Ashley Tisdale

Ashley Tisdale

Dear Ashley Tisdale:

Seeing you struggle to pick up loose change in your skin-tight, acid wash jeans before snatching an armful of Louis Vuitton luggage from the back of your Porsche Boxster S, we can't help but think: we've been here before.

We've certainly been through the clothes. Looking at you, we know how our own parents must've felt when bell-bottoms and fringe made a comeback in the early 1990s. Which is to say: terrified and appalled. Seriously, we know you kids think it's cute to wear the same duds mom and dad were wearing at the precise moment you were conceived, but it's not so fun for the rest of us -- even if your boots are Christian Louboutin and cost more than most sweatshop laborers earn in a decade.

We've also been through the Porsche Boxster phase -- most recently with your 20something peer, Robert Pattinson. Is he setting the trend? Or does your generation just have a collective death wish to follow in the footsteps of James Dean? Of course, we wouldn't complain if there were a few less of your colleagues roaming the streets (Aubrey O'Day comes to mind), but believe it or not, Ashley, we'd love to see you stick around. For one thing, you have a degree of talent, which is more than we can say of certain cohorts on The Hills. And for two, if you were to meet your demise, we'd have to deal with all the tsoris and tooth-gnashing of our nephews and nieces, who just loooooved you in High School Musical. Such things are not on our to-do list.

Bottom line: we love cute girls and convertibles, but please be careful out there. Without you, it'd be all Miley, all the time, and if she's not the Fifth Pop Tartlet of the Apocalypse, then who is?