Oh, Ms. Wearstler. Kelly, Kelly, Kelly.
This is the wearst.
I’m curious how the Oscar race will shake out, because while Sandra Bullock is great in Gravity, it’s not really her movie or Clooney’s movie so much as it is the director’s movie. It’s a showcase of technique. I read that it was originally supposed to be Angelina Jolie and Robert Downey, Jr., and in a rarity, I think it would’ve been close to the same experience with them in it. Sandy does do some of the character’s backstory and introversion better than Jolie might’ve, I think, but still — the point is, to me, it belongs to Alfonso Cuaron more than it does to the performers or their performances, and I suspect voters might agree. But it depends whom she’s up against. Against whom she’s up. Up against whom she is. No: “It depends against whom she’s competing.” THERE we go.
It is not a spoiler to tell you that there are several moments in Gravity where I thought, “I want her arms and her legs for Christmas.”
That is still true. And her lipstick is great, and I like that she looks strong and healthy and fit but never deprived. But she doesn’t give off an aura of being at one with the Stella McCartney dress. It’s a smidge short — like, Kristen Stewart short — and just sort of… there. Her legs are stars, but her torso is rendered totally free of topography, it almost seems like it’s too small on her shoulders, and her head seems tense, like it would rather be poking out of a sweatshirt while she took Louis out for burgers in Austin. Which may be true. She could put that sweatshirt on OVER this dress, and she’d look like a walk of shame in progress, and yet still it might be better than her seeming so stiff and underwhelmed by herself. Remember from 10 Things I Hate About You: “You can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever be whelmed?” “Um. I think you can in Europe?” Well, she was definitely whelmed in Europe. FIND YOUR EUROPE, SANDY. BE WHELMED. HAVE A WHELMING.
I took one look at this and thought that if any tiny little part of Blake Lively misses her life in the public eye, before she married Ryan Reynolds and stopped doing anything or going anywhere, that part of her just got shivers of jealous ecstasy.
That lacy fabric is pretty. That doesn’t mean it’s okay to just dump it on somebody like a bridal cocoon. And why is she hiding interesting shoes? And what is the ruffly lacy stuff doing on her pelvis? Why am I ever asking the question, “What is that doing on, or to, her pelvis?” Why can’t people’s pelvises have peaceful lives, unmarred by rude design? SAVE THE PELVIS.
I’m going to start a ribbon campaign. It will be flesh-toned, obviously, but also bear the hallmarks of common groin-related fashion infractions. Like out-of-place froofery, like with Margot here, but also conditions from which she doesn’t suffer: wrinkles, polterwang, and a strange tightness in parts, while also seeming slightly pregnant. It’s going to be one hell of a ribbon.
I feel right now the way I did a few years ago, when nobody wore anything without jamming a pair of leggings under it.
I need sheer to STOP. I’M OUT. I’ve got nothing. My well is dry. I’ve made all the window jokes, the bra-mask jokes, the forgot-your-real-shirt jokes, the thank-god-she’s-wearing-lingerie jokes, the boobs-craving-attention jokes. I’m beyond not liking this trend; I’m EXHAUSTED by it. This is just another cute girl in another misappropriated exotic tablecloth with another set of boobs playing peekaboo through some lace and LA LA LA LA CAN WE PLEASE GET PAST THIS BEFORE GLOBAL CREATIVITY OFFICIALLY DIES AND MY CAPS LOCK KEY GETS STUCK THIS WAY? THANKS.
I think someone is suffering from attention deficit disorder.
That is to say, the fear that there is a deficit of attention being sent her way now that her husband was on the cover of People in a story about how He’s Super Cut Now, and all anyone remembers of her lately is that she’s been waitin’ all day for Sunday night. But Faith Hill is lovely, and Faith Hill is a country legend, basically — or at least headed that way (is she Rayna Jaymes, one wonders?) — and so it seems a shame that she’s decided the answer is wearing a lacy hook-and-eye nightmare straight out of some catalog called Boudoir Love Triangle. You are Faith Hill. You don’t need visible hotpants to be hot.