Peaches Geldof, the celebrity spawn who re-invents herself every few months without ever escaping the miserable fate of being Peaches Geldof, is trying on a new role for size. The sometime underwear model is now a post-feminist icon who won’t be fulfilling your Y-chromosome fantasies, testosterone boy. “It’s obvious I’m not dressing for men,” she explains. “I don’t want to be sexy. I’m like covered in tattoos. I have piercings.” Instead, she’d rather follow in the footsteps of feminist pioneers like, umm, these women:

The women who were championing things that were different. I loved Winona Ryder in her Beetle Juice [sic] and Heathers era and even when I saw Angelina Jolie on the red carpet, like, years before that Hollywood makeover and everyone was so weirded out because she had long, weird nails and a long, weird dress on.

Honestly, every time I hear Peaches speak or even imagine her speaking, I’m tempted to seek the sweet, sweet relief of jamming a pencil through my eardrums. It’s like listening to some UK knockoff of Eloise at the Plaza, only twice as bratty and half as smart. Peaches Geldof might be the only person on earth who would actually be less annoying if she became a mime.