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Letter from the Editor Billy Fong and Jane Scott Hodges at the wedding of Talley and Will Pike 18 S o, full confession: I'm a sucker for weddings. I get giddy when I hear the church bells ringing. I cry. I get a sugar buzz (to go along with the booze-induced buzz) from the large piece of wedding cake I always allow myself. I take way too many selfies with other guests and dance (badly) with complete abandon. Some may say this tradition is a trite formula — but I don't care, I'm all in. Hopefully you feel the same and will love the wedding pages in front of you. I spent the last few days thinking a lot about weddings and even watched my favorite movie featuring a bride and groom (actually, multiple brides and grooms), Four Weddings and a Funeral. Preserved in that moment (1994), Hugh Grant truly is utterly dreamy — boyish good looks, awkward but disarmingly charming (I think that might be the DNA of most British men), and romantic to the core. Alas, given my current single status, maybe I should bite the bullet and buy a plane ticket to the UK so I can wander about the enchanting Highbury and Notting Hill neighborhoods aimlessly in search of my own Charles (Grant's character in the movie, not the King). Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll find him, and he'll eventually stumble through a sentiment similar to what the cinematic Charles professed to Carrie (Andie MacDowell's character): "I really feel, uh … In short, to recap it slightly in a clearer version … uh, the words of David Cassidy, in fact… uh, while he was still with The Partridge Family … uh, 'I think I love you.'" Yes, I'm optimistic that one day I will meet my match, who will share those oh-so life-affirming words (in an enchanting British accent), and we'll get hitched. I'll want the classic pomp and circumstance — but with some quirky and chic twists I've gathered from the dozens of weddings I've attended in my lifetime. In fact, I garnered quite a few ideas at the last nuptials I attended, those of my dearest friend Jane Scott Hodge's daughter, Talley, to her now husband, Will Pike. You can read all about that Kentucky soirée on pages 46 and 47. In closing: The one captured memory I'd want from my fantasy wedding would be a life-size photograph, taken at the final event of a weekend of fun: the hangover brunch. Yes, I would want all my guests to gather at 1 pm (I'm not a sadist, after all) after surviving an evening of cocktail-fueled conga lines. Might as well dream big … Perhaps it's on the back deck of one of my top 10 favorite pieces of residential architecture: Craig Ellwood's mid- century Hunt House in Malibu, a masterpiece with sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean. I'd want a long table for the 20-some odd guests who have climbed out of bed and grabbed some very large Tom Ford sunglasses to hide any shame from the night before, or perhaps a Dior bucket hat to avoid excess sun or simply to hide the transformation from what was once a gorgeous updo, to what is now more like a mangled bird's nest. The composition is not what you'd expect — it won't be some Last Supper riff with everyone chatting and passing shared bowls of ceviche and platters of Swedish pancakes. Rather, it would be a shot taken from underneath the table. Now, don't let your mind go all Basic Instinct. Instead, picture a group of legs, some uncovered due to shorts or short dresses and some covered by maxi skirts or white jeans. Every type of shoe imaginable, from Adidas Stan Smiths to Dior's green clover sandals with their whimsical ladybugs. Perhaps a Hermès Kelly or two positioned next to someone, in case they need to pull out Tums or a Tylenol. I know even without the faces visible, that I would be able to name every friend by the way they cross their legs or by their shoe choice. Yes, that is how I'd want to remember the weekend I got hitched. Hopefully I'll feel your hands on my hips this month for a conga line after a wedding on the Mansion's great lawn. If not, catch you upon your return to Dallas in early September. XO Billy Fong Dallas editor in chief billy@papercitymag.com THE BROWNS