Listen, Tyra, I’ve got no beef with you wearing a wig all over town, especially since your wigs are good ones:
See, I LOVE wigs. I am a huge fan of wigs! When I’m an old lady, I plan to wear a rotating series of wigs: platinum blonde for Monday bingo nights; long, dark and curly for Tuesday’s dialysis appointment; short and red and flippy like Ginger from Gilligan’s Island for Wednesday night’s cocktails at the Assisted Living Centre with my girls; a giant Afro for Thursdays, when the pool boy comes. Et cetera. And let’s face it: you’re a babe. However, you’re also a babe who’s got loads of cash and more contacts in the hair-and-makeup world than the rest of us would make in twenty lifetimes. So why aren’t the edges of your wig EVER EVER EVER properly blended into your forehead? It’s not like you don’t have the acreage up there, and we know you know that.
Check out the close-up after the jump:
Don’t tell me you can’t do better than that. That is so…whatever the opposite of fierce is.