Hilary Duff and I have been through a lot together. There was the time I
saw her making out with Aaron Carter at a local bowling alley about six years ago, the
subsequent and inexplicable fight over him with Lindsay Lohan, her excessive necklaces
phase, the whole thing where she pretended she didn't have a neck at
all, and of course that time she got the really obvious veneers and her lips
couldn't close around them for a while and we all thought they were going to come
for us in our sleep. Then finally, Hilary came out the other end
with fairly normal hair and a healthy body weight, and I thought maybe
the worst was behind us. But alas, I feel like even Hilary Duff herself can't explain this, nor does she seem interested in trying.
Judging by the way she's standing, maybe it's a very elaborate system of lumbar support. But I suspect it's just a strange decision. Her whole face is like, "I know. No, really. There is nothing you can say that I haven't already scribbled in my diary in red pen. I KNOW." In a way, though, it's very apt -- she's at a farewell party for TRL, and what better way to bid that crackfest a fond farewell than by making me stare at her for fifteen minutes trying to figure out if she's drunk?
I almost wonder if she's decided to pick up that feud with Lindsay again. They're sporting similar hair these days, and neither of them seem overly fond of lipstick that doesn't make them look frost-bitten. And this outfit feels like what you'd wear if you decided you had a pants allergy and your sensible mother burned your last pair of leggings, so you broke into Mood and stole a few yards of organza. Ergo, maybe Hilary will come out with a line of pointless sheer sheaths -- Witchy Stuff By Hilary Duff, or something -- that they can sell at Kitson for $300 next to all of Lindsay's dishevelled leggings, thus requiring some sort of retail cage-match to settle things once and for all.
Judging by the way she's standing, maybe it's a very elaborate system of lumbar support. But I suspect it's just a strange decision. Her whole face is like, "I know. No, really. There is nothing you can say that I haven't already scribbled in my diary in red pen. I KNOW." In a way, though, it's very apt -- she's at a farewell party for TRL, and what better way to bid that crackfest a fond farewell than by making me stare at her for fifteen minutes trying to figure out if she's drunk?
I almost wonder if she's decided to pick up that feud with Lindsay again. They're sporting similar hair these days, and neither of them seem overly fond of lipstick that doesn't make them look frost-bitten. And this outfit feels like what you'd wear if you decided you had a pants allergy and your sensible mother burned your last pair of leggings, so you broke into Mood and stole a few yards of organza. Ergo, maybe Hilary will come out with a line of pointless sheer sheaths -- Witchy Stuff By Hilary Duff, or something -- that they can sell at Kitson for $300 next to all of Lindsay's dishevelled leggings, thus requiring some sort of retail cage-match to settle things once and for all.
