Fugli Halliwell

There are so many things to love about Geri Halliwell. There's her red hair; her saucy Union Jack dress from the heady, loony Ginger Spice days; her grabbing Prince Chuck's bum; her autobiography that unflinchingly includes pictures from her "glamour modeling" (read: topless) days; the fact that I have read her autobiography, which includes dates, and I still think she's older than she claims to be and has somehow paid off everyone in the book not to squeal to the press; her alleged invention of the concept of the Spice Girls; her claims that she was innocent and misunderstood in the whole "Geri up and left the band" fiasco despite the fact that, essentially, Geri totally up and left the band; her scrappy battle with eating disorders, having finally come out the other side more accepting of her famous and sexy curves; and of course, the highly entertaining fact that she named her daughter Bluebell Halliwell, which sounds more like the name of a paint company than a child.

But, like with all coins, this one has a flip side. There is something to dislike about Geri Halliwell. And that thing, today, is her trousers.

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I'm thrilled she's gone back to her her red roots -- the blond thing just wasn't working for me (same goes for you, Lohan, you zombie loon) -- but I am extremely cross with Geri for perpetuating this burgeoning trend of high-waisted pants. Now, I'm totally fine that people aren't wearing their jeans so low that you can assess accurately the quality of a girl's bikini waxer, but these are so high they're practically overalls. Didn't we gravitate to lower rises in the first place because it was universally accepted that high-rise pants are HORRIBLE? Because high-rise pants give a belly where there is none, and gruesomely cradle one where there is? And did we not learn this painful lesson the very hard way? Did I wear, and eventually violently discard, all those Gap Classic Cut jeans in vain?

Geri, if the rise of your pants is longer than your shoe size, you have taken a tragic misstep. Please stop this. Think of your child. Don't wilt little Bluebell before she has a chance to grow, and live, and marry a man named Benjamin Moore so they can have wonderfully colorful little tots.