So Lainey nonchalantly throws things into her suitcase – which finally arrived, and which contains things that look nothing like my clothes, let me assure you - and asks me to write this article all “And it’ll be fun for you!” But she snickers, because she secretly thinks I’m fighting a losing battle. And I disagree with her – vehemently – but I do know I’m in the minority.

So last night Mischa Barton and Mandy Moore showed up at the Vanity Fair Portraits event in L.A., and Mischa tried to do her urban-urchin thing that she keeps flogging, never once paying attention to the fact that everyone is over it, like, not only have the Olsen twins left it far, far behind, but even the rip-off shops in suburban malls have stopped trying to sell giant diaphanous blankets to 5’1 girls and call them dresses.

She looks terrible, but the worst part is she is looking at the camera for approval. Like she’s hoping this is finally going to be the shot that gets her on the good side of Us Weekly’s “who wore it better”. And she looks pathetic, and it’s exhausting, and I don’t even know if she’s working right now. (Lainey: she’s not)

And then there is my Mandy.

She’s glowing. She’s classy. She’s sexy with those cut-outs under her dress. And you are drawn to her. You know you are. Look at those cheekbones. Don’t you kind of wonder what her story is? She has something. Beneath the surface. You can’t find out everything you need to know about her by looking at her face and her mother. Hayden P she is not.

Look, it’s not lost on me that there’s a Hollywood hierarchy – that if Natalie Portman or Michelle Williams or any other Oscar-attending member of the 20-somethings had shown up, nobody would have paid any attention to Mandy … or Mischa for that matter.

But there they were. Compare and contrast. Needy vs. content. Straining for attention vs. relaxed and charming. Trashtastic mall-inspired garb vs. sleek and understated.

How is there a contest ? What do you people want, blood?

Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe you’re just skipping over this going ‘could this girl shut up about this goody-goody boring brunette already? Isn’t somebody naked?’ But I’ll tell you something. Anne Hathaway was a goody-goody boring brunette – and then she wore some stylish stuff in a movie with Meryl Streep and had the world’s most atrocious breakup, and suddenly she’s one of us.

What will it take for you to let Mandy in?

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Post by Duana