This dress is like the cute little sister of Amanda Peet’s mess — or, maybe the little sister who is SECRETLY ACTUALLY THE DAUGHTER but has been raised as a sibling, a la one of my favorite EastEnders plotlines.
But I do wonder if it’s the cute little sister-daughter that should be worn by a cute little fourteen-year old, and not paired with cream shoes that look dirty next to it (or, if they are white and it’s just a shadow, matchy shoes that look heavy with it). I also want to pull her hair out of whatever side-coif that is. So let’s back up: frock is cute little sister-daughter to Peet’s dust-ruffle, and should be worn by a cute little fourteen-year old in different shoes who doesn’t look like her hair never grew back after little Johnny McGee cut off her right pigtail in kindergarten.
Phew. That may be the worst post I’ve ever written. I’m so sorry. Kaley, you deserved better. Fug Nation, YOU deserved better. Let’s just take a break and talk about something else. Like bedbugs. How’s that going? Are Jessica and I doomed in February when we go to Fashion Week? Or we could talk about Smash looks both terrible and tremendous, or how I might have to quit watching Biggest Loser, or how I HAVE quit Glee, or why those ads for Honda SUVs imply that you can’t go hiking or build a robot or, indeed, do anything, after you get married and have kids, because apparently the certificate and the spawn neuter your ability to be interesting. Or, we could discuss Rob Lowe’s dishy and amusing autobiography. Or why My Week With Marilyn was so boring. Or why feet are creepy. Or why no one has invented a utensil specifically for cleaning all that persnickety residue off cheese graters and Oxo potato mashers. Come on, America. INNOVATE.