Stop the madness
There is a very serious epidemic ravaging Hollywood. It strikes indiscriminately: old or young, rich or poor, famous or not-really-famous-but-still-more-well-known-than-you. It can appear pretty, or it can be exposed for the tangled mess it really is. It is the epidemic of hair extensions, and it has got to stop.
Jessica? Paris? Britney? (You, too, Jessica Alba!) We know that's not your real hair. You chopped off all your hair last month, remember? I know that Hollywood is very special and full of magical things, but I'm pretty sure miracle hair growth products—like, say, fifteen inches in three weeks—aren't among them. We can see your real hair peeking out near your collarbone. It's weird and, frankly, it's kind of gross. I speak as a survivor—yes, I was among your kind once. Many moons ago, I walked into the salon with shoulder-length locks and emerged four hours later sporting glossy, beautiful tresses that reached the middle of my back. I thought I was a rock star. My friends thought I needed professional help.
Only now, when I see the weaves in all of their "No way is that her real hair" glory, do I realize the error of my ways. Remove them! Free yourselves! Let your naturally short hair shine through! Or at least try to make it a little less obvious. It's hard to idolize you when you have a shaggy—yet oh-so-beautiful-and-stylized!—mop on your head.