BRAD: Good evening, ladies and germs!
ANGELINA: Oh, God.
BRAD: Feeling boffo tonight, boys, no hokum for you, it’s all high hat and shopstoppers, ya see?
ANGELINA: He did it. He’s doing it. He said he would and he did.
BRAD: Doing what, little lady?
ANGELINA: Going vaudeville.
BRAD: I’m just living the cane, sunshine. Just living the cane. At least I left my dummy at home.
ANGELINA: No comment.
Loading ...[Photos: Getty]
First of all, my favorite thing about this cover is how TINY the mention of Project Runway‘s winning collection is.
I wonder if they were contractually obligated to do it, but then punted as best they could at the last second because it was so underwhelming a season. That thing is written in, like, eight point font, tucked above the masthead in a spot where you almost never look because the only information that’s usually there is the date and price of the issue, or maybe the URL.
But also, you never would look there, because you are too busy being arrested by Angelina Jolie’s face. That is a compliment. She is arresting. This is the second cover in as many months on which Marie Claire has made someone look better than they recently have on the red carpet (the first being Kim Kardashian), all by keeping it deceptively simple. The quizzical face and heat in her eyes might be a little edgier and foxier than Marie Claire traditionally goes for, but that’s kind of why I love it. She is RIGHT there, coming at you, without any bells and whistles except the ones her genepool (and maybe a nose sculptor) gave her. And it works. This is the fire that tends to be missing from her on the red carpet — this is the Angelina I wish we got more of, the one who is feisty and stunning and sassy and makes it impossible to look away. I’m almost bashful under her stare. I want to apologize for my face, or my shoes, or my hair, or the weather. Sure, there is something a little ooky about how disembodied all the parts look — that arm could as easily be a mannequin hand someone jammed into the shot, and her hair is covering up enough of her neck that she almost looks to be missing a chunk of it — but overall the effect is really hypnotic. Magnetic. Arresting. There’s the word again. But it is. I feel cuffed to it, thrown against a car, and read my rights in a rushed and perfunctory way — a grudging courtesy, as everyone knows nobody ever fully pays attention to that spiel because the fact of what’s happening is too distracting. I want her simultaneously to slap me and be my best friend. It’s strange. Which I guess means it works. Or that I just fell in dysfunctional love with her. Or both.
JOLIE: So.
PITT: Yep.
JOLIE: Right.
PITT: Totes.
JOLIE: Coif?
PITT: Black?
JOLIE: Touche.
PITT: Zing.
JOLIE: Drink?
PITT: Immediately.
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@thebestjasmine I want to high five her - J
4 photos in gallery
Well Played, and Fab It Up, Angelina Jolie
Considering that a ding against Angie is often follicular limpness — or, remember those half-hearted bangs? — I thought I’d lead with the close-up.
Shine! Body! It’s almost Middletonian. I hope the two of them have become secret e-mail friends. Angie can coach Kate on how to handle magazine covers announcing that you are pregnant, and Kate can provide shine-boosting tips and volumizer samples. And then they can both talk about whether Jennifer Aniston is doing the right thing, because you know that comes up.
Let’s check out the rest of the outfit:
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