11 April 2007

That was supposed to be *my* life

Alienation from my family and young motherhood aside, every time I see a picture of Katie Holmes lately, all I can think of is, "Why does she get to live my life?"

Whether People's "Star Tracks" catches her shopping at Barney's with Posh, going to an upscale steakhouse on date-night with Tom or just strapping her eyelet-bedecked offspring into a bullet-proof Tahoe, I can't help but liken each photo to a still from some great, sweeping epic.

My epic.

The elegant, simply-cut black clothing, the understated luxe shoes, the ultra-refined gentleman in a three-piece holding her hand promenade-style in front of a vintage American sports car, the looks-like-she's-not-wearing-makeup-but-in-fact-it's-just-really-well-applied fresh face, the mysterious friendships with older women with foreign accents -- this is the life I always expected, right down to the name-change (it's "Kate" now, according to his Maverick-ness), the career micromanagement (she gave up the highly-prized role of Edie Sedgwick at the behest of her baby-daddy) and her modernly tousled Rita-Hayworth-in-Gilda hairstyle.

Like just about everything, though, I suppose it's all about timing, luck and genetics, only one, maybe two of which I seem to possess.

But to be completely honest, as much as I covet just about every aspect of Ms. Holmes-Cruise's life, there's not a doubt in my mind that I would turn down being Tom's beard/prisoner/science project if it meant I had to watch my ankles swell from this in 2002 to what you see here.

As few DVF wrapdresses and Bollinger Grand Année cocktails as my "Clever and leggy beats rich and cankley" mantra has earned me up to this point, I am committed in-full to upholding the notion that a quick-wit and a stunning pair of shapely pins are all a woman needs to be truly happy and successful.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

Enjoy the striking style and beyond-her-years grace of the woman through whom I have no choice but to live vicariously:


bff in chicago said...

you'll get there. I have no doubt. and WRT what you told me this morning, you know that's not gonna last, right? sounds good on paper but you can't go day-to-day without happiness. unless you're tipping the bottle...

getting back to this post, holy crap, you're SO right about her ankles. can childbirth really do that to a woman??? I always thought once skinny-ankled always skinny-ankled.


brown rowergirl said...

echoing bff's shock, damn, her ankles really did balloon, didn't they? I think it probably varies pregnancy to pregnancy, but from what I've heard just about EVERYTHING has the potential to fatten up and stay fattened up for life.

But it's worth it, right? For the joy of parenting? Ugh.

We're so single in the city 20-somethings, aren't we?

Anonymous said...

Also, her husband is WAY shorter than her... that never works out.

west coast devotee said...

you think a quick-wit is more important than a heaving chest or a flat stomach? I'm surprised and disappointed. You're not supposed to advocate substantive characteristics, only physical ones. Next thing you know you'll be wearing an donkey pin :-)

Hah hah, *you* a democrat!

london girl said...

Even though I want to hate them and believe it's some kind of weird contractual arrangement rather than a marriage, they do seem to be really happy and have such a blissful life together.

And they are a gorgeous couple. That pic of them in the car together is really sweet. Her style def reminds me of yours. Very simple and sophisticated. And black. You'd never see her in a Beyonce beaded gown or a Fergie mini dress. Also, you two are both Midwesterners and share a taste for the ummm, "aged" meat :)

I'm guessing from bff's comment he's still denying his feelings? That generation is so repressed, jo, I wouldn't wait around. It could be a long long while, perhaps never.

On a much brighter note, did I mention McDonald's has Creme Egg McFlurries again over here? TO DIE FOR!

Johanna said...

Damn you and your Creme Egg McFlurries! You know I gave that shit up for Lent, I mean, anorexia.

They do seem really happy, don't they? I love her more than I ever did pre-Tom, which is weird, considering I had the opposite reaction to him. Sigh...to live that life for even a single day -- it'd be nice.

And it's not so much a generational thing, sweets, as it is a *him* thing. Once Monte gives me the nod, I'll know it's time to open my eyes again. Let's just hope I'm not a saggy and skin-cancer-y by then. Even Monte might leave me if that's the case.

bff in chicago said...

stop listening to sad music, you freakishly beautiful, brilliant sex-goddess! Call your GFs, glimmer up those legs, put on a mini and plant your fine ass at a bar stool in nice hotel.

And then tell us all about the bad
DC fashion you saw the next morning.

Patience, my dear. When was the last time you didn't get the man you wanted? I'm pretty sure Mandy Patinkan was the only one...and my brother, but I don't really want to talk about that.

nyc admirer said...

That will be you by 30. Mark my words.

But with better legs, of course!

i think you're brilliant said...

Why her? I don't get it. She's not that cute, her husband is creepy and their kid is uh...how do I say this delicately...not cute?

I guess her style is like yours but the rest of it, I just don't get it. Explain.