Up in the Fug

I have many thoughts about Anna Kendrick. I spent a lot of Up in the Air thinking that a) she was excellent and b) her face is really small and c) she’s kind of Sophia Bush’s younger sister who has a better career but, you know, a smaller face. And that’s not even taking this into consideration:

I kind of get it from a floaty, ethereal wedding-cake-of-a-dress perspective, but what I don’t get are the tights and the shoes. I understand it’s January. But if you’re wearing a floaty, ethereal wedding-cake-of-a-dress, I don’t know if it’s advisable to wear the tights and shoes the rest of us would wear, say, to work with a sensible-but-cute wrap dress. And to an awards show. With George Clooney. (George likes to see some leg.) Also, I’m concerned: how do we think this ruffly bastard looks from the side?

Oh, Anna. Your boob is dirty. On the other hand, this mother’s got enough room in it for you to eat lunch AND dinner and as someone who, yesterday, actually tried to get in the shower while still holding a cookie, that I must salute. Also, even if I don’t like your outfit, at least you’re not still stuck playing the friend of someone who spent an entire movie chewing her lip after gallumping up a tree with a sparkly vampire. Just knowing that ought to keep you so warm you don’t need those tights.