jessica simpson

Brit, Brit, Brit. Now that we've seen more of you than could ever be necessary (unless, of course, we were your...ahem...girly doctor), I'd like to point you in the right direction. I could offer you advice on boys, friends, or clothing, but I don't have that much time. So let's go with one of the most important: shoes.

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Has everyone noticed a certain breed of “starlet” all too common in our business of show, our culture of pop? A creature sprung from the loins of basic cable, weaned on a flimsy recording contract, sustained by a steady diet of paparazzi blood and glossy tabloid print. At first we’re hypnotized by her refreshing lack of concern for worldly affairs and ignorance about exotic places like Tibet or Toledo. She charms the pants off us for a minute or two, but then her light dims, flickers, and sputters like so many fluorescents at the DMV. We grow weary of our pop princess. Her movie flops, the miracles of modern medicine render her ugly sister suddenly Maxim-worthy and the drag queens at Wednesday night bingo retire her act and haul out the trusty Joan Crawford in her place. What’s a girl to do when her proverbial locks have lost their luster? read more...