Dear Aubrey O'Day,
I take back everything I've ever said about you. I love you. I love you deeply. And for this:
A boa as a shirt, worn with leggings and possibly the ugliest boots ever crafted by the hand of man or beast? Yes. YES. In the dim, dark, dank days of August, when all the real celebrities are locked inside writing fanfic about having Michael Phelps as a swim teacher with sexy results, or sitting on their yacht in Portofino or whatever drinking a Bellini and laughing about those of us who are stuck at work, you, Aubrey, come through for me. You don't leave the house in a tasteful A-line shift with killer heels or a classy shirt-dress or an interesting toga or cute jeans and a beautifully complicated top. No. You think to yourself, "You know what? Those fashion and gossip bloggers are all at home in their caftans right now, crying into their Diet Cokes about how no one is leaving the house, and dreaming of those days in February when everyone and her mother is trotting around in some bullshit get-up pretending she's in the running for an Oscar. And so I am going to go out there and give those bloggers something to write about! Something just awful! And I am going to do it in boots I bought out of the trunk of some guy's car! Yes! YES!"
And for that, Aubrey, the Bellinis are on me.
Much love,
Jessica
I take back everything I've ever said about you. I love you. I love you deeply. And for this:
A boa as a shirt, worn with leggings and possibly the ugliest boots ever crafted by the hand of man or beast? Yes. YES. In the dim, dark, dank days of August, when all the real celebrities are locked inside writing fanfic about having Michael Phelps as a swim teacher with sexy results, or sitting on their yacht in Portofino or whatever drinking a Bellini and laughing about those of us who are stuck at work, you, Aubrey, come through for me. You don't leave the house in a tasteful A-line shift with killer heels or a classy shirt-dress or an interesting toga or cute jeans and a beautifully complicated top. No. You think to yourself, "You know what? Those fashion and gossip bloggers are all at home in their caftans right now, crying into their Diet Cokes about how no one is leaving the house, and dreaming of those days in February when everyone and her mother is trotting around in some bullshit get-up pretending she's in the running for an Oscar. And so I am going to go out there and give those bloggers something to write about! Something just awful! And I am going to do it in boots I bought out of the trunk of some guy's car! Yes! YES!"
And for that, Aubrey, the Bellinis are on me.
Much love,
Jessica
