Why Men Fear Sydney Sweeney

They say Londoners are never more than six feet from a rat; it’s the same with Hollywood blondes and telephoto lenses. And like the rats, paparazzi don’t tell the blondes they’re there. So, when Sydney Sweeney was papped last week on her sun lounger, she looked well, different from her red-carpet pomp — of course she did. Her hair was scraped into a bun, her face untroubled by the usual army of make-up artists, and faint red creases — those of a woman who had been happily slumped in the sun for a few hours — had formed about her waist.