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Haha I was right!!!!!! I remembered watching an old episode of Rich Girls when they were at the prom and I was convinced that I saw Mischa! Professional Children's School, right?Originally posted by purplelucrezia@Oct 13 2004, 08:32 PM
I do hate her very much, but anyway... At her prom.
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Originally posted by FashionVixen@Dec 2 2004, 01:16 PM
Haha I was right!!!!!! I remembered watching an old episode of Rich Girls when they were at the prom and I was convinced that I saw Mischa! Professional Children's School, right?
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Originally posted by geha@Dec 1 2004, 08:50 PM
That is a horrible coat! I do like her style (and all those chanel bags) but whats the deal with her bf? doesnt she have any friends? and doesnt she do anything else apart from shopping?
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Originally posted by erin_k@Dec 2 2004, 03:10 AM
i reaaally love her here.
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Sass and Bide- you can find some of their collection to buy on net-a-porter.comDoes anyone know the designer of this dress ?
I think it's mainly because she doesn't come off well in interviews, etc. At least that's a reason I don't like herOriginally posted by just Anna@Dec 2 2004, 11:04 AM
why do so much people hate her??????
could someone explain
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I personally used to like her until I read this interview and particularly this part:Originally posted by just Anna@Dec 2 2004, 08:04 AM
could someone explain
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When I ask what kind of fan mail she receives, Barton says, “It's fascinating the stories you'll get.” For example? In a weary, singsong voice, she says, “Like, 'I was in the war and my leg got cut off and I'm in the hospital. I'll never walk again, but all I can do is lie in bed and watch your TV show.' It's just—stuff you get.” She shrugs and takes another bite of swordfish. I ask if that letter came from a soldier in Iraq, and she says, “I don't remember. But that one was big on the list of, like, heart-wrenching stories. Are you joking? The O.C.? Surely there are more important things in life than my stupid show. But, like, okay, if you feel that way. I'm like, that's”—she chuckles and rolls her eyes—“nice.”
A couple of hours later we're at the nightclub the Troubadour, where a middle-aged blond enthusiastically chats up Barton. At the end of the evening, I ask what the woman said. “She knew an actress who had a small part in one episode. She said she was this person's next-door neighbor, and isn't she a great actress. And I said, 'Yes, yes,' to be polite. That's the thing about Hollywood,” Barton says, shifting on her three-inch heels and pulling up the right shoulder of her black minidress, which has been falling down all night. “Everybody knows someone. Or at least someone's sister's best friend's husband. Sweet, but painful.”
