The Black Strapless Brigade

My vote for greatest invention of of the last I dunno how many years has got to be the DVR. No other way would I be able to wade through the television coverage that now surrounds any of the major awards shows. There is a lot of inanity and foolishness to fast forward through (Call me crazy, but I honestly don't care how Jane Krakowski's fiancé proposed to her. All good things to you, sweetie, but really -- don't care.), just so you can hear the four most important words anyone has to say that night: "My dress is by..."

There was, as usual, a lot of black on red at the Golden Globes last night, and what's more it seems like nearly all of it was strapless. I do understand the urge toward the black dress -- I have several myself and have to remind myself to skip over them when browsing, because really, how many do you need? (The answer is "More than you'd think," if you're me.) But unless the dress is either spectacular or a spectacular bomb, it's just going to fade into the mists of memory. Of course, that may well be what some of these ladies were aiming for...

I don't know who she is. This dress sure doesn't make me care.

Julie Bowen. Lovely girl, nice dress, she really does look pretty, it fits well -- she looks like she can actually sit down, and her breasts aren't on display like a Pussycat Doll. Just... unmemorable.

Sophia Loren in Armani Privé. Still glam after all these years, but I have a few quibbles. Namely -- her hairdresser apparently hasn't left the salon or even looked out the window since the mid 80's. And those glasses! Seriously, I think she stole my Grandma Merridy's glasses (around the same time as her hairdresser went underground) and has been wearing them ever since. Someone get the woman to an optician! Still, bringing the va-va-voom like that at her age? Hats off to you, Madame. You are an inspiration.

Speaking of bringing it -- Glenn Close in what I'm going to guess is also Armani (she wears a lot of Armani). Nice work, although not particularly inspired, perfect fit. I guess the one up side of reaching a certain age in Hollywood is that the stylists stop insisting that your clothing fit you like Swarovski-encrusted shrink-wrapping, and you can actually enjoy your chicken Kiev and a glass of champagne without worrying about any major wardrobe crises.

Susan Downey and her husband (mysecretboyfriend) Robert Downey, Jr. This is so conservative for him, and he looks great. If we can just get him into a tie, all will be perfect. She looks beautiful, too, but... ya know. Another strapless black dress, this one sparkly.





Well, here's black strapless with a twist. Julianne Moore in Balenciaga with Tom Ford in one of his own impeccable tuxedos. (Say what you will about the guy, despite his everpresent Miami Vice homage, the man cuts a sharp as hell suit.) I love the fabric of this, which looks like some sort of hammered silk, and I like the idea of it, but it's just not going anywhere. Perhaps it's her terrible, droopy posture that's throwing me off. She's going to get crucified by the Fashion Talking Heads for this, but Julianne Moore does really appear to like fashion -- she wears a lot of Balenciaga and other forward labels.





I don't know who she is. Giant black strapless dress, with somewhat interesting detail. Somewhat.





Carey Mulligan, adorable yet forgettable in Nina Ricci.




Penelope Cruz in Armani Privé. It will surely be one of the Great Fashion Mysteries of 2010 -- how the HELL do you make Penelope Cruz look dumpy???? Well, here's how. Also, what's with the cheerleader hair and makeup? Seriously, looking back on my freshman year of college in the early 80's, all of the girls rushing sororities looked just like this.

Courteney Cox in Victoria Beckham. Impeccable but boring. What excited me most about this was seeing her husband David Arquette, a man famous for having a closet that was the sartorial equivalent of a three-ring circus, look normal, in a nice, neat, no frills tuxedo. Not a hint of tartan or embroidery or sparkly embellishment to be found anywhere. Go, David!

No idea who this is. But the dress is winning. That thing is swamping her like a mudslide. Seriously, she's going to need a tranquilizer dart for that dress or she's not going to make it home alive.

Vera Farmiga in Dolce & Gabbana. Oh, dear. Hint: do not make a mermaid-silhouette gown designed to fit like a second-skin out of fabric heavy enough to be your spinster great aunt's winter bedspread. It will not end well. Also, did no one notice that there is a big ol' rosette right on her boob? Is that some sort of joke?? I'm so not laughing.

It wasn't all black. It wasn't all bad. But it sure as hell wasn't all good. Stay tuned & I'll share my thoughts on a few more tomorrow.


Photos: Style.com, Huffingtonpost.com, celebuzz.com, yahoo.com, goldenglobes.org

Let the Yawning Begin

Awards season is upon us. The Golden Globes are this Monday night, and other, less-televised shindigs have already been happening. This is the time of year I live in a constant state of fashion frustration, because the clothes are so boring. Oh, my gosh -- I just cannot get over the fashion opportunities these people just toss away over their bony, bronzed shoulders.

When I used to live in New York City, I developed a theory about diner food. I surmised, through several years of assiduous research, that there was one giant diner kitchen located beneath the center of Manhattan. Connecting this kitchen to every diner in the city was a giant series of pneumatic tubes -- you know, like the ones they used in banks or department stores in the '20's and '30's. A cadre of sweaty guys made tuna melt after tuna melt and slung them into these tubes and pushed the "send" button, then they raced from beneath Times Square to Chelsea or Park Slope or Washington Heights, and we ate them (I'd also like a side of fries smothered in brown gravy, please) late at night after we'd had too many beers in various dive bars with our friends.

I've developed a similar theory about stylists in Hollywood. I think there's only one of them, and she sits, Miss Havisham-like, in a nimbus of cobwebs and moldy satin and torn tulle on a Mario Buatta-upholstered chair in the center of a faux-Mediterranean mansion high up in the Hollywood hills. Her minions scuttle about Los Angeles, ensembling starlets and producers' wives in outfits that all come from a database of approved looks churned out by their Mistress. The Mistress insists that no one stray from her strict style dictates. If you do so, she will loose upon you her Fashion Harpies (oh, come on, you saw that one coming) to punish you with their piercing shrieks and tearing claws.

I don't know how else to explain the complete lack of creativity or sense of fashion adventure that permeates these events. Sure, most of them look nice. But really -- is "nice" all you want?

Here's a ferinstance:


Eva Longoria. Bee-yooooo-ti-ful girl. (And fellow Texan, I might add.) And the dress, well, it's nice. Red is my favorite color, so points for that. But it's soooooo predictable. It's long, it's slinky, it shows off her body, it fits her to a trice, it's zzzzzzz....

Sorry, I drifted off.

Do you know what I'd wear to the Golden Globes if I were Eva Longoria? If I were absolutely stunning and possessed of a perfect figure, an obscene amount of disposable income, and the drag to get pretty much anyone I wanted to make me a dress? This! I'd wear THIS:

(Alexander McQueen, Spring 2007)

I would probably leave off the floral headdress. Because the folks sitting behind me at the awards would have a tough time seeing around it.

But she won't wear that. She (and the rest of 'em) will wear something tasteful and all one color and cut on the bias and genteelly revealing and that basically functions as an advertisement for her personal trainer. And she'll probably show up on about 30 Best-Bressed Lists.

Yawn.