The paparazzi mistook me for her and the Mail Online published incredibly unflattering photos of me all over the internet. Now, I’m a little less thrilled.
I never saw the photographer. I was simply dashing to look at an apartment in Burbank. I went in, I saw the property, I left. I vaguely remember noticing a gardener behind a bush. He must have been the paparazzo. I walked to my car; I drove back to work. That whole day I regretted my choice of outfit - I went with jeans (which I wear maybe once a month) and a flannel shirt and one of my preferred pageboy caps. It was too hot for that outfit.