It’s a happy birthday to Keira Knightley, who turns 22 years old today. I don’t want to hate — really, I don’t — and it’s a totally superficial thing, but when eager-beaver friends ask about seeing celebrities up close, and who’s “hot” and who’s not, Knightley’s is for some reason a name that always pops into my head in the latter category.



Yes, I totally see the Natalie Portman resemblance given the right angles, but — and a certain friend will literally attempt to murder me for saying this — I guess she’s never particularly moved me either. (Maybe it’s that the latter looks too much like my sister.)

To be sure, Knightley is certainly photogenic, and seemingly naturally playful, candid, wittily self-effacing and spunky in a way that many young American actresses so obviously labor at under direction of their cabal of publicists (which Knightley doesn’t have… another reason to love her). I just don’t find her that worth lusting over. Up close the very “Britishness” of her features — larger ears, that intriguing jawline — combine to give off a slightly alien effect. And the skin is frequently airbrushed, though, again, Knightley cops to that, of her own volition.

Wait… this started out as a happy birthday post, right? Jeez, you can tell I don’t write for Hallmark…