Illustration by Gladys Perint Palmer

Hi! Thanks for squeezing me in. I know you don’t have a ton of time, but I just wanted to give you a few notes on how I’d like to look on my big day. I’ve got something kind of specific in mind.

Definitely an up-do. Maybe like a kind of messy bun. I’m thinking—and stop me if this doesn’t make any sense—but a kind of homesteader vibe? Like a kind of “Little House on the Prairie,” “I’m gonna stand my ground and don’t mess with me or my kin” kind of deal? But, like, sexy. Like, it basically says, “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do, like shuck corn, and muck out a barn, but I’ve still managed to retain a femininity that glints in the most attractive and unexpected ways.” Like, picture a lady standing in a field with her dress flapping nobly in the wind, and maybe she’s holding a basket of wheat and squinting into the distance, and she’s like, Oh, man, when is he gonna return, because I’ve borne so much already? Except I don’t want to look all weathered, just, like, super pretty but also like I have a ton of inner reserves? Does that make any sense? No?

O.K., let me put it this way. Have you ever had a watercolor teacher who is, like, a handsome older lady with all this effortless grace who always piles her gray hair on top of her head in the same way, with a few tendrils hanging down, because she just doesn’t have time for anything else? And she always wears a floppy denim shirt and you know her house has all this tasteful Southwestern stuff in it, and maybe she had an affair with a jazz musician and has seen a lot of sadness but she still has a playful spark in her eye and gives really frank hand jobs. Is this clarifying anything?

What? Did I bring any pictures? You’re in luck. Here is a patch of burlap. Here is a movie still, of Maid Marian in the Disney version of “Robin Hood.” Here is a photo of some wild horses.

Picture your mom, right? And it’s a long time ago and she’s all young. And maybe you’re moving, so there are all these boxes around and she’s wrapping some wine glasses in newspaper and her hair is swept back in a casual knot, and you’re, like, Mom looks prettier when she doesn’t even try. And then your dad comes in, and he’s like, Honey, this is when you look the most pretty—when you don’t even try. Remember that? That’s the general vibe I’m going for.

Here, let me try another angle. There’s a lady, right? And it’s the nineties, and maybe she always wears a huge cable-knit sweater and stares pensively out at the ocean from her Cubist house, and her curly hair is tied back in a simple ponytail that sits on the nape of her neck, and then maybe we see her bring a single red rose up to her nose, because she’s, like, hiding out from a stalker or has been through some serious shit, and then, maybe later, we see that single red rose fall in slow motion to the floor? That’s what I don’t want.

So, to sum up, I’d like to look blithe, beautiful, like I could barely even make it to this wedding because I had so much going on, and also maybe like I just woke up from napping with some doves, but also really sophisticated, like I’m seriously about to put on some sexy glasses and flip angrily through my Filofax, and all of this is signified by my offhand yet gorgeous and strategically tousled up-do. Is that possible?