You The Jury: SWINTONfest ’09


Know what makes a holiday long weekend even better? Returning to work and finding that SWINTON has been a social butterfly. She’s been flitting from flick to flick at the Venice Film Festival, so let’s put her cavalcade of fashion on trial, shall we?

First up is this number:

The prosecution collectively winces and pulls out a giant pair of sunglasses, citing the retina-searing potency of SWINTON’s red-orange lipstick. The lead attorney then asks if she needs the number of a good blacksmith to get those hooves shod, and suggests she needs to be fed more regularly. The defense snorts that the shoes are funky, and compliments SWINTON on her choice of navy and the intricate, sleek draping of this dress. At this, the prosecution chortles and submits the following alternate angle into evidence:

The courtroom goes wild, buzzing with whispered nonsense as only the best fake courtroom can. The prosecution triumphantly declares this bunched, sloppy, and caftan-lite, while the defense resolutely insists that it’s interesting and sleek. The judge bangs the gavel and orders the bailiff to deliver an In-N-Out burger to SWINTON via her manager and asks to see the next outfit.

Exhibit B:

The defense leaps in to suggest that a white jacket-and-pants combo is very clean and crisp for a late summer day; the prosecution counters that two different shades of white serve only to make the trousers look dingy, and separately wonders if she stole her bottoms off a naval officer during a randy patch of shore leave. The defense snorts that this is an unpatriotic inference, but the prosecution insists that there is nothing more patriotic than hoping our hard-working, self-sacrificing men and women of the military Get Some. The judge concurs with the last point, and asks the attorneys to move along before the jury gets distracted fantasizing about hot bodies in uniform.

Exhibit C:

The defense bursts into applause at SWINTON’s bravery in wearing a deceptively simple sheath that has a cape in the back. Leaping to its feet, the prosecution snootily suggests that SWINTON watch The Incredibles and learn all about what happens when errant capes get sucked into jet engines and/or fatally snag themselves on something perilous. There is some discussion about whether the back can be flipped forward and used as a bib, protecting her dress against spilled wine and marinara and whatnot, before the prosecution suggests this is not in fact SWINTON but an unfinished, creatively posed wax replica that hasn’t been through Madame Tussaud’s makeup lab yet. The defense is too busy trying to glue tiny platforms to its shoes to have a response.

Next up:

The prosecution loudly asks if SWINTON found her funereal bathrobe at Bed, Bath & The Great Beyond, and wonders if she left her scythe at home. Sullenly, the defense mutters something about how if Death came calling in the form of SWINTON we would all willingly go early. The prosecutors chest-bump and dispatch a paralegal to get the vodka out of the freezer.

Moving along:

The courtroom is silent. The defense huddles, thrown off because nobody knew SWINTON ever engaged in casual wear. Seizing the moment, the prosecution wonders what paragon of lunacy wears satiny sweatpant-type things, much less adding a blazer. The defense counters by saying that it really likes her purse, because really, that’s all it can say — the prosecution is too busy shouting that these look like mismatched pieces from a line of sleep tuxedos.

And finally:

The defense notes that, obviously, SWINTON is simply out walking the family pet. The prosecution wishes it had saved that tuxedo reference for this picture, but pulls itself together enough to applaud SWINTON for wearing a shirt that has a built-in napkin. Drunk off the power of SWINTON’s fashion cocktails, the judge calls an end to the proceedings and sends the jury off to deliberate.

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