Megan Fox is in the new issue of Esquire, and if anyone thought she might be another one of these stars who has their interviews filtered through a publicist, this should put an end to that. Because she's candid. Psychotically candid.
Others in her situation have found release in booze and pills. Fox has found hers in church. "I have seen magical, crazy things happen. I've seen people be healed. Even now, in the church I go to, during Praise and Worship I could feel that I was maybe getting ready to speak in tongues, and I'd have to shut it off because I don't know what that church would do if I started screaming out in tongues in the back."
Luckily, weirdness is right at home in Esquire, who fag up - every - single - interview - and profile they ever do with a hot girl by studying her features the way a serial killer would right before turning her into a lamp.
The symmetry of her face, up close, is genuinely shocking. The lip on the left curves exactly the same way as the lip on the right. The eyes match exactly. The brow is in perfect balance, like a problem of logic, like a visual labyrinth. It's not really even that beautiful. It's closer to the sublime, a force of nature, the patterns of waves crisscrossing a lake, snow avalanching down the side of a mountain, an elaborately camouflaged butterfly. What she is is flawless. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her.
Are... are we still talking about Megan Fox? What was all that about a labyrinth and butterflies and an avalanche? It's like Esquire is trying to sell us a racehorse.