We interrupt our regularly scheduled rants against the gooberment for a moment to contemplate something nearly equally important. I was too hopping mad to watch the Emmy's last Sunday and therefore was unable to comment properly on the fashion. Or lack thereof.
But I can back track (thanks to New York magazine on-line) and make just a few comments.
The Bad News:
Seems that all my least favorite fashion trends listened not one bit to Moi and instead merrily bounced themselves down the red carpet like a bunch of recalcitrant five-year-olds at the candy aisle at Wal-Mart.
One, the jumpsuit has invaded formal evening wear. Gag. Hack. Cough.
Worse yet, the poor woman looks like she's wearing one of those partition ropes you see at movie theaters and airports across her chest. What kind of statement is that supposed to make? Keep off? Move along? Get in line?
Then there's the plaid. For day, it's a big ol' lumber jack-assed mess (unless, like Doris Rose and Wicked, you happen to actually BE Scottish). But for evening? It enters a whole other universe of Gad Moi with a Manolo.
I imagine that when Henry Paulson hires himself some tacky ass 'ho's, 'cause no rational woman on the face of the earth would have sex with the man? They look like this.
Lord, I could just go on and on. Like, why did Marcia Cross, a woman whose bad ass hair color and peaches and cream skin have earned her a lifetime pass to looking fabulous all the time (except in plaid), decide to mess with her record for elegant restraint and outfit herself like a wayward Cinderella coming down off an acid trip just puked fairy dust all over an acre's worth of tulle?
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia: 46 is nothing to worry about, dahlink. It is, in fact, the new 36. And five years from now, when even greater leaps and bounds in anti-aging procedures arrive at a doctor's office near you? It will be the new 26. Or is that 31? Never mind – just don't start freaking out on me, okay?
The Good News:
So who did look great? Well, near as I can tell, only one person: My hero, Brooke Shields. Yes, this is one big ol' curtain o' pink and under normal circumstances, would send me running for the nearest brown paper bag. But sweet Christian Louboutin on a cracker, the girl pulls it off.
And for comparison: the gal from House who bought her dress from the bathroom curtain section of Bed, Bath & Beyond and another from Mad Men who, just, well. I'm always a little worried when ta-tas this large are given this much leeway. Although, I'm kinda groovin' on the green. You?