Daytime Emmy Awards Fug Carpet: Judi Evans

Jun 30, 2010 By Heather AT 1:00 pm

Every season after the Oscars, one of the gossip mags does a whole spread on the designer-impostor versions of the red-carpet gowns — kind of “the look for less,” except usually only very tangentially accurate, and with no solutions on how to approximate all the badass borrowed bling short of making it yourself out of construction paper.

Anyway, at this year’s Daytime Emmys, I felt like I was bumped back in time to 2002 and handed that exact magazine spread. As a refresher, here is the original: Halle Berry on her winning Oscar night.
This is one of those iconic gowns that people remember even if they’re not sure what year it was, or what movie she won for, or what else even happened that night. Any attempt to echo it is almost assuredly going to be nothing but a pale evocation that makes people say, “Oh, right, I loved that OTHER dress,” so it takes real nuts to do it. And yet, and it seems Judi Evans has those cojones in spades:

Don’t get me wrong, I love Judi. I was a big fan of Jake and Paulina on Another World back in the day. But it’s just too similar, and not in a good way. It can’t even hide its own bra. She looks like she’s about to go shoot a scene where she’s lying on a bed, wrapped in red satin sheets and drizzled with rose petals, waiting for her lover to arrive so they can have carefully choreographed non-sex in soft lighting, and then bask in the afterglow under the covers while mysteriously still wearing all their undergarments. That can be very satisfying in a soap — mostly, though, because somebody is about to barge in and catch them, and/or one of them is saying over and over again, “We will never be apart,” and the audience knows that is a LIE because somebody’s crazy arch-rival who had a face transplant is about to throw them in a well and feed them only moldy bread and LIES — but not so much as a fashion statement. At least Halle’s looks like she’s about to get it on in the Garden of Eden or something. Much better than a cardboard hotel room with twenty crew members watching and a director yelling about where to put your thigh.

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