Dear Cindy McCain,
I know you are under a lot of pressure right now -- what with Michelle Obama making Vanity Fair's Best Dressed list and your husband being called out for wearing $520 Ferragamo loafers during his meeting with the Dalai Lama and all-- but I can't help but notice a little problem emerging, and like the good girlfriend I am, I wanted to bring it to your attention before it gets out of control. How do I put this nicely? You're leaving cute blond territory and are on a straight trajectory to Tammy Faye. At the moment I put you right around Dolly Parton -- minus the impressive cleavage. Not that you seem to know it from some of the shirts you've been, er, flaunting lately.
Your descent has been gradual. For instance, see how elegant and pretty you looked on Leno in April?
And then here you are in May, still looking lovely albeit with some overly aggressive makeup.
You even managed to look calm and downright presidential yourself while kissing the current president.
And who can forget your striking Harper's Bazaar shoot?
Then suddenly in May, you took a tragic turn towards the bouffant and serious cleavage.
In late June, yowzers.
And by the end of July we came to this.
Cindy, body and volume are great, but this is rodeo queen. I realize that you are trying to appeal to a very conservative demographic, one that actually embraces Dolly and Tammy Faye but even those venerable ladies would tell you that hair is tacky and the blouse is retro '80s and not in a everything-old-is-new way.
I'm not trying to be catty. By all accounts you seem to be grounded, interesting and possibly the best thing about your husband's campaign-- but next time you have a photo op, even if it is deep in the heart of hairspray-and-mascara country, ask yourself "What would Condi Rice do?" Or at least get Stockard Channing on the phone because if you don't actually get to be the First Lady come this fall, you could at least play one on TV.