Brooke Shields is an idiot. What did she expect when she trekked to the Kopenhagen Fur Studio in Denmark to design her own fur coat with a photographer and making statements like this?:
“I will advocate that both my generation and the younger generation can wear fur. I will wear the fur garment when I follow my children to school, when I drink coffee and when I sleep.”
Why don’t you just dance around a PETA building throwing foxtails and live rabbits in the air? Did they turn down your offer to go nude or something? As expected, the organization responded and even went for the what-happened-to-your career blow.
“When I was a little girl, I dreamed about growing up to be a rock star,” PETA posted on their website. “Or maybe a veterinarian. Or a roller derby queen. I didn’t dream about anally electrocuting animals on fur farms, but apparently Brooke Shields did. We understand that when some actors’ careers begin to fade, they’ll do just about anything to stay in the limelight.”
I’ve never seen Brooke have the balls to wear any fur out, but maybe I missed it. She of course forwent it in the New York May weather at the The Film Society of Lincoln Center’s 37th Annual Chaplin Award gala last week (May 24). But here’s the real question: what about all those people whose eyes she’s fucking up with her glaucoma mascara?