Aside from the big ass stain that is her bitchy personality – which isn’t exactly rare in Hollywood – in my eyes, Mischa Barton is as close to perfect as it gets. Naturally beautiful, great skin, great hair, great style…and I actually kind of like the fact that she digs ugly men. It’s so Paulina Porizkova, don’t you think? So anyway, back to Mischa’s gargantuan flaw: quite obviously, her acting. When every fathomable emotion – from anguish to ecstasy to despair and back again – when each of these is played with NO variation, and the EXACT SAME expression, it’s no wonder why she’s spending her summer attending classes in London. But what if the formal instruction pays off? What if there really is a thespian underneath the pretty? Can we handle a perfect Mischa to go along with the perfect face and the perfect eyes and the perfect skull sweater I covet for my closet??? Sounds good to me. If only to throw it in Paris Hilton’s face. That little virus needs a takedown. And hey – if it means turning Mischa Barton into Oscar-worthy material (snort), so be it. Photos from Saving Face