Oh, poor Mischa. I'm really starting to feel for the girl, as she can't get a break with the cellulite thing. She's had the balls to go out in public in a miniskirt with totally normal thighs and, naturally, has been crucified by the Mail. A less secure girl would have run scurrying for the leggings after being called out numerous times for cellulite, but not Mischa--she's bound and determined to send a message to everyone that she's happy with her bod, just as it is.

Seriously, why does anyone care about the circumference of Mischa Barton's thighs? Pardon the sanctimonious tirade for a sec, but can you imagine how many homeless, handicapped war veteran kittens could have been fed for what the Mail probably paid for those photographs?  As Rachel points out, cellulite voyeurism has become "the great female equalizer." Does it really make you feel better if Cameron Diaz has a bumpy ass? Does the inverse work as well, in that you feel angry at the sight of Heidi Klum's perfect post-pregnancy body? 

Promise me you'll try one thing for the rest of the day: stop comparing your body to anyone else's. Don't wonder if someone is fatter than you. Or thinner than you. Don't analyze their boobs. Admiring their boots? That's cool, but stop short of anguishing about your fat calves that would prevent you from wearing them. I know it's hard, but you can do it.  Start here. Then go (probably NSFW) here and here. Mischa has faith in you.