Nicole Kidman

I have registered my concerns about Nicole Kidman's hair before,  but my feelings are even stronger now:

Oh, Nicole. I know you lovely natural redheads tend to see your hair fade over the years, but GIRL! This is what your friend Miss Clairol is for. And you should know that the last time we spoke about your hair in this space, we got some emails claiming that you've worn a wig for years, to which I say: if this is true, you need to scurry down to the Wig District and upgrade, because you look a bit fried.

But listen, who amongst us has not woken up with frizzy hair and decided, "screw it. Today, I am frizzy!"?  So I do understand. Almost every woman alive has hated her hair at some point. Right now, the left half of my bangs are standing out at nearly a right angle.  If that look didn't go so well with what I'm currently wearing -- I call this look Pajamaist. Watch for it in all the chicest bedrooms -- I would consider a jaunt to Wig Alley myself. What I am more concerned about is your habit of matching your hair to your skin to your outfit. Everything you're wearing is fine, but all of it -- and you -- is beige, and it washes you out. You're too delicate a flower to fully work this.  See if you can trade shirts with Keith at intermission, hmm?

It's great that Nicole Kidman decided to wear a color this year, instead of her usual white or flesh-tone, which only serve to remind us all how bland and dull she is these days. However, listen up, Nic:

a) We wish you were still a deeper redhead;

b) We're very sorry that you only came upon this dress because you were recently, tragically near-decapitated while ironing the life and moisture out of your hair, and needed an outfit that would help hold your head atop your neck;

c) Seriously, please, Nicole, bring back the red hair, because it will help you look more alive;

d) Consider doing some sympathy-eating with your pregnant pal Naomi Watts, because if you lose any more weight, you will be able to slip through the space between closed doors and the doorjambs, and your husband might resent that loss of privacy;

e) Try not to have your head lopped off again any time soon, okay? You can't wear choking, constrictive neck-bows to everything. Isn't that why your hubby Keith rarely strays from wearing his shirts unbuttoned to his sternum?

f) Stop with the Botox. [Hey, it had to be said.] If you aren't careful, Naomi's baby will mistake you for a doll it can drag around everywhere by the arm, and that is rarely an enjoyable way to pass the time.

Thank you. Have a nice day. Although make no mistake, we're still in a bit of a fight over Bewitched -- I'm not going to get over that one for a while, Nic, and you're just going to have to wait it out. Be sure to tell Michael Caine that he's not off the hook, either, okay? Just because my father faintly resembles him, he thinks he can get away with anything. Not so, faux-Dad. Not so.

So, I have a long and tortured history with Nicole Kidman.  Or, more accurately, with her hair. See, I love her red Moulin Rouge hair. I spent a goodly portion of that movie thinking, "Man,  Ewan McGregor is cute. Her hair is FANTASTIC.  Ooh, he can sing, too! No, seriously, I want that hair to be coming out of my head." And so on. I mean, come on:

She's the prettiest consumptive ever! I would kill you to have that hair. I'm sorry,  I'm sure you're perfectly lovely and I do appreciate your readership, but I need to have long, shiny, wavy red hair.  When I have that hair, finally I will be happy.

And when Nicole stuck to that hair color (or an approximation thereof)  in real life? Oh, it was a delight!

Pretty!

Pretty! (Hi, George.)

Pretty!

Then, of course, we went through that long, painful blonde period. God, that was hard. Why, I asked myself, would someone with pretty, pretty red hair decide to wash herself out like that? Why? For one thing, what kind of example are we setting for Lindsay Lohan? (Remember when our biggest concern about Lindsay Lohan was her hair color, and not the fact that she NEVER WEARS PANTIES ANYMORE? I wish I'd known how lucky we were.)

So, when I got December's Vogue, my first thought was, "THANK GOD, WE'RE BACK TO THE RED!"

INT. NICOLE KIDMAN'S HOUSE. DAY

KEITH: Nicole, what do you think about this outfit I picked out for the Grammys?

NICOLE:  You look brilliant, Keith! Simply brilliant! What shirt are you planning on wearing? Something from Thomas Pink? Ooh! You can wear those vintage Cartier cufflinks I got you! I'm so excited for you! I hope you win tonight! Winning is so divine!

KEITH: A shirt?

NICOLE: [puzzled look] Um...yes?

KEITH: I don't know about that.

NICOLE: [gale of charming Australian laughter] Oh, Keith! You are so funny!  I just love your sense of humor. God, Tom had no sense of humor at all! At all! One day I had Russell Crowe call him and pretend to be L. Ron Hubbard calling from the great beyond and when Tom found out it was just Russell,  he almost drove over there and punched Russell in the face! Of course, he would have had to have stood on a box to do it, and Russell would have grilled him up in a cheese sandwich and eaten him for lunch but...well, anyway! I love how playful you are! I love it! Oh, come here, you! You delicious man! I'm so happy!

KEITH: Nic. Seriously. I mean it. I was thinking the best shirt for this was just...waxed chest.

NICOLE: ...waxed chest? Really?

KEITH: Waxed chest is so rock and rock!

NICOLE: Hmm.

KEITH: Right? Isn't that a great idea? It's so ROCK STAR. It's like totally Michael Hutchence, right?

NICOLE:  Would you look at the time? I'm late for a Botox party!

KEITH: You're not coming with me to the awards tonight? The waxed chest and I need your support!

NICOLE: Oh.... No. No, you'll be fine. Don't you think it's best that you walk the red carpet, just you and your chest? You and your waxed chest? Because...it's like....you're....um. A loner! An, um, rocking loner! You don't need ME to be there! No, no. No, I can't be seen there with you and your waxed chest.

KEITH: I guess you're right.

NICOLE: Oh, I know I am! All righty, then! I really must dash! No, no, don't get up! No! No, you don't need to kiss me good-bye! Nope! Well, well! Yes! Good luck! Good luck, and good night!

KEITH: Thanks, honey. You're so supportive.

THE END

Okay, Kidman, I appreciate what you're doing with the lipstick, since you have so fervently favored the wan, washed-out, death's-door look lately. Adding some color to the brows? Better, I think. It's But... why so prim? You're dressed as if you are poised to give the palm of my hand twenty lashings with a ruler. I almost detect a trace of an attempt to smile, which might help a little, but you're so paralyzed by Botox or just generally kind of Zenned or zoned out that it doesn't appear to be working. Perhaps you're just hungry?

But my biggest concern is with your hair. We need to discuss this. Whither the red, Nicole? You had such lovely red hair. You made redheads prouder to be red. And then you went on, like, a three-year bleached-blonde bender and are staunchly not coming down from it. Why not? Look how hot you were:

Look how it gives a rosier hue to your fair skin, as opposed to making you look sallow. You've walked back a bit from the complete ice-blond effect, but not enough. See again the above photo and how healthy your hair looks, and how healthy you look -- and it's so nice to see it around your face, hanging softly, instead of yanked back tightly enough to give you a face-lift without the knife and surgeon's fees. You even had more fun with fashion back then, for the most part.

What happened? Did Lars Von Trier break you during Dogville? Or was it dating Lenny Kravitz? Or Steve Bing? Please don't tell me that it was divorcing Crazy Tom Cruise that made you go blonde and slightly emaciated and quite often humorless. Because that's going to make me wish you were still together -- and although that would have spared us the disaster known as TomKat, I really, really don't want to be nostalgic for the days that anybody was with Crazy Tom Cruise. That's just not right. Don't make me go there, Nicole. Don't do it.

You know, I think Keith Urban is a little creepy and sexually ambiguous, but he is an absolute beacon of normalcy compared to those dudes. So use that. Wash the weirdos right out of your hair, along with the peroxide, and go back to the hue that makes you look flush with life rather than like the walking dead.

[If embracing the comparative sanity of Urban doesn't work, then I implore her sister Antonia to strap her down Clockwork Orange-style on the couch and force her to watch Moulin Rouge, because she looked fantastic in that entire movie and maybe, just maybe, it will entice her to rejoin the world of flattering dye jobs. Get on it, Antonia.]

If you are already shiny and white, I recommend not wearing something that just about matches you:

I know Nicole Kidman plays Samantha -- sort of -- in the movie Bewitched, but this ghastly, ghostly outfit looks a lot more like something Endora would wear to bed. You know, after she's removed all that makeup, and her red wig, and gotten shot up with a gallon of Botox that needs to settle overnight.

She is starting to give me the creeps again. If you want to get rid of a neighbor, hand Nicole a candelabra and some chains and tell her to walk slowly through their backyard. Instant haunted house.

Until finding this photo, I didn't realize that all this time, Nicole Kidman has secretly wanted to kill us all and drink our sweet, sweet blood:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

The eye makeup... the psychotic look in her eyes... the hint of a smile... Dating Steve Bing must've given her The Evil. She's coming for you, mark my words. Buy garlic.

This is from 2004 as well, a.k.a. The Year of the Fugged-Up Kidman:

[Photo courtesy of Zap2it.com.]

Nicole Kidman spent much of the last year, and possibly beyond that, with altogether the wrong hair color. With the crazy blond hair, her fair skin, and her commitment to emaciation, she ended up looking either crabby or slightly unhinged all the time.

Opinions were divided on this look; some thought she looked classy and ethereal, but I thought she looked like a deranged mermaid flapper. The dress in and of itself, while not my favorite, might have been less offensive if her hair were working for her at all, in any sense. But instead she added a dash of "early 1980s tennis star" to her coif, and the result is, for me, a very unsettling and unflattering getup indeed. In fact, I suspect the woman with the blurry face is laughing .

This fug stands as a sterling example of how a beautiful woman can totally fug herself up by succumbing to the triplet evils of Botox, Aktins and peroxide.

Nicole Kidman, before:

Nicole Kidman, after:

Her forehead is so large and shiny now [thanks, Botox!] that I imagine you can see your own reflection in it. Which makes it handy, I imagine, if you'd like to reapply your lipstick whilst chatting with Ms Kidman, but it certainly isn't doing her any favors. She looks so washed out! She looks so wan! She looks so like a bleached and waxen version of her former self! She looks like she hasn't laid eyes on a carbohydrate-based food-form in months! She looks like she might cut someone with those kneecaps! It's really just so sad; what can she possibly see in the mirror that makes her think this Nicole -- overly blonde, kinda sallow, far too thin -- is more attractive than the former Nicole?