My good friend (well, my future good friend) Kiernan Shipka is in this month’s Teen Vogue talking about all of the expensive products she can’t live without. She’s particularly fond of special Shiseido sunscreen (“The sun hasn’t burned my skin once since I was introduced to this product years ago.”) and a little pink purse she uses at events to carry her iPhone and cash. (I assume the cash is to tip valets or bartenders?)
I graduated to the grown-up version years ago, but maybe I need to start reading Teen Vogue again.
Look at this color-coordinated perfection from the senior members of the Beckham family. I would fit in so well with them. I’d match my outfits to theirs, and I wouldn’t even be embarrassed.
Instead I will just sadly drink coffee by myself.
Yesterday afternoon I was feeling so optimistic about celebrity child fashion, facial expressions, and hats.
This sad, floppy hat on Isla Fisher’s daughter Elula has me rethinking that optimism. It looks like it belongs on a 19th-century maid on her day off, not on a modern, wealthy child. Also, there’s a fine line between looking like a bored sophisticate and looking angry — Elula’s a little too far on the angry side here.
She obviously has a lot to learn; luckily for her, I am the master. Try something like this next time:
Jessica Simpson has a Twitter account, which she uses to promote her fashion lines, her reality shows, and, now, her baby:
I’m addicted to buying headbands w massive flowers for Maxwell on etsy! She is insanely beautiful I can’t help but play dress up!
Etsy is for people with too much time and too much felt on their hands.
And flower headbands are so last season.
So I have some news.
While the Afflecks have been doting over Baby Samuel (and surely showering even less frequently than usual) and the Smiths have been spending loads of money attempting to bribe Lady Gaga into mentoring Willow, I’ve been doing something much more productive in my free time.
(I know, haha! As if I have free time between holding the puppet strings at the New York Stock Exchange and plotting Blue Ivy Carter’s fall from grace. I’m taking Midtown Manhattan back, Beyoncé.)
Anyway, mostly on planes between Los Angeles, New York, and Paris, I’ve been writing a book. A real one this time.
Suri’s Burn Book: Well-Dressed Commentary from Hollywood’s Little Sweetheart will be published by Running Press this fall. The book will be my completely new, completely definitive guide to the families of Hollywood, and no one will be spared – better prepare yourself, Mason Disick.
If you’re bored, you can find out more about the book and my ghostwriter here. I myself am going to go buy noise-canceling headphones. Katie’s decided to start singing again.
It’s taken me a few days to really come to terms with what I am about to show you.
After three panic attacks and one emergency session with my therapist, I am finally ready to admit that the following photograph exists in the universe, that it does not reflect on me, and that I now understand where my entire eyeliner collection disappeared to. (It’s okay, I definitely don’t want it back now.)
This is the biggest mistake W has made since they fired Blair Waldorf.
Whatever. Only 4,362 days until I turn eighteen. Not that anyone’s counting.
Here’s a picture you never knew you needed to see — Joshua Jackson holding January Jones’s baby, Xander Dane Jones, in a pool. (That’s January in the hat and the frown.) I just have so many questions about this situation.
How are Joshua Jackson and January Jones friends?
Why don’t Joshua Jackson and Diane Kruger have their own babies yet? I mean, look at that. It’s an awkward angle, and it’s still the best thing I’ve seen all week.
Most importantly, can we all now agree that Katie Holmes is the dumbest person on this or any continent? In another universe, that guy could’ve been my dad.
I hate everything.