Claudia Winkleman: Take It From Me

Now, embarrassing though this may be (embarrassing that I even had an opinion, and quite a strong one at that), I was always a Team Angelina kind of girl. Sure, I never wore the T-shirt (they were for 14-year-olds), and I didn't make a song and dance about it, but the bottom line is that Jennifer Aniston doesn't seem that fascinating.

All that fuss about a feathered haircut (I mean, really) and it was obvious she wasn't Rachel in real life. Rachel was funny and kooky – Jen was tight-lipped and a little bit cagey and moany. You don't like the paparazzi, love? Stop wearing a see-through shirt and nothing else for Mario Testino and maybe you'll be in with a chance...

Plus, she wears a lot of beige, a lot of taupe and a lot of mushroom. Be completely honest – have you ever met someone who you thought was truly clever or interesting or witty who wore fawn? Enough said.

Now I grant you, the real dullard in the triptych is Brad Pitt – let's be clear, the minute a man says he's interested in architecture it's time to make your excuses and leave. So he can talk about, uh, the merits of hexagonal rooms and lately he's been seen in, wait for it, a leather flat cap.

I've thought about this for a while and there's absolutely nothing that can be said about a leather flat cap that isn't horrendously offensive.

It wasn't worn at a fancy dress party and it wasn't worn on set. He was off to a premiere with his girlfriend and he said "yuh, uha, the black leather one please" and then he carefully placed it on his head and he was out the door, in a cab and on his way to Leicester Square.

Plus, you can't pull off the "didn'teven think about it – just grabbed it off the side" when you're that rich and famous. Nine people would have been in Harvey Nichols all day picking out an outfit for him – and chances are Brad even tried on different "looks" and Polaroided them. I am not making this up.

Anyway, enough about his fashion mistakes. The point is, I always got why he'd run off with the big-lipped daughter of the midnight cowboy. She wore blood round her neck belonging to her lovers, she looks amazing in a pair of jodhpurs (this is an extraordinary feat in itself) and when she's not winning Oscars and French-kissing her brother, she's actually trying to save the world. While some stars rock up to the odd charity party in a long dress to get papped, Angie is actually at the UN making people pay attention to the plight of refugees. You see – just more interesting to be around.

But this week, I'm afraid she's lost me. In her latest interview, she's claimed she's feeling sexier since being pregnant with twins.

Really? I mean, really? You want to repeat that one more time for me, sweetheart? Us normal people didn't quite hear you. More. Sexy. Pregnant. Twins. That's the gist, though, right? That even though you've put on three stone, you can't shave your own legs, your stomach is covered in some sort of goose down and you've got piles the size of melons coming out of your arse, there's nothing you like more than throwing on some pregnancy lingerie and getting into your big fat bed and rubbing yourself in oil before banging your superstar partner? That's really what you're telling us? That even though you need to pee every four minutes, that you can cry about nothing for hours, that you get in the shower with a super-size Snickers just in case you get peckish in the middle of washing your hair, that through all this you feel more sexy?

Smart girls knew that Brad was never going to opt for happy dull biscuit-loving (wearing, not eating) cheerleader Jen and we were willing him to have more fun with you.

"Go to Kenya and adopt another kid," we screamed at him. "Sure, pick the girl who is crazy and wild." But now you've gone and blown it all...

Now, some people do feel sexy when they're pregnant. But that's a filthy "let me get my hands on that plumber and his friend" sort of sexy and it doesn't last throughout the whole nine months. Pregnant women are "glowing" because they are sweating. Because rivulets of perspiration are running from their armpits down to their feet (which go up a size, by the way)

So, Angie – you'd alienated us a tad already, what with your amazing looks and your extraordinary life, but we were still on your side. You adopt lost children and hire incredible helpers. "One lady's a Vietnamese teacher – wonderful. One is of Congolese descent from Belgium. Another is from the States and is really creative and does art programmes..." (Vanity Fair, July 2008, page 80) but we were with you.

However, the sexy while pregnant thing has pushed us over the edge. Come back boring beige girl – at least, like your hair, you'd have been straight.