I’m tired of hating jumpsuits. That doesn’t mean I’m going to soften on them; just that, like leggings, I’m running out of emotional energy to deal with them. Now every time I see one, I just want to go lie down and hope Jessica writes about it instead.
I mean, look at it. They’re not pantaloons, they’re pantaballoons. And the rosette unfolds as if she knifed herself in the belly. There’s disliking a bleedin’ jumpsuit, and disliking a jumpsuit that actually looks like it’s bleeding. I score on both fronts, as it happens.