Good lord, what had that bird EATEN?
Good lord, what had that bird EATEN?
It’s so romantic that Colonel Sanders gave his clothes to his wife.
On one hand, I really wish they’d tried to talk her into something new. Although I suppose it’s possible they tried. I wish they’d succeeded.
On the other hand, Jennifer Aniston’s style preferences are pretty on-brand for Glamour — clean, all-American, sporty — and she looks good in this black dress, the 672nd black frock she’s worn in the course of her career. It’s worth noting that it’s also a good shot of her in general: her makeup is good, she looks lively but natural, and her skin looks fab. I’m inclined to give her, and Glamour, the win. What do you think?
We’ve gotten a lot of requests from Fug Nation that we address this cover, and we hate to disappoint.
Let’s start with the good: Anne’s face looks gorgeous and fabulous, especially compared to the droopy dullard Vogue made her out to be. This is actually, energy-wise, the exact opposite. This person has been drinking carrot juice spiked with Red Bull; that other lady hasn’t stood up in three days because her servants are really good at peeling her grapes and giving sponge-baths. Second, her tank top is in support of Eve Ensler’s One Billion Rising campaign to educate people about — and call them to arms to fight — violence against women, and no one can argue the nobility of that message. So good for Glamour and Anne for getting the word out.
However, the rest of this seems like she’s about to pop on those giant headphones, put on some candy-pink legwarmers, and go for a jog that ends with impromptu jazzercise in the park, before maybe getting pulled on-stage with Bruce Springsteen during his “Dancing In The Dark” video. So essentially, she’s 1980s Courteney Cox right now. And that’s not necessarily bad. It might even be Fun. But full of Sex and Style it isn’t. Particularly when I can see her bra — it’s like a dark shadow undercutting her cause’s logo — and those granny panties are bunching all over her stomach. I don’t know. If she’d put on some pants, though, I’d kind of like to hang out with this genuinely smiley Anne. I could even deal with it if she didn’t put on pants, I suppose, as long as she bopped around all day with a Sports Walkman connected to the end of those headphones, because that would be hella entertaining. But I can’t help but wonder why they went to those weird styling extremes when that head, the tank top, and better decorations around it would’ve been appealing without the feeling of being a) in a time warp, or b) being too exhausted by her incomparable oozing energy even to heave the magazine off the newsstand.
I got this issue at home yesterday, and as I was walking back into the house from the mailbox, I LITERALLY could not figure out who the cover girl was until I read the word, “Mila.” I said, aloud, to no one (the birds?), “Mila…Kunis?” (No, Jessica, noted geneticist Mila Harffenblerger.) Like, this girl is VERY pretty. And Mila Kunis is obviously also very pretty. But if you made a Venn Diagram of This Girl and Mila Kunis, there would be no overlap other than the hair color. This doesn’t look like her at all. It’s always perplexing to me when a magazine goes for a cover where their celeb cover girl doesn’t look immediately recognizable. I can only imagine that what happens is, the People In Charge spend SO MUCH TIME looking at photos of Said Girl that they all start to look the same, and you kind of forget what the girl actually looks like. So you pick a good photo, but it isn’t necessarily representative. It’s like if you say the word “celery” enough, it starts to lose all meaning. Celery. CELERY. Celery? See? And the next thing you know, this is your July cover and also you’ve named your new baby Celery. Wait. There ARE people named Celery. SEE. These things HAPPEN.