Oh, Michelle.

It’s like my lampshade married my dustruffle in a shotgun wedding that produced this dress, and now NONE of them are happy about it. The shoes are a welcome touch of color, but somehow the starkness of the white against her bleached hair and fair skin just has me wanting to throw a wool coat over her shoulders and take her shopping for some earrings and a bag. Actually, it REALLY reminds me of when America’s Next Top Model makes the girls do something mostly naked on a very cold day, and then a few of them have the gall to struggle with hiding their discomfort, and so Tyra gets on her high horse and runs the Kentucky Derby of Rationalizations by explaining that SHE WAS IN PARIS ALONE AT SEVENTEEN and so you should all suck it up and learn to make it Imaginary Summer.

Well. That paragraph was a long, strange trip. Let’s sum up: Michelle could use some Imaginary Summer in her face and I want to go shopping. … Yes, that makes as much sense as anything.