Dear Rachel Zoe,
I don’t understand you.
You see, I shouldn’t like you at all. You seemingly embody everything that gets on my nerves. First of all, we know you’re lying about your age. Quit insisting you are in your 30s. It’s okay to be 40, I promise. You know what else is okay? Eating. You should try it some time. Seriously.
Also, the way you speak is ridiculous. Not “ridic.” Ridiculous. See how I did that? You are not a teenager snapping gum, you’re an (at least 40-year-old) adult. I know you’re busy, but you are not so busy that you must shorten all words to one syllable.
Speaking of busy, your favorite topic of conversation is how busy you are. So very busy. We get it. You are super important and fashion would end if you weren’t there to pick out pumps for Kim Kardashian to wear. Please Rachel, take a day off, lay around in your pajamas, and watch The Breakfast Club on cable. You’ll feel much better.
I also can’t figure out how, at nine months pregnant, you looked only slightly bloated, like maybe you ate little too much at Thanksgiving dinner. At nine months pregnant, I looked like I had swallowed a basketball, and people stared at me as though I might explode. And while we are on the topic, you do understand you’re having an actual child right? I’m still trying to figure out why you asked your assistant to decorate your new home with white EVERYTHING. Good luck with that.
Why am I listing off all of my petty complaints about your life and looks? Because as I said, I don’t understand you. I should hate you, for all the reasons listed above (and don’t get me started on your husband, Rodger). And yet, I find you strangely endearing. You’re good at what you do, even if the way you do it makes me slightly twitchy. You have an eye for fashion that can’t be denied, and I even like some of the items in the line you’ve designed. I’d look pretty “ridic” taking my kids to Target in a strapless bubble dress, but those handbags? I DIE.
You’re my polar opposite, Rachel. You should be my arch nemesis, the Lex Luthor to my Superman. And yet, you melt my cynical little heart like kryptonite. There’s something about you I love, something that keeps me tuning in to your show. Something that has me rooting for you to succeed (while I also root for you to eat a darn sandwich every now and then).
I give up, Rachel Zoe. You win. You annoy me to no end, but I’m a fan.
PS: I’m serious about the pajamas/Breakfast Club thing. You should try it. It’s amazeballs.
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[author_info]About the Author
Crystal Paschal is our regular Entertainment Contributor bringing you all the juicy celeb gossip and TV/movie info that you love. When she’s not watching TV (most often of cartoon nature because of her kids), she writes on her blog at MomForLess.com. You can also find her on Facebook, or follow her on Twitter as @Mom4Less.