Mandy Moore Marries Ryan Adams
An Open Letter to Hollywood's Good Girl
Dear Mandy,
Congratulations. Not only did you manage to marry the love of your life without stooping to the infamous magazine-sellout gush-fest, you did so only a month after the proposal. You kept it quiet in a way that your peers can't manage. You chose Savannah, Georgia, instead of Rome, New York City, or the south of France. You kept it old-fashioned and wed before babies. You reformed a bad boy without destroying his edge. And you have respect in an industry that isn't big on celeb love.
Ryan may love you for handfuls of wonderful personal reasons we'll never by privy to, but here's why we think you're rather swell:
- You went short and brunette when your peers added weaves in lighter shades of peroxide. I gave my stylist your photo, not Jessica Simpson's.
- You starred in Saved. It was good. Your peers found themselves at a Crossroads. Or in Daisy Dukes. And when I cried during A Walk to Remember, it wasn't because your performance hurt my eyes. Thank you.
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You proudly weigh more than 97 pounds. Reason enough.
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Like with your wedding, you're quietly unpredictable. Your acoustic cover of Rihanna's "Umbrella"? Brilliant.
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When you and Ryan temporarily split, he offered the humblest public declaration of his own imperfection: "hold her hand, be thankful for her, ignore the cameras, and lose yourself in the girl not the game...don't be a fool, stand by your girl." And we suddenly understood the odd pairing.
Congrats again, Mandy. May you and Ryan be the exception to the celebrity rule and live happily ever after, writing innocent/angsty songs far away from the glare of the spotlight.
Cheers.
P.S. Never double-date with the Simpson-Wentz's, okay?
By Nadine Bells
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