I had plenty of ideas for today’s post – but then I came back to London. As soon as I crossed UK’s border, I was reminded about the biggest news of the monthyear decade, at least. No, it’s not Egypt, or Syria, or the Pope. It’s not even K-Stew cheating on R-Patz or Biebs pissing in a bucket anymore. What can be more important than that? You guessed. The Royal Baby.
I like Sasha Grey. While Anal Cavity Search 6 doesn’t sound like my type of film, I love the idea of a (former) sex worker who campaigns with PETA, participates in a kids’ reading program, stars in an experimental drama and writes her own book, which is not entitled My Fucking Life.
Imagine being an A-lister who attends a dozen of red carpet events a year. Your first time smiling to cameras in a 10K-pound gown should be exciting. The second and third probably too. But sooner or later I imagine you’d be fed up with the LBDs and the red Valentinos and the 5-inch Louboutins and the Chanel No. 5, and craving for a change in the dress code, right? Wouldn’t you dream of, like, a punk-themed gala?
It’s not that I personally dislike The-Model-of-the-Moment Cara Delevigne. In fact, I’m sure she’s a positive, friendly, fun-loving individual, and surely one hell of a cutie. What I can’t stand is her ubiquity – the fact that she’s as all over as the word “Cara” in this post.