Here’s the thing, Blake Lively: It’s not me, it’s you.

Ally: Concerned about my well-being, L-A sent me a number of emails today in hopes that she could brighten my spirits after Blakegate.

Note the baby doll dress. THE BABY DOLL DRESS.
In the “cheer up, buttercup!” email, L-A kindly informed me that Bishop Cellar delivers (Ohwilly?!!) and suggested that I take a crack at our version of The Gloss’ “Celebrities we Irrationally Hate” segment.
Yes, please!
You didn’t offend me here. You were close…but…no, you didn’t offend me.

I didn’t use to have a giant hate-on for Blake Lively. No, in fact, I thought she was rather endearing. Sure, she couldn’t act but she had pretty hair and her clothes were fun and almost Sienna-like in nature.
Cute smile, funky clothes, lots of accessories. I was down. Then this happened.
Then this happened:
Anna Wintour was officially shoving this second-rate, wannabe Sloane Ranger down my delicate throat. Really, Anna?
Really? Fashion icon? How is the above differ from…oh, I don’t know…THIS:


Three years probation, a Red Bull and not much else. That’s the difference my friends.

So, I was already annoyed before she moved in on my pretend boyfriend. The thing is, I’m fine with Leo and ridiculous alien creature models. Fine. In fact, note the following exchange between myself and L-A this afternoon:

Ally: My world is somewhat better now. Leo is back to banging models. All is right again.

L-A: Somehow, I’m okay with him banging models. In my world, he is either married to Kate Winslet or banging a model whose name I can’t recall. And that is all that’s okay. I’ve yet to see the non-model woman who is up to my standards for him.

You see? We’re totally not judgey! This was fine. More than fine:


In fairness, Blake has a tough road ahead. Bar is not an easy act to follow. I would never go so low as to say that she doesn’t meet the Bar standards. I would however go so low as to requote WWTDD:

But even an attractive girl like Blake must be plagued with insecurities, wondering if she measures up to Bar. I’ll make it easy for you; no. No you don’t. At all. It’s really not even close. To be honest, you should be embarrassed at how much better Bar is than you. I don’t know how you even look at yourself in the mirror.

That’s mean.

The hate is irrational. Blake seems sweet, is likely the victim of some malicious rumours started by jealous starlets (like the Ben Affleck one…eek). She can’t act, sure, but she’s a gorgeous young lady who entertains me on a trite television show geared towards young adults. Still, the hate. She goes where she does not belong, she aims too high. Gossip Girl…fine, attempting to land the role of Daisy in The Great Gatsby? Please. Betty White is better suited. Seriously. Betty White IS better suited.

P.S. Bar killed it in Cannes. Perfect revenge. This dress?


Cavalli. Perfect.

Sometimes, when I’m nervous before a big event I flip on my iShuffle and listen to motivational music. Like, you know, Britney Spears. This is why part of me hopes that when Bar saw the “We’re on a Boat” photos of Blake and Leo, she quietly pushed her chair back from her computer, sauntered over the the boxed wine and pressed repeat on this little ditty:

To the left, to the left!

L-A: What’s left to say? Other than, “what she said” and “amen.” Because when you get on a boat with Leo, you best be prepared to bring it bitch. And Legsy McGee? She did not bring it. She never does. Sure she did okay in The Town, but that’s because she played a drug addict who slurred and mumbled her way through everything.

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Other than quality of accessories, how is this different from Serena van der Woodsen?

Slurring and mumbling is her acting ALL THE TIME! Have you heard her attempt to speak French on Gossip Girl?? Either she’s not even trying or the writers are playing a cruel joke on the kid.

So here’s the thing Blake Lively, it’s not us, it’s you. We hate to hate you, baby, but we do.

And Leo? Consider this a warning. Don’t get to thinking you’re irreplaceable. Cannes is full of Pretend Boyfriend material and we frown upon those who get too friendly with Daisy Buchanan wannabes.

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