September 19, 2005
Emmy Fug Carpet: ENOUGH ALREADY, Tess Smith
Okay, "Tess Smith," if indeed that is your name. I know you're doing this for publicity, and that I'm playing right into your grubby, grasping hands, but I can't ignore you because you have made that impossible.
Apparently, you had such success looking like a desperate head-case last year that, in 2005, you've taken the shredded look just far enough to make it clear precisely how Brazilian your wax job is. You look like an extra who wandered, drunk and clueless, off the set of a porno called Julius Pleaser: Eh tu, Bootay?
Look, I'm sure you're a sunny person. And I know some people will applaud your moxie and invite you into all the cool after-parties, because you are essentially naked, and all the people who wish Teri Hatcher would wear that are going to stare at you instead, as she and the other Desperate Housewives at least have enough combined modica of class that they don't run around letting their labia flap in the breeze.
But at the end of the day, when everyone wipes the powder -- legal and otherwise -- off their faces and goes home to take a shower and gulp Aleve with their hair-of-the-dog raspberry mojitos, you'll just be remembered as that sad, embarrassing Tinseltown cliche who makes Pamela Anderson look like the very image of restraint, taste, and elegance. Is that really the label you want? Really?