Solange, I love you. I mean, I LOVE you. I think you are fabulous. Your hair is awesome. Your makeup is perfect. Your pants…wait. Shit. WHERE ARE YOUR PANTS?
On the other hand, is there not something divinely F You about attending the premiere of your sister’s self-made documentary about herself sans pants? It’s like saying, “your movie might be all about you you you but my legs are ALL MINE. ”