teal feathers.  Please excuse the sexy tan line.  I got rid of it the Monday after, after looking at this picture.  Sigh.
These slightly fuzzy ones were taken by my slightly tipsy, visually impaired husband after the party.  They're not the best.  He's learning to use my camera.  However, the facinator and my hair colour from January (I KNOW) are both looking good here.  One More.  I'm posting for posterity, or for when I think I've never had good hair.
Yep.  We should all have hairdressers in our closets, and dress up more often.