It's killing me that Paris has been looking so cute lately.
[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]
I love this dress. And her hair still works. Granted, it was really hard to find any kind of picture of this outfit that didn't include her contorting into a douchey pose -- back jutting out and hips thrown forward, legs crossed so far you could lie a small child down between her heels, back to the camera -- but otherwise, it's great. I'm ashamed to admit that this almost makes me see some advantages to being her BFF. Sure, she'd never defend me if one of her other posse members decided to pick on me, and she'd probably trash-talk my only pair of Louboutins and then either steal them for herself or dump a vodka-cranberry on them to ensure their speedy ruin, and she'd probably put peroxide in my shampoo if anyone ever said that they liked my hair. I'm sure we'd hit the clubs and I'd wake up the next day with her face tattooed on my calf and no memory. And it's entirely possible she'd rig my pants so that they fell down in public, just so she could get a laugh and then swoop in and save the day and make sure I knew how much I needed her and never, EVER to cross her or else photos of my raggedy ass would be splashed all over the Internet.
BUT, she'd probably let me shop with her, and in a weak moment I'd probably get an appointment with her hair dude and/or take home some cast-offs that are too big for her. It MIGHT be worth it.
** Ooh, except that some readers with better eagle-eyes than I have -- at least when it comes to Paris's boobs -- have pointed out that the weird reflection on her chest MIGHT be some sort of nipple-covering device. Although I can't really fault her for wanting to hide them (since most of the time she seems hell-bent on showing off as much of herself as possible), that simple fact is saving me from slipping further down this rabbit hole. Thank GOD.
[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]
I love this dress. And her hair still works. Granted, it was really hard to find any kind of picture of this outfit that didn't include her contorting into a douchey pose -- back jutting out and hips thrown forward, legs crossed so far you could lie a small child down between her heels, back to the camera -- but otherwise, it's great. I'm ashamed to admit that this almost makes me see some advantages to being her BFF. Sure, she'd never defend me if one of her other posse members decided to pick on me, and she'd probably trash-talk my only pair of Louboutins and then either steal them for herself or dump a vodka-cranberry on them to ensure their speedy ruin, and she'd probably put peroxide in my shampoo if anyone ever said that they liked my hair. I'm sure we'd hit the clubs and I'd wake up the next day with her face tattooed on my calf and no memory. And it's entirely possible she'd rig my pants so that they fell down in public, just so she could get a laugh and then swoop in and save the day and make sure I knew how much I needed her and never, EVER to cross her or else photos of my raggedy ass would be splashed all over the Internet.
BUT, she'd probably let me shop with her, and in a weak moment I'd probably get an appointment with her hair dude and/or take home some cast-offs that are too big for her. It MIGHT be worth it.
** Ooh, except that some readers with better eagle-eyes than I have -- at least when it comes to Paris's boobs -- have pointed out that the weird reflection on her chest MIGHT be some sort of nipple-covering device. Although I can't really fault her for wanting to hide them (since most of the time she seems hell-bent on showing off as much of herself as possible), that simple fact is saving me from slipping further down this rabbit hole. Thank GOD.
