The Wig Party.

I've been meaning to blog about Coco Coquette for a while now.  If you live here in Austin, it's entirely possible / probable that you've heard of this delightful business already.  

I heard about Coco Coquette a while back, when I was writing a little story for CityGuide on Austin beauty hot spots.  It was the only business on my list that included wigs, and Reader, let me ask you a question.  When was the last time you wore a wig?  No matter your answer, I'm going to say: too long!  Unless you currently have one on your head right now, I'm inclined to say that we, you and me, don't wear wigs often enough.  That goes for the rest of American society too.  Across the pond, our British friends are downright fearless with their headwear.  Why is this?  How are we so timid in comparison?  I say we start a wig uprising. 

Coco Coquette shares a property space in this adorable old house with Charm School Vintage, replete with creaky wooden floors and crystal chandeliers.  If my husband were gay, it is exactly how I would decorate our home.  In fact, I was looking through my old pictures yesterday of Charm School and Coco Coquette, so I could get inspiration for our living room!  (Don't tell him.)

I visited Coco Coquette a few weeks ago, to get all wigged up for a party my friends and I threw.  I went with a blue bob, but before that, Allyson Garro -- Coco Coquette Headmistress -- had me try on this pink cotton candy affair.

That's a pretty flattering face, huh?

In all seriousness, I think you should stop by Coco Coquette if you haven't already.  If you're enjoying EAST next weekend like me, pop in!  It's on E. Cesar Chavez.

Also.  This is really important.  If you're reading this post right now, can you pinky-swear that you'll come back tomorrow morning?  The reason is because I have super exciting, national-scale news to share!  Not about me.  But about a close friend.  And I promise you'll like it.  Ooh, the anticipation!  I'll narrow it down for you just a bit: It has nothing to do with the lottery, pregnancy/babies, or Mr. T.  Sorry to disappoint on that last one.