I don’t know what to say or think about Mia anymore.
This isn’t, strictly speaking, fugly. It’s better than a lot of the expensively drab stuff she comes up with, and the expensively weird stuff, but it’s still… not quite there. The matching neck and navel bows are a little precious, and she kind of looks like someone said to her, “Look, they’re promoting that Pan Am a lot — maybe try to look like a stewardess, okay? Flying is so hot right now.”
On me? Sure, maybe — my life is small. But Mia is prettier than this. She’s more talented than this. She should be able to do better than this. SOMEBODY ought to be helping her do better than this. Or else in about fifteen minutes someone’s going to walk up to her and say, “Do you have any Bloody Mary mix? No, wait. Here’s what I want. Regular tomato juice, filled about three quarters, and add a splash of Bloody Mary mix, just a splash, and…a little piece of lime, but on the side,” and then she’s going to find herself walking back to a chair next to the lavatories and trying not to punch the wall.