I am not opposed to a blazer, but I think it’s best not to walk out of the house looking like an accident of proportions.

To me, the combination of the huge jacket and clingy illusion-of-transparency dress just bespeaks a scene from a TV show where someone’s wife gets hammered at a work party and decides to confront her husband’s foxy colleague, then ends up screaming, “NICE UTERUS YOU HUSSY” before lunging at the woman and ending up in the pool, at which time her husband’s deeply sympathetic and maybe better-looking co-worker drags her out of the party, but not before she slurs, “I QUIT this cheap-ass operation and IT’S NOT EVEN REAL CHAMPAGNE.” So, you know, a rollicking good night, but not a rollicking good outfit.