The other day, somebody wondered why we always Fug or Fab Angelina Jolie. All I can really say is, “Because I can never make up my mind what I think of her clothes.” it is very hard to separate her from her own mystique, from the sheer size of her fame and associated stature, and so all those things roll together to make you wonder if she’s wearing something legitimately good, or simply carrying off something you might not otherwise like, or in fact regally wetting the bed. She definitely has an authoritative air about her, she has a face that I personally think is her greatest asset in elevating her outfits, AND she has her own history of bland caftans to contend with that influences our relief over things like, say, this red dress:
She is also marriage-adjacent to Chaz Hands, formerly Ned Pantywaist, formerly the third-most successful Fiat dealer in all of Cannes, formerly B.Pittz, formerly Brad Pitt. And I’m so heartened to see him halfway back to the promised land that I might be blinded to all reality. Let’s take a look at Angelina on her own, for clarity.
Is it restrained that she left off the matching bright red lip, such a favorite among people who wear the color, or does it just look like she forgot — for the umpteenth time — to deal with anything above the neck? The dress itself, a Jenny Packham, is pretty and graceful on her, if not world-shaking. But she’s breaking out of her dour mold, so perhaps that’s enough of an earthquake for now, and we can move on to focusing on whether she’s eating enough protein and refined sugars.
Seriously, it’s like Chaz Hands is her minder, and she’s too whacked out on stomach acid to negotiate the red carpet by herself.