Beyonce may have been the Omega of transparency on the red carpet last night, but there were plenty of other comers before her — including the Former Queen of Spiky Bangs Rooney Mara, and the pretender to her throne, Marion Cotillard.
I say “pretender” because, while they’re a little dated and feathered (despite being so short) on Marion, they also don’t distract me from how adorable her face is. Whereas Rooney’s just looked like traumatic event — which is apt for Lisbeth Salander, but rough sledding for a starlet.
Let’s consider the outfits, though. Marion here has a gown that I think might have been truly gorgeous, had the ombre effect been opaque, rather than an exercise in skirty-hose — you know, sheer like nylons, flowy like a dress. Sometimes I just think, look, if you want to wear booty shorts that badly, then stick to your guns and wear them and hang the consequences. Let us hate them if we must, or love them if we dare. Just don’t prevaricate.
Ditto to Rooney:
The bodice is quite lovely, but the rest is like the unholy marriage of a veil, granny panties, and a codpiece. And it’s stressing me out — to me, these dresses would feel like wearing a bathing suit around all night. I don’t even like wearing bathing suits for the thirty seconds I spend shopping for them, much less in public, at an event where I’m going to be photographed and/or will need to eat. Is that my problem, not Rooney’s? Sure. But it also means that, as a consumer of what’s being peddled here, I’m less captivated by its vision than grateful I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt.