When first I laid eyes upon your tousled graying locks and hapless mug, you reminded me of someone else. Maybe someone I'd thought about subletting from once? Some executive I met at a long-ago conference, possibly organized by the toy industry association? I'll admit, I'm bad with character actors, but I felt pretty sure I didn't know you because you were famous. But how wrong I was! I knew as soon as you asked if you could kiss me.

"Celeste?" you said. "Is your name 'Celeste'?" No one would confuse me, Vincent, for a Celeste, any more than they'd take you for a straight man, so yes. I got your memo. You are famous, in a way, and that's why I thought I knew you, in a way. The only question now is, are you really famous? Certainly Project Runway is an absolutely huge show. A "phenomeonon," even. But alas like so many gigantic pop cultural phenomena โ€” 24, say, or Hannah Montana โ€” I don't actually watch it. These are fragmented times for the audiences of media properties, with highly consumptive, irresponsible demographics like mine so attractive to advertisers there are, at any given time, dozens, HUNDREDS of types of programming vying for our eyeballs. I might even venture to say there are too many famous people. And just as in the realm of the non-famous, sometimes even famous people have to distinguish themselves as, you know, famous. And so, for you and your funny little advance, I have two little words of advice:

Neck tatoos. Look into them.