Saturday, I was scheduled to be at an event at 36th and Walnut. Had I not worn my gold wedge heels with the agonizingly biting heel straps, I would have walked. Instead, I took the trolley, got off at the wrong stop and had to toddle across Penn’s campus. It occurred to me along the way that I’d be more attractive if I walked gracefully in heels rather than clomped like a skinny-jeaned pack mule. So I decided to channel a famous actress and walk with her confidence. But I couldn’t think of anyone—it was like the US Weekly of my brain went out of print. The only famous person I could think of was Jessica Simpson, who I often think of, sympathetically, because we have the same body type: flat ass, big boobs, the ability to be skinny but a lamentable tendency to fatten up if we take our eye off the ball. No point in channeling her.