We mentioned this in our NYMag.com slideshow, but it bears repeating: SIGOURNEY WEAVER IS SIXTY.
How did Sigourney Weaver get to be sixty? In my head, for a long time in the past and I suspect henceforth, I always imagine her to be forty-two. She looks FANTASTIC. I love the green, love the cut on her, lament that I picked a photo where the umbrella casts shadows on her chest and it looks like a dude behind her is hurling his pre-game In-N-Out burger into the hedge, and entreat you to look at her skin. Because, yes, makeup helps, but makeup is not why she looks splendid at sixty. DNA is. And probably healthy living, and yada yada yada. But she deserves a major pat on the back for this. If I have to give up meat and peanut butter and live only on the berries of the forest I can forage, I will DO IT, if it means looking like this. And by “do it,” I mean, “talk as though I’m going to do it but still retire to the couch every night with a Diet Coke and some cashews.” So I’ll be bummed when I’m sixty and I don’t look like this, but for now, I stand in awe of Sigourney and kind of want “Get away from her, you BITCH” from Aliens to be my ringtone.