As in, everyone who's anyone is doing it: Britney, Katie Holmes, Salma Hayek, Naomi Watts, Christina Aguilera, and now, horror of all horrors, perhaps even Nicole Ritchie?!  Christ, these people act like having a child is about as complicated  as buying a coffee table.  I'd love to see the look on Nicole Ritchie's face when she finds out the manspawn that currently may or may not be occupying her womb is going to live for like, 70 years and need to be cared for.  As in like, fed.  Clothed.  Watered.  Maybe even coddled now and then.  It will poop.  And cry.  A lot.  I bet you she hasn't even thought about any of this.  Like, in her head she's going, "okay, cool, I'm just going to get pregnant long enough for this whole DUI charge-thingy to blow over, then I'm gonna like, suck it out with a Turkey baster...or wait, maybe I'll have it because I really would look sooooo cute all barefoot and pregnant, and as much as I loathe the thought of gaining enough weight NOT to expose my entire skeletal structure, it will just be another opportunity to prove to the world that I'm like, so not anorexic.  I'm pregnant for chrissake!  How can a pregnant chick be anorexic?!  It's like, impossible!!  Then I can have it and give it to Angelina Jolie or whatever...yeah, that's right...whatever..."
Sound logic, sweetheart, but first of all, I seriously doubt that Brangelina will be interested in adopting a child that is 3/4 white, and second of all, the chances of you surviving a pregnancy are something like my chances of getting a hot date with Gael Garcia Bernal that ends in me licking whipped cream from his nipples.  As in, like, zilch.  
And as for the rest of you wenches, I don't know what to say.  A baby is not a maltipoo you can carry around as an accessory and then throw away when you tire of it and decide that teacup chihuahuas are more "your thing."  And besides, wearing black is much more slimming than being pregnant.  Trust me.
Note: ultra-flattering picture of Nicole comes courtesy of celebritybabylon.com by way of thesuperficial.com.

It's those geniouses over at Elle Magazine who are responsible for this abomination.  I suppose I should cut them a little slack, since the word on the street is that they're having trouble er, retaining staff these days or something like that.  Go ask Jezebel.com.  So, I don't know about you but I'm actually beginning to miss the faces of supermodels on the covers of magazines, because while it's nice to walk by say, Penelope Cruz's face in the grocery aisle, it's not so nice to walk by and have to see Avril Lavigne's irritating mug staring smugly back at you.  It's like, maybe when you run out of real celebrities to put on the cover, try giving Doutzen Kroes or Gemma Ward a call...don't go fishing in the bottom of the barrell.
I fear l've ended up sounding rather mean-spirited, but that is not my intention.  Nay, Kelly Clarkson is, by all means, the only worthwhile result of subjecting us to American Idol for all these years (has it been years? It seems like decades)...I think she's an amazing singer.  I admit, even I became obsessed with "Since you've been gone" after hearing it--oh God--on an episode of Laguna Beach's second season called "Our Last Prom"  where Kristin takes Talan to the prom and LC (that scheming wench) is simultaneously enjoying a heartfelt convo on the beach with none other than Kristin's ex-boyfriend, Steven (Stephen?).  God, that was a quality show, although as much as I hate to admit it, it kind of went downhill when Kristin left for college.  Oh well, they can't take my memories...
I digress.  The whole point of this tirade is that they could hardly have made poor Kelly Clarkson look any worse if they'd tried.  She looks like she just got off of a nonstop flight from Japan where she was forced to drink Vodka tonics and deprived of sleep and water.  The nude lipstick doesn't help, but then again, neither do the bags under her eyes or the eye makeup that looks like it was applied last week.  And the hair is blah.  Like, beige wallpaper blah.  C'mon guys, this is a pretty young girl who, by your own admission has a "cartoonishly sexy body" and this is the best you could do?  How about adding some color to her face instead of washing her out by putting the concealer on her lips instead of under her eyes?  I mean, really.  Shame on you people!  

Is it just me, or does Giselle look suspiciously like Jerry Hall circa 1987 on the cover of this month's W? Not that there's anything wrong with Jerry Hall or the year 1987. It's just not, you know, 1987... so you'd think some attempt would be made to modernize the look. As is, it looks like the movie poster for a period film about the drug-fueled excesses of the late eighties and the toll it took on America's children. I mean, just look at her. That hair is looking permed and teased within an inch of its life. And not gentle body wave permed. Like, authentically fried permed. The kind of hair my cousins used to have with the crunchy bangs that curled under and the big earrings and the loud makeup. Basically, there's A LOT going on here, and although Ms. Bundchen, being the wide-eyed, amazonian freak of nature that she is, can probably pull it off better than anyone else could, I just think she would have looked a lot less drag-queenish with a little less. You know, less of everything. Less hair, less makeup (purple eyeshadow with red lipstick is tricky, to say the least) less jewlery. This looks like Joan Collins' wardrobe from Dynasty came and threw up all over her. And yes, I know W brings a lot of highly "editorial" (read: not wearable) fashion to the table but this is just insane. Someone must stop it. I resist few turns that fashion takes in life, but 80's redux is definitely one of them. It must be avoided at all costs. Like the plague, or antibiotic-resistant Tuberculosis. You see what I'm getting at?

Were my comments about Paris Hilton too harsh? Perhaps I only made myself look like a jealous old crone who needs to get a life...As a peace offering (though not to Paris) and to prove that I don't simply have a case of anti-celebrity, I'm going to take a moment to commemorate (and I think I can speak for everyone when I say this) a moment I have waited breathlessly for my whole life: Jay-Z, aka Jigga Man, aka the ugliest man alive that you still are kinda, weirdly attracted to, has gotten engaged to his girlfriend, the incomparable, beautiful, somewhat annoyingly ubiquitous Beyonce. Now, not only will the millionaire rap mogul have the hottest chick in the game wearing his chain (haha, I'm so clever), he'll shell out over $3 million for a lavish ceremony on the Caribbean island of Anguilla which will reportedly include (according to hollywoodrag.com) $300,000 worth of Beluga caviar, lobster and italian truffles, and, of course, the most fabulous wedding dress us mere mortals have ever laid eyes on. Not to mention the ring, which will probably be large enough to clobber a small infant to death. Sources say it will be "the hip-hop wedding to end all hip-hop weddings" (www.exposay.com).

Oh, the glamour of it all. The wonders of people who have so much money they sit around all day and think of creative ways to spend it...Nay, I'm not a celebrity hater. I'm a celebrity-obsessed simpleton like everyone else, maybe even more so. Okay, definitely even more so.

Word on the street is that Miss B's dress is going to be modeled after Princess Diana's, and while I can understand her desire to have the ultimate princess gown, I think she would just look so smashing in a long, lean column dress that highlights her ample derriere. Column dresses are huge for fall, but I think they're also classic enough to avoid the decade-after oh-my-god-what-was-I-thinking syndrome. Here's one that I really like from the consummate professional: Vera Wang.

I know, I know. It's all over the place and you don't care anymore and no one could have a funnier (or more superior) take on the whole situation than those geniuses at Jezebel.com, so I shouldn't even try, but I can't help it. This is like, history in the making and it's so not important but admit it, you care because you secretly want to see Paris cry. Yes, you do. So I'm not going to say anything else about it except this: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I hate you, Paris. You are a vapid, self-serving, myopic, fame-whore-monger. And you have really, really big ugly feet. That is all.