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October 18, 2004

A Fug Of One's Own

Vanessa Paradis looks like a homeless Virginia Woolf at the premiere of Neverland.

The shapeless, sack-y dress. The pale, drowned face, complete with frozen purple lips. The haphazard, straggly bun. The bedraggled, misshapen fur -- are those rocks in her pockets, or does she just keep this coat crumpled up in a ball in the corner of her closet? And, of course, the crowning glory: the white shoes. I firmly believe that unless you are a bride, a nurse, or Nancy Sinatra, you should not be wearing white shoes. And you really should not be wearing them in October. And you really, really should not be wearing them with black tights. Clearly a sign of mental instability. (And yes, I know that contrasting tights and shoes are chic this year, but I cling to the notion that when Vogue advocates such a look, Vogue means, say, black tights and burgundy shoes. Or even brown tights and pink shoes. But not the tragic black tights and horrifying white shoes. Because, Anna Wintour, that is a path down which I will not follow you. I'm sorry. No. No, I just can't. Stop bothering me. No. Seriously. And while we're at it, the high-waisted pants? Not going to happen. And tell Kim France at Lucky that I'm not buying them from her either, next time you see her in the caf at Conde Nast.)

I'd like to point out the real star of this snap, however. Note the woman behind Paradis. She's making the quintessential "Oh, honey, no" face. Bless her. She's one of us.

Posted by Jessica at 10:56 AM | Permalink


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