I don’t know why anybody in this day and age would try to come for Naomi Campbell and think it’s gonna turn out well for them. According to Page Six, a group of animal rights protesters tried it at a Dolce & Gabbana concept store opening in New York. The protesters carried signs that read ““Fur Is Dead” and “Dolce & Gabbana blood on their hands”, the latter being a lot of lettering for one sign so I hope they had good penmanship. When Naomi shantéd up to the door, they screamed at and heckled her. Funeral services for the protesters will be held over the weekend.
This is the kind of crazy shit that happens when you’re Naomi Campbell. A stylist looks at you and says, “Now, your impeccable flawless highness – that’s what you want me to call you right? – I’m not sure if even you can pull off this Jean Paul Gaultier outfit that looks like Celine Dion’s backwards Oscar tuxedo after it got really drunk while going to a funeral, stumbled into the street and got ran over by a semi.” You, being Naomi Campbell, grab that outfit from your stylist so hard that their arm comes off. And as they annoyingly cry about not having an arm anymore, you spit at their bloody stump for daring to say that you can’t pull off absolutely anything! You’re Naomi Fucking Campbell!
Somewhere, a wall got covered in poutine tears and Drake’s body when he did the slow wall slide of crying sadness after seeing pictures of RiRi getting on a hot new piece in the pool. RiRi was (or is still on) vacation in Spain, and a paparazzo disguised themselves like a bush to get pictures of her sucking the face of a dude in a pool. The detectives on Twitter believed the dude was pocket-sized Spanish footballer Isco Alarcon. But The Sun says that RiRi’s pool-time fuck partner isn’t a footballer. His family owns a damn football team, but he isn’t a footballer. They say that RiRi was putting her tongue on Saudi businessman Hassan Jameel. Hassan’s family is the largest Toyota distributor in Saudi Arabia and they run other businesses as well. They are reportedly worth $1.5 billion at least. And here I was last night thinking that I was living the life while eating Sno-Balls ice cream as I watched old GLOW matches on YouTube. But it’s RiRi who was truly living the life in Spain while sipping champagne and boning on a hot Toyota distributor heir.
Actually, that’s not true. Time magazine seems a bit too stuffy and uptight to partner with such a sexy retailer. But that didn’t stop model Ashley Graham from slinking onto the red carpet of the annual Time 100 Gala in New York City last night in a silk nightie and robe combo. Oh, and a corset belt and jeweled choker, because Ashley clearly knows the difference between a proper formal lingerie look and looking like you just woke up from an afternoon catnap in your sugar daddy’s mansion.
I was going to title this, “Dame Joan Collins And Her Little Fans,” but it’s only Monday and I don’t feel like going to urgent care. Because if I called Naomi Campbell one of Joan Collins’ “little fans,” my cell phone would definitely declare allegiance to her by throwing itself at my head.
Who cares about the Golden Globes itself when the real star power, glamour and impeccable wig game was at The Weinstein Company’s Golden Globes after-party. All of us who prayed for a Dynasty/Knots Landing crossover episode got a tiny glimpse of what could’ve been when Alexis Carrington and Abby Cunningham held court with special guest Naomi Campbell.
Imagine the power that was unlocked then Joan Collins, Donna Mills and Naomi Campbell joined forces. I bet that everyone left that party without a man or a company and had a face covered with champagne. Because as soon as The Glamour Villainess 3 formed, husbands broke up with their wives on the spot, crystal flutes full of champagne magically tossed themselves into faces and people received text messages from their business managers letting them know that three mystery moguls just bought the majority share of their company.
I mean, that Louvre-worthy picture of the three of them screams: We just took your man and your company without even trying, bitch!
Lately, Jared Leto has been looking like the pure definition of a fashion victim, and at The Fashion Awards 2016 in London last night, he turned it all the way up. If Jared and his stylist were going for “Willy Wonka after getting a bootleg Beatles haircut and dye job and moving to The Valley to become a sleazy porn producer,” they nailed it hard. That Gucci’d out ensemble just screams, “I’m going to make you a STAH, baby, now let’s go back to my place to sign the contracts….” Trick looks like the orgy baby that every character in Boogie Nights made together.
Well, I guess if you’re going to look like Liberace as seen through the eyes of Terry Richardson, a fashion awards show is the place to do it. And Jared Leto, who is becoming a Fighting The Hot Grand Champion, must’ve gotten sick of hos throwing their coochies and assholes at him all the time, so he turned himself into a walking boner killer by getting a janky bowl cut that looks like it was done with safety scissors. That’ll do it!
Here’s a million more pictures from The Fashion Awards. Come for David Gandy (“You can say that again.” – your genitals) and stay for Donatella Versace serving up Solid Gold Muppet sexiness.