Fug File: BAFTAs
Okay, nobody is wearing bracelets anymore, apparently. Is there a devastating bangle shortage in Hollywood? Do we need to throw a benefit concert at which The Bangles will play, bewailing the near-extinct wrist jewelry and the cruel anti-arm movement that has extinguished it? Will they sing “Walk Like An Egyptian” and add in several referenced to the fact that doing so would require a lot of bracelets IF ONLY THERE WERE ANY TO BE HAD? Because I will promote that gala.
That said, I like the gown. Maybe that’s kooky of me, but the massive spiky sun made me smile. She looks glamorous and different and, indeed, like she’s fond of the Ancient Egyptian art of gilded drama. And she also looks like someone who might bring stuff in her bag for doing people’s Zodiac charts in the powder room, which would be totally fine with me as long as she stacks the deck for ol’ Leo a little bit and stops telling me things like, “Check with your cell phone provider this month to see if you can get a better plan.” BORING.
The Downton ladies do love their Erdem.
And with good reason. Despite the fact that it anagrams to merde, that is perfect on her. It NABs (technically that should be just NAB, because it’d just be “Needs A Bracelet,” but I’ve decided that with our acronyms it’s the Wild West up in here and I’m getting cocky with my pistols), and the shoes look a tiny bit more like a bedroom fetish she couldn’t remove without taking the skin along with it. But it’s nice to see Edith looking happy. I’m sure Laura Carmichael does just fine in real life, but to compensate for her alter-ego’s travails, I find myself wanting her to squire around town the most absurdly hot person of her desired gender that she can find. The BAFTAs are a good place to start shopping.
might as well come dressed as another, eh?
[Photos: Getty, Splash]
Let’s award points for the color.
I am then going to retract said points for the torso triangle, the bandaged effect around it, and all the little fangs hanging off her waistband — perhaps they are icicles, in an ode to the polar vortex — as well as for the fact that she looks like she’s trying to re-conceptualize the hula. Don’t take the grass skirts and coconut bras away from young ladies who need Halloween costumes. It’s unkind.
This one is from the Chanel show that Karl Lagerfeld did in Dallas, and I’ve decided he’s punking us with it.
It feels more like a vaguely Southwestern screen-saver that someone put out in 1999, to try and combat the appealing hilarity of Flying Toasters. Or a Tex-Mex ballet — Swan Lake Travis, say, or Cinderalamo. Pick your poison. Just don’t actually consume it, like she did.