I’m sure people in Fug Nation will disagree with me, as they all cherish La Blanchett (understandably), but I am going to come down on the side of confusion here.
The magic carpet skirt is a wee snug, but what’s really fascinating me here is the top, which appears to be in the throes of an identity crisis. Were it just a white blouse and a skirt, we might be onto something; ditto, were it a drapey black top with a tight bottom. But instead it is both. It is a collared demi-poncho. A bloncho. Which, if you imagine it in a deep Australian accent — personally, I’m hearing Bryan Brown as he was in Cocktail: a little sassy, a little evil, and a lot drunk — does actually sound a little like a Down Under slang word for hammered (“Streuth, I’m way too bloncho to drive you home”) or perhaps something Taco Bell would put on its menu. Like, the Bloncho Bell Grande. Indeed, that sucker IS a bloncho bell grande.
However, I need to take this opportunity to thank Ms. Blanchett for leaving the house so much in the past few days. It’s thin on the ground out there. I am thisclose to being forced to post a photo of Tara Reid walking on a St. Tropez beach with Ireland’s favorite cheeky chappies, Jedward. Wait, what am I saying? I will totally WILLINGLY post that photo. But other than that, it’s all, “British people we don’t know carrying the Olympic torch,” and, “Judge Judy goes to Madeo’s.” So bless you, Cate. BLESS YOU.