I’m sure there’s some practical interpretation of this outfit, despite the fact that it’s been totally warm in New York lately, and that’s where Gossip Girl films, and there is literally no reason for Leighton Meester to be wearing this bizarro concoction:

I don’t even watch Gossip Girl anymore. But that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t tune in if Blair — wracked with depression over something that is, I presume, yada yada Chuck yada yada Dan yada yada split ends yada yada yada — turned into a sad and wacky layers enthusiast whose big plot line involves her trying to make Birkenstocks happen in a way that doesn’t say, “I’m walking around this historic city a lot, so just appreciate that these Birkenstocks are vaguely good and shut up.” (I say this as someone who wears her metallic one-strap Birks on walking heavy vacations and is also someone who had to buy said Birks ON vacation last time she was in England. You win, London. You always win. My feet hurt and I really want to walk all over your interesting streets.) But the sweatpants under the cocktail dress? Even you, Blair Waldorf, can not make that happen. I HOPE. I HOPE TO GOD.