Critics’ Choice Awards Fug Carpet: Well Played, Katie Holmes

Certainly, there has been no shortage of moments in Katie Holmes’ life in recent years that have made us go, “Wait, SERIOUSLY?” And that’s just from the couch-jumping and the engagement and pregnancy and wedding and fashion-embracing and Posh-befriending; it doesn’t even include anything that’s happened behind closed doors. Not that we’re implying her husband is odd or anything. He’s totally normal to us. Everyone we know leaps onto their living-room set at least twice daily. Furniture is a thrill.

At any rate, all things considered, nothing should surprise me with her any more. Yet somehow I still caught myself saying aloud this morning, “Wait… SERIOUSLY? Since when did Katie Holmes become someone who could pull off a TOGA?”

Bear with me here, as we got a lot of e-mails from people who could not have hated this more — and who will, in fact, greet this with a, “Wait, SERIOUSLY?” of their own. So let me clarify: The dress itself does nothing for me. It definitely has the whiff of bedsheet about it, like maybe her exuberant husband grabbed one off the bed and ran around her twice and then screamed, “GLORIOUS,”  before hitting his head on the four-poster and passing out cold.

But Katie IN the dress… this I like. Granted, her first best move was to realize that America loves Suri, and that she should reinvent her cranium in her wee sprog’s image. They are seriously ever-more the spitting image of one another. As for the dress, though, it kind of takes on a Quality on her body. It’s still kind of boring to me on its own merits,  and I think on a lot of people I’d be wailing and pulling out my hair. Katie, though, looks really rather pretty. The makeup is tasteful, her bod looks amazing — I would very much like to borrow her shoulders, if she’s looking to broaden her range of charitable acts — and although the shoes are fairly standard, they ALSO appear to fit her, make her legs look fabulous, and don’t overshadow the overall look. As a result, I glance at the dress, but inevitably my attention turns to her hair, her face, her skin, her figure, and the fact that I am pretty sure she is eleven feet tall. And that’s how it should be. The dress isn’t wearing her; she, bluntly put, is wearing the shit out of it. So you go, Suri-Kate Holmes-Cruise. In my eyes, you won this one.

And feel free to have another kid, because you did a bang-up job the first time. I’m just saying. Think of our needs.