Because I have little else to do other than watch my Mother cook, exercise in the middle of the day and coo at how cute it is to see Monte warm his belly in front of the fireplace in my Father's study, I'm now reduced to posting completely useless fare like this, a picture of Nicole Richie decked out in the same, now extreeeemely discounted Geren Ford dress I'm wearing in the photograph at right.
(Keira Knightley, discussing her "ideal body" in a recent GMTV interview)
"When Beth was performing, she started taking all her clothes off. I stood there watching her strip, thinking, 'Oh my God, that woman is so sexy.' She has the most amazing body."
(Keira Knightley, 5'8"/105 lbs, commenting on Beth Ditto, 5'1"/210 lbs)
For those of you who aren't familiar with Beth Ditto (shown arm-in-arm with Kate Moss below), she's the lead singer of the white-hot British band The Gossip, the current #1 placeholder on NME Magazine's 'Cool List,' and oh yeah, she's also the one who's built quite a reputation for herself getting her strip on on-stage and sharing with her fans the gorgeousness that is a sweaty obese woman swathed - and often de-swathed - in nylon, Lycra and poly-acrylics.
Look, I'm all for encouraging women of all sizes to gain confidence through accepting - no, loving - their bodies, so even though I personally don't think it'd be too pretty, I enthusiastically tip my hand to Beth for doing whatever naked dance it is she does up there behind the microphone.
As for Keira, that gorgeous girl needs to shut her pout when it comes to praising women nine times her size. Even if her motivations were good, which I actually believe they were, until she stops burning off all 400 calories she consumes every day having hours of artsy Tantric lovah sex with her greasy boy-tart, anything and everything that comes out of her mouth remotely like this comment is going to sound at best perplexing and at worst just plain mean.
So Keira, please, please call a time-out from the Yab-Yum position, eat a MetRX bar and some toaster strudels and start practicing what you preach.
In between not parenting and prancing around Sunset Boulevard in cowboy hooker-wear, Britney Spears is apparently in the throes of writing a book.
Not sketching with glittered stencils, not sticker booking, not having her manny read to her a Betty & Veronica Double Digest, but actually penning what I assume will be a 200+ page book filled with chapters, a table of contents and a glossary to help guide readers through terms like hickabilliest, luuved'imlots, and mmmyeah-like.
I realize this is a tell-all, not a critical deconstruction of Umberto Eco's Name of the Rose, but still, knowing that a woman - a mother - who walks around in broad daylight looking half like Michael Jackson from the "Billie Jean" video and half like Brandee from MSNBC's "Hollywood Vice" documentary, can land a multimillion dollar book deal strikes this hard-working writer and analyst as just plumb nawwfair.
An unnamed "close source" to the Spears clan (i.e. Us Weekly intern) claims a large portion of the book will be a scathing assessment of the chanteuse's relationship with egomaniacal ex-boyfriend Justin Timberlake who apparently, "called her fat and told her she'd need to lose weight before he would have sex with her."
Given where her body is now, Brit should spit out that wad of Big League Chew, get on her knees, press together her acrylics and pray her next temporary man-skank only requests she shed a few pounds before doing the 2-5 minute, foreplay-free deed. Five years, two babies and two wonky thighs after Justin dumped her cheating ass, I wouldn't deign to judge any man who instructed her to undergo a series of aggressive microdermabrasions, implemented a strict "no talking" rule, and disallowed all artificial cheese snack chips/rinds/curls in the bedroom.
Can't wait for the pre-order!
I swear, Kate Bosworth's publicist must have a sense of humor of the blackest sort.
How else can you explain this and now this series of pictures of the young actress looking admittedly better than in past outings but still skinnier than a roll of Rolos posing at, of all places, the Food Bank of New York City’s annual Can-Do awards gala with a stripe of caution-tape flailing in the wind?
Thankfully, Ms. Bosworth and her stylist chose for her a lovely seafoam green tea-length Chloé dress with high, ruffled-neck and pleated skirt that completely covers both her washboard chest and so-sinewy-you-have-to-look-away thighs. Unfortunately, the back of the dress is wide-open, but being the kind soul I sometimes am and it being so close to dinner-time, I chose not to post those pictures.
Can't say I'm crazy about her painted face, though the contrast of the deep crimson lips against her dewy sunkissed skin is quite striking.
At the rate Kate's gaining weight, she should be back in fighting form (i.e. her Blue Crush weight) in about...yeah, it's never gonna happen.
My recommendation:
(Liv Tyler + Kate Bosworth) ÷ 2 = killing two birds with one stone
Unfortunately, unlike Thanksgiving, the entire month of December and a romantic dinner book-ended by an avocado-foam amuse bouche and a pumpkin ginger tart, the calories you consume today do count. That means, assuming you already did your Biel squats, Scarlett kegels and 60 minutes of cardio, you need to stick to lean protein, dark green vegetables, vitamin-enriched fruits (i.e. not apples), wheat-based grains, and max one biscuit OR one small scoop of garlic mashed potatoes. Oh, and beer, of course. It wouldn't be a holiday without downing two to five ice-cold longnecks while eating your Mother's served-on-Wedgewood-china Easter dinner in the formal dining room, now would it?
A Creme Egg? Don't be ridiculous, those are for girls who eat their feelings. Instead, just indulge in a bit of Easter-inspired food porn with the original 1984 commercial -- you know, the one with the bok-bok-boking bunny?
I could watch over and over again the foreplay of that scene in which those well-manicured hands break open the egg and ever so slowly, ever so gently, ever so deliberately pull apart the chocolate to reveal its sweet core of white and yellow holiday nectar.
I could and have.
Calorie-free -- just another reason why, when given the choice, porn always beats food in my household.
It's an unsettling feeling, one that even casts doubt upon my own unwaveringly sound judgment, when I look at a picture of Britney Spears, another of Jessica Biel, point to the former and say, "I'd rather have her legs."
But strangely enough, that was the swift conclusion I reached while looking at the following photos, both taken yesterday.
Look closely and you'll see BitBit's got lovely, shapely runner's calves, while Biel-tastic is unequivocally the comptroller of Cankleville.
It breaks my heart, it really does, to know that a woman whose most strenuous exercise involves hooking up with some Guido after an all-night Vegas bender out-legs the hottest, most dedicated gym-rat in Los Angeles, but like that Ethiopian girl Angelina didn't choose at the orphanage knows painfully well, life isn't always fair.
I guess we all know now why Jess overcompensates with an up-to-her-ears badunk-a-dunk and wears an inordinate number of floor-sweeping column gowns. Girl's ripped and smart.
I'm not saying she won't get back to where she was just six weeks ago at the Producer's Guild Awards in Los Angeles, but I am predicting - based on these photos - that Salma won't be donning this figure-hugging vintage silk crepe Fendi gown with cutout sleeves and plunge back anytime soon.
Such a shame, too, because now that I look at this close-up of her face, I've come to realize my steadfast desire for Ms. Hayek has had nothing to do with her personality (boring), her acting skills (minimal), or her even her face (wide and square-ish) but rather was borne purely out of admiration for her thick-and-thin-in-the-right-places figure.
Oh, and then there's that whole "we're just friends" Penny Cruz situation...that's pretty hot, too.
I'm crossing my fingers not for you, Bandida, but for your curves. May they return swiftly and ten-fold.
Kate Bosworth's lifeless, size -4 frame can be found propped up on the cover of this month's V magazine.
Like its assured financial future, V also seems to be morally bankrupt.
How else would you describe a publication that prints the words "biggest" and "sexy" next to a woman who on her best day is as big and sexy as one of those meth-addicts on Intervention who's so busy cooking crank in the kitchen she eats nothing but the occasional Flintstones vitamin or behind-the-bottle-of-ether Totino's Pizza Roll?
What really gets my goat, though, is how they printed the poor girl's weight in the lower left-hand corner.
For shame, V magazine, for shame.
Because Salma is in that small core of lovely women I just can't bring myself to criticize, I chose to ignore these highly unflattering photos that surfaced a few days ago of the normally hotter half of the va-va-voom-licious Latin duo that is Hayek-Cruz, Incorporated.
Now that the entire world has been let in on her pregnancy secret, however, I suppose it's okay to share these with the few of you who haven't already seen them. And by the way, not only is Salma knocked up with this French dude's baby, she's apparently planning on marrying him, too.
Oh, poor, poor Salma, hasn't anyone told her that even when a fresh baguette, a room-temperature square of Camembert, and a four-hour workday is at stake, a Frenchman just isn't capable of keeping his word long-term?
Since I'm not allowed to criticize a pregnant woman's appearance, here are two pictures of Salma looking...um, uh, purple, white and dumpy all over.
I tried.
Models like to walk around town looking fierce. Not too quickly, though, or hints of muscle tone might creep into their legs.
And they know how Karl Lagerfeld feels about muscle tone.
The models taking part in this week's Fashion Week in Paris are no exception. From a fabulous black winter coat with a funnel neck or Peter Pan collar (pictures 1, 3 and 6 are particularly enviable) to a pair of slouchy, lived-in leather boots to oversized leather satchels to the opaque-tights-with-animal-print-heels look, these models' street style, I have to admit, is pretty darn hip.
Of the 103 snaps Elle photographers took yesterday of these creepy-crawly, unnaturally pretty, always smoking six-foot creatures during the 22 hours they weren't working their bony bottoms off, here are my 10 favorite and the 10 I believe are most DC-interpretable:
