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July 16, 2007

Fuglene

So, Jaslene, I realize that when you won the last cycle of America's Next Top Model, people said you looked either a) like a drag queen, b) like Janice Dickinson, or c) like a drag queen impersonating Janice Dickinson.

To which I respond:

a) Not without lipstick, bigger hair, and some... er... support in that thong;

b) Not when you wear a leash;

c) Not when your nipples are the only lively thing about you.

Seriously, a resemblance is all very well and good, and presumably -- at least based on what I saw on the show -- "Dragalicious" and "Janice" are pretty much What You Do. And if that's the way it's gonna be, well, Jaslene, take note: Janice only gives it away for free if she's actively posing for photographers while yanking her skirt up over her head, or tumbling out of her top because mere pathetic fabric can't contain the nip of the Alpha Dog. Say what you will about her sanity, but if she wants to burn every last private fold of her body onto your retinas, she will DO IT and DO the HELL out of it. There is no false modesty. Your thin cotton peep show would offend the part of her that thinks you had no built-up mystique to ruin AND the part of her that believes areolas are best served at parties.

Now, I'm not suggesting you need to follow her example; just that you're at a crossroads. Either put it away for a little bit until you've earned the right to be functionally insane if you want to be, or go balls-to-the-wall like the World's First Supermodel and own the fact that you'd like all your Jays to be public domain. But this? This just feels weird and wrong, like you're the cover of a really pervy novel in the little-served "fantasy bodice-ripper" genre, and all the creatures on your skirt are seeking to sup on your inner beast. Which... ew.

Posted by Heather at 11:02 AM | Permalink

 

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