I must admit that as much as I didn't want to, I did manage to fall into the k-hole that was Bravo's reality series The Rachel Zoe Project, which just got picked up for a second season. I couldn't help it! Zoe's incredibly odd, incredibly California voice and accent and speech patterns (pretend you are Scarlett Johanson after a long nap and say "That dress is bananas, shut up" in a flat monotone while zonked out on Xanax just after a Botox injection to the facial muscles and you are getting close to the abyss that is Rachel Zoe's affectless-bordering-on-vegetative persona), her insanely bitchy assistant, her adorably spiffy assistant-to-the-assistant, and her lonely, floppy-haired ambiguously gay husband all SUCKED ME IN against my will, like the Death Star.
Speaking of death, Ms. Zoe, who is famous for being a celebrity stylist and for rumors that she got Mexican horse pills as diet aids for her clients, is allegedly 37 years old. Behold her recent personal appearance at the opening of a door:
(images via just jared)
You could cut a pork chop with that clavicle! Does potato salad come with those ribs?
I do feel sorta bad making fun, because she recently announced she is fighting a valiant battle against a terrible illness: Gwyneth Paltrow Fried Egg Sagging Boob Syndrome, also known as "Flapjackitis." She is one brave, saggy lady. Swing low, sweet chariot, as Creed Bratton would say...