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.
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: