Jessica the Non Blonde

There’s one blonde Jessica Simpson moment, while I’m in the bar of Manhattan’s Ritz-Carlton hotel talking to one of her assistants, who’s holding the singer’s Maltese-poodle cross, Daisy.
The obedient pup is sitting placidly in the crook of his arm like a hand puppet until Simpson rounds the corner, shrieks at a level hitherto unknown to man, and showers her pet with a million kisses.

“Hey, Daisy baby, how was your walk?” she exclaims in her Southern accent. “How are you my darlin’? Look at you…” And on it goes, the high-pitched tone almost shattering the glassware until Daisy, unmoved, is escorted back to her suite.

It’s only as Simpson is simultaneously introduced to me and a chilled glass of pinot grigio that her voice returns to a normal pitch. “I’ve been in a small, dark studio all day,” she says, explaining the need for a glass of wine.

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