The double messy bun has turned out to be such a big hit that Sophie requests the ‘do regularly. This morning Annabelle (who normally puts her own hair back in a low ponytail, unless it’s post-bath, in which case she’ll grudgingly let me comb her hair out and braid it) requested the same.

I was able to snap a quick picture before she disappeared to look in the bathroom mirror and yell, “NO!”

Annabelle has the hair I want — rather, she has the hair I had (or close, at least, mine wasn’t quite as good) before it was butchered into a shag when I was 4. That was my mom’s doing, but I have to take the blame for the ensuing styles — all of which sucked, particularly the Farrah look at my bat mitzvah, til I finally learned to leave my hair alone, as an adult. In high school I always admired the hair of a girl named Alyce Conti — it was long and thick and wavy, she just let it be, no layers or bangs or hair dryers, she was a good decade ahead of her time — and years later I realized I could have had something pretty close. (Not quite, that woman had a boatload of hair, but still, I could have done a fairly good imitation and perhaps not been such a loser. I firmly believe hair texture has a lot to do with happiness. I once wrote a piece all about curly hair — Sophie’s lack thereof, to be precise. Crap, I can’t find it. I’ll track it down and post it.)

Annabelle has Alyce Conti’s hair. She doesn’t need messy buns or bangs or even a brush. She pulled the messy buns out, grabbed her huge hunk of hair (and I do mean hunk, I’m scared to imagine the snarls underneath, though I admit they give her body!) and pulled it back into a simple bun.

Gorgeous. But those messy buns were pretty darn cute, particularly if you’re part of the Star Wars set. (This one’s for you, Sawyer.)