Have you ever had to contemplate being a Get-A-Grip friend? Like, telling your beloved bestie that her favorite pair of jeans, the ones that bring her so much joy and that she thinks are lucky and make her ass look so good, actually do the opposite? That’s kind of how I feel about Jennifer Love Hewitt here.
She seems nice. We’ve said that before. We just think she needs girlfriends. Real ones, who would’ve told her not to write that dating advice book from a few years ago, for instance. Or who would finally sit her down and say, “Bandage dresses. I do not think they do what you think they do.” Hewitt’s got a great figure. She comes off very charming whenever she’s on the late-night shows. She’s aging very well. She can be self-deprecating. And she has bad luck with boys. I just want her to pull it together and be happy. But she keeps stuffing herself into these things that juggle her assets in a really, really unfortunate way — like she has fallen prey to the old thinking that if it zips, and your stomach looks flat in it, then it fits and is awesome and you should by ten in every color. When in fact this is just awkward and bumbling for me. Honey, you are fit. We see it. We believe you. Now do that fitness some proper favors.