It’s one thing for Us Weekly to write around its celebrity subjects. But now the grand bastions of journalism are doing it too. First Rolling Stone wrote the (admittedly amazing) profile of Britney Spears. And this week New York Magazine has not one, but two, profiles written without the participation of their subjects, Chelsea Clinton and doofusy real-estate developer Aby Rosen. Granted, Lloyd Grove’s look at Chelsea on the campaign trail is enthralling, and she doesn’t talk to reporters anyway. But how hard could it be to get spotlight-loving Rosen on the horn? The result is like a better-written New York Social Diary entry parading as something serious.

J’adore Marion Cotillard en Jean-Paul Gaultier! He is the master of wrapping up sexy and classy into a neat little package that’s tied up with a dangerous little ribbon. She pulls it off too, with that womanly French je ne sais quoi. Magnifique!

Maybe it’s an act, but I’ve fallen completely for Carine Roitfeld’s self-presentation as fashion’s ultimate insider-outsider in Amy Larocca’s brilliant New York magazine profile of the French Vogue editor. An unapologetically candid femme fatale, Roitfeld feels so secure in her position that she seems to think little of casually dropping bombs all over the fashion map. Most notably, she offhandedly dismisses her American Vogue sister, Anna Wintour, as a “puppet.” However you say “ballsy broad” en francais, Roitfeld embodies it.

How hot does M.I.A. look in the new Marc ads? After all my feminist sermonizing about the Marc Jacobs anti-woman ad department, it’s such a relief to see MJ make a woman look so sexy in such a healthy way. Now I feel no guilt about buying a little Marc sweater vest at Barneys last weekend.

Okay, so we learned one thing from New York magazine’s dumb redo of the famed “Last Sitting” photographs of Marilyn Monroe, shot by the “I’m-gonna-live-off-my-Marilyn-pictures-forever” photographer-slash-pervy opportunist Bert Stern: Lindsay Lohan’s boobs are real.

Beyond that, can we please put an end to the mini-industry of channeling Marilyn? The pimped-out 21-year-old Lohan looks hopelessly juvenile aping the mature sexuality of a 36-year-old icon who overcame a truly tragic foster-care childhood, and then landed not one but two American all-stars, Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller. Lock-down ankle bracelets and Wilmer Valderrama are so minor league.

But give the talented, trouble-making LiLo 10 years. By then, she should be able to convey all the heartbreak.