On Tuesday, Vanity Fair published its summer cover story: a Rich-Cohen-penned profile of the actress Margot Robbie, who appeared most recently in “The Legend of Tarzan.” The profile was widely criticized, particularly for its opening lines. The original lede can be found here; below, some imagined first drafts:
There are no hot chicks in America, so we have to go to that place from which Mel Gibson and Iggy Azalea oozed to find a girl next door. In case you’re as backwards as everyone else in Australia and never saw “The Wolf of Wall Street,” her name is Margot Robbie. She is of age, if you know what I mean, and beautiful, not in that dear god what is that?! kind of way but like a saxophone solo in a rock song, a teal-and-mauve carpet, Al Gore doing the Macarena. She is blond but could probably get that shit touched up. She is tall, but not as much without heels, so don’t worry, my vertically challenged bros! Even while naked, she can be sexy but in, like, a classy way. As I said, she’s from Australia. For some reason, that makes a big difference.
America is so far gone, we have to go to that godforsaken spit of land where they dumped all the English criminals to find a girl next door. In case you didn’t read the cover of this magazine like some dummy, her name is Margot Robbie. She is young enough to be some 60-year-old retiree’s paramour, but not so young that it’s too creepy, you know? She is beautiful, not in that bored Ryan Reynolds at a party way but like a 7-year-old learning to play violin, a raw filet, an English folk dance. She has hair. She is tall but not when she takes off her shoes, like a witch. When she takes off her clothes, she is still hot. As I said, she is from that big patch of spider-y desert in the South Pacific. To understand her, place this magazine on your face and try absorbing its contents through osmosis.
America is so lacking in attractive females we have to go to a country where the average internet speed is even slower than it is in the U.S. In case you need absolute clarity, her name is Margot Robbie. She is just past her prime childbearing years, biologically speaking, and beautiful, not in that Emilia Clarke’s eyebrows way but like an aria performed while gargling, a bathtub drain clogged with hair, a deaf cat. She has yellow hair, but naturally it is brown. She is 5-foot-6 without heels, which seems like a reasonable height. She’s confident in her body but not too confident. As I said, she is from Australia, specifically Dalby, in Queensland, according to Wikipedia. To understand her, you should think about what that means, and then tell me.
America is so far gone, we have to go Australia to find a woman that we are attracted to but don’t find too intimidating. In case you’ve missed it, I will condescend to spell out her name for you: M-A-R-G-O-T R-O-B-B-I-E. She is far enough from age 30 to make me feel like a teenager again, and she is beautiful, not in that Iris Apfel’s glasses way but like a cassette tape of whale noises, a pickled radish, a pack of Showtime dancers. The exposed roots on her blond head prove she’s just basically down to chill. She is tall with the help of certain shoes, and I can’t honestly decide whether that’s a deal breaker. Sometimes, she takes off her clothes and poses for a camera because that is part of her job, I guess. As I said, she is from The Land Down Unda’. To understand her, go to any Outback Steakhouse and order the Bloomin’ Onion. Eat.
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