June 06, 2007
Fug Up Your Life
Oh, Posh. Truly, you are magic.
A Hooker With An Animal Fetish costume is one thing, but now she's prancing around in something that looks like it was never intended to see the light of day unless she has windows in her dressing room. It's just such an unnecessary bid for attention. How many other people as famous as she is -- with as many designer connections -- would feel the need to show up at a "Woman of the Year" event wearing a repurposed body-shaper? Oh, Posh. "Victoria's Secret" does not refer to you. On so many levels. You are a pretty bad secret-keeper.
She has let slip here, for example, the fact that she loves her waxer. And that she got a manicure so that those fingerless Michael Jackson Goes Golfing gloves would show off her nails to their best advantage. And that you will be able to figure out which chairs her derrière has graced by the bum-shaped trail of sequins left behind.
We don't know why there is pocket detailing on something that is so clearly not intended to be worn on the outside (to hold her business cards? Her housekeys? Pictures of the kids? Seat liners?), so maybe that is Posh's last great mystery. She needed one, too, now that she's deprived us of the many hours we would sit around pondering the question of what Posh's underass cleavage would look like.
Maybe I'm not thinking broadly enough -- maybe this is actually a costume. Maybe, in order to provide more interesting footage for her upcoming reality show, Lady Becks is prepping to star as Roxie Hart in a dinner-theater version of Chicago in which she actually has to serve the food as part of the choreography. If that's true, I hope she at least asked the maitre d' before hacking up his uniform jacket.
Seriously, this is so crazy it almost comes back around to being amazing, just like Posh herself. What would Karl Lagerfeld say? Actually, never mind. We fear he'd say something like, "Pants are for the sensible, darling. BE UNHINGED." In which case, mission somewhat accomplished.