Victoria Beckham fascinates me. She fascinates me in the same way some people slow down to watch an accident. I mean, I just can’t turn away no matter how much I might want to! I have to see what she’ll do next. Which I’m sure makes her very happy, as unmitigated attention whores don’t really care why you look at them, as long as you look.

So, as we know, Posh is in NYC for Fashion Week. No friends to keep her coming; no Eva Longoria–who actually has a job, no Katie Holmes–who, well, who knows what she does but it entails getting her husband’s approval, just Posh. Posh wearing another tight, tiny dress–this time in bright orange. All the better to match her skin, I guess. And with the blonde hair? She looks like a creamsicle–only with more sour than sweet.

She really needs to lay off the mystic tan. I know she lives in L.A. now, and she loves L.A., and everyone is so welcoming and friendly to her in L.A., and L.A., L.A., L.A., but she doesn’t need to blend in that much. I mean, she’s already got the fake boobs–isn’t that enough?