The Wedding Rabbit in Red: Celebrity stylist of the star-struck

I am not a confident woman, when it comes to my looks. Over the years, all of my self-described strengths have been systematically debunked. Swan-like neck? Rippled with wrinkles with a triple chin cherry on top. Dainty, gazelle-like ankles? Sturdy, like a peasant.

So I didn't exactly embrace the notion of being transformed by a stylist for Sydney's wedding. You are talking to a woman who once accidentally glued her eyelids closed. Little did I imagine that, years later, I would learn that you could also perm your eyelashes. Just picture those tiny rollers!

Sydney is fearless. She may be the one credited for bringing the belly shirt from California to Wyoming County.

We should have known because, even as a child, she refused to bow to popular convention. She created "The Unicorn," proudly pointing her long, blonde hair heavenward in a single silken spiral. She modeled a braided look based on the museum display-cased model of a Pacific-Northwest Native American girl dated from well before the pre-colonial era. She'd gazed intently at the diorama, taking mental note, before turning to me and saying, "We can do that." Ha. We. Adorable. I had to have the neighbor girls teach me to braid off of My Little Pony toys because I'd never learned before becoming a mom.

And now, all these years later, it was we again.

And Doris.

Oh my gosh.

Doris.

I frequent hair cutting places that feature the words shed, shack, and cave in their titles. Fifteen dollar hair cutting rates delight me. When I succinctly describe the style boasted by the little Dutch boy on the can of paint, my stylist does not even attempt to question my choice and, snip-snap, I'm being fitted for wooden shoes. 

"She styles the hair for that woman on Shark Tank," Sydney mentioned, minutes before my being introduced to my tiny-but-toned tresses technician. Oh boy. Cue up the Jaws theme music.

I began as I always do, by apologizing for my homespun hack-sawed bangs.

Realizing she had an anxiety-ridden, emotional basket-case in her chair, Doris distracted me with small talk while performing magical sleights-of-hand in my hair. Delighted to discover that we were "neighbors," I followed a young 21-year-old Doris from her family home in Toronto out to LA to pursue her passion in make-up and hair. She taught me the art of flipping houses and the struggles of male cat incontinence all while effortlessly wrestling my startled hair into an elegant chignon bun. 

And then it was Sydney's turn and I could not look away as art was created before my very eyes.

Sydney has had a flair for hair for as long as I can remember. She is also ruthlessly pragmatic and adaptable. She is not afraid to experiment; learning with each experience. For Sydney, it's just hair. A blank canvas. It'll grow out/grow back. And with Doris, Sydney had a studied practitioner to bring her vision to life.

And come to life she did.

Not out of marble. Or sandstone. Or still-life.

Shimmering red waves...Venus emerging from her shell...

Rita Hayworth.

Jessica Rabbit.

Sydney Mosiman.

Wedding-day ready.

We bid a reluctant farewell to our fascinating and talented new friend.

And now it was just Syd and me, staring at one another in the mirror. Me...reflecting upon the little girl she once was...my little girl...and the amazing woman she's become. As my daughter began the timeless process of applying the paints and powders that shape and color the landscape of a woman's features, I reveled in her careful and patient ministrations...confident of one thing. Our journey through the Looking Glass together was far from over.