It’s not GREAT, but I can’t muster up much animosity for the dress thing itself.
This is mostly because I am too distracted by the terrible shoes. She’s wearing trouser socks with platform sandals. That’s a Miss Hannigan move, to me. That’s the last refuge of a woman who’s been reduced to recycled lingerie and bathtub gin that she stirs with a broken chair leg; the garb of a misunderstood hero who has nowhere else to turn because her day job sucks and she has no cash and her brother is named after a farm animal. Hailee, my child, you have to EARN your Hannigan. And in all honestly, as awesome as Miss Hannigan is, you probably don’t want to — not really.