SWINTON wants to lull you into a false sense of security.
She wants you to think, “What a stylish lady in her suit.” She wants you to believe that’s all there is. She wantsyour digressions to be limited to, “I would totally let that woman do my taxes. But it’s tragic what happened to her feet. Sweet God, though, she’s tall, so if her pants are STILL hiding shoes, HOW LONG ARE THEY? Would they fit an NBA player? Are they Amar’e Stoudamire’s pants? Is she a Knicks fan? Can she grease the wheels of this Carmelo Anthony thing, please?” Because then, when she turns around, she will REALLY blow the lid off your mental Tupperware.
BAM. It’s like she’s already awarded herself the Wilbur “Some Pig” Award for Spectacular Excellence In SWINTONIA. In fifteen minutes a small, lovingly spun cobweb will appear on it that says, “SWINTacular.” And E.B. White will sit up in his grave, think, “Yep, that’s exactly what I thought the legacy of Charlotte’s Web would be,” and then pop out to buy some pajama jeans to make the rest of his eternal slumber more stylish.