Let me just say that I think Christy Turlington is as close to immortal as it gets. Her face is a dream. Total gorgessity, pure perfection. And in the supermodel heydey of the 90s, I worshipped her in the way that only gawky 15 year olds can worship. Magazine cut outs all over my bedroom, Fashion Television addiction - our front hall was my catwalk and Christy and Linda and Tatiana were my idols. I think it"s lovely that Christy has chosen to step gracefully away from the supermodel hell that has consumed her peers. Christy wouldn"t beat a bitch down with her cell phone, she wouldn"t get caught shoving coke up her nose, and she wouldn"t take emotional abuse from a famous footballer with a wandering pee pee. No…Christy got married. She"s great friends with my Gwynnie. She has 2 children, she does yoga, she supports cancer research, and she went back to school. All great things. But still. But still. Does pulling her life together exempt her from appropriate evening attire??? I"m not even going to attempt to understand the tie. Besides, I"m way too fixated on the low classy shoes. Look at the shoes! At a Vanity Fair party? Man, I never thought I"d compare Christy Turlington to a massage parlour worker with acrylic nails and a gift for manual stimulation but unfortunately, that is what it"s come down to. It hurts me gossips. And because it hurts so much, I"m going to ressurect some classic Christy. It"s the only way to help us forget.