Monday, January 13

All Of The Feelings I Have On All The Golden Globes Dresses

Ah, the Golden Globes! Where the streets have no names, and are only slightly flooded with human feces.

If you’re me, this year will be remembered as the time stars slickly avoided parading themselves through shit-stained carpeting while smiling endlessly on camera. But, if you’re anyone with eyes and a mild sense of self-loathing, it will be the year everyone had toothpick arms. Straight up my-body-is-so-hungry-it’s-eating-muscle, get-cold-in-movie-theatres-from-lack-of-body-fat, "Why does Allison Williams look like she's giving blood? Oh, 'cuz her limbs are just like that now" toothpick arms. After watching this parade slunk by, I’d happily spent my life working towards fame if only because it's the single diet on planet Earth that’s proven to work. (Hello, Tina Fey’s newfound cheekbones!)

But really, are drugs cool again? Is it all that cardio dance? Is there a new Holocaust flick on the block everyone’s trying to get in!? Who the hell knows. It’s just too bad that the best accessory a star can have — a slim stature from a month-long feeding of green juice and the potential for mild anorexia — is something you sadly can’t pull from Lorraine Schwartz.

All I know is that if I go to bed without eating dessert, odds are I’m not going to be motivated to survive the following day. But hey, you know what did get me to wake up early this morning sleep through three alarms but still make it into the world within a decently acceptable time frame? THE DRESSES.

I’ve spent enough time dillydallying by dreaming of a BOP magazine-style pinup of Michael Douglas, so let's put that on the backburner and get to bidness, shall we?




The biggest upset of the night? That I actually fucking love Zooey Deschanel’s dress. I dig it because unlike those chiffon shifts or thirty-pound ballgowns that require three personal handlers, I like to think this is the type of situation one of us regular plebian gals would wear if ever scooped up by a B-list TV actor and brought alongside as his date. It’s not so fancy, and not so intense, but it would be a blast to wear and float past tables in while downing martinis and tricking Julia Louis-Dreyfus into giving you her digits.

Jesus Christ, someone give me the Robin Wright Guide To Life right now, because I want to be this woman. And real-life married to Kevin Spacey, but those are two seperate things.

Now, you can't completely see it here, but Sally Hawkins' vintage Dior dress was so glittery and glimmery that she looked like a one-woman jewel heist. I can't find an interview with her that would show this, because people only really care about J. Law, but if you're any portion of a magpie and don't think that level of shine is over-the-moon fanfuckingtastic, then you clearly don't get why this is such a wardrobe godsend.




If you haven’t seen Tatiana Maslany in Orphan Black, you should probably fake vomit in the work bathroom, go home and binge-watch the season right now. (Truth be told, my job is rather freelance-ambiguous, and even I am considering pulling this fast one on the bossman, yours truly.) She’s been playing a multitude of insane characters on the show, most specifically a gutter punk who wears and is kind of my secret style idol (more on that soon). But seeing her here, as a demure movie star, looking beautiful and in no way desperately grabbing for the attention she deserves? Nothing short of perfect.

Good god, if this broad wasn’t up for the role of Daisy Buchanan, then something isn’t right on this earth. Can you believe Kate Mara just floated to the background while her sister was dragged pouty-faced around town in sleek black dresses for a full year of media mayhem? I just love everything about her. I love that she wore this to the Met Ball — fashion's over-the-top Halloween night — and turned it up about thirty-five notches for the Globes. I love that she's gone from a doe-eyed Isla Fisher lookalike to a fucking gorgeous Grecian statue, not to mention one of the main inspirations to throw caution to the wind dye my hair ice blonde. (My favorite beauty blogger ain't helpin' that cause either, but that's for another day.)

And what is there to say about Margot Robbie that any heterosexual male has not thought? I won't even crack down on her thigh-high Jolie slit, because she’s so pretty, she could roll around in that poop-drenched red carpet and still look fabulous. Fact.




Thank god someone was finally holding it down on the Pleasantville front. I love Caitlin Fitzgerald's dress because you gotta put yourself in her Kate Spade-y shoes to appreciate it. Imagine you're a brilliant actress on one of the best shows this year, but the photographers screaming at you definitely don't know your name. When you try to bro down with Bryan Cranston at the after party, he's most likely going to assume you're on The Good Wife and hope you'll be a sport about it. And if Masters of Sex wins? Well, everyone's gonna be talking about your two co-stars, not you. So, instead of throwing on a slinky red dress and hoping your looks will carry you to Hollywood schmooze glory, you sport a bag-tastic Christening gown in a shade of Baby's Nursery blue instead. You've got balls, lady, and for that, I adore you.

Well, Laura Dern, if that’s not one way to say “Fuck you for not letting my show stay on TV,” I don’t know what is. Why are all of these women decades older than me but look so fantastic? It's got to be an Alien Invasion. Now it's all starting to make sense for why she looked so darn good in khaki shorts.

Having spent an hour at ABC Home & Carpet comparing sheen white sheets against opaque ones yesterday, Jennifer Lawrence’s dress incites a small bit of nervous interiors panic in me. But you know what? I love hotel beds. I love bustles. And maybe, now that I’ve been taught about how they work, I’m all about a good dust ruffle. So yeah, I’m into this. Because really, Jennifer Lawrence is like Kate Middleton: who cares what she wears? She’s still got the throne. Which means I can blatantly say this dress is terrible while simultaneously lauding it as one of the best. Oh, and for the record: she's proven could look good in a white recycling garbage bag. So, there.




If you want to know what knocking it out of the park looks like, take a looksie over at Lupita Nyong'o. I'm halfway heartbroken that Emma Watson's big fuck-you-fashion combination of a gown with pants would have been the most brilliant dose of red, if only this one wasn't cut so freaking perfectly. The color, the cape-y thing, everything, just perfect from head to toe. (Keep the pants shindig up though, Emma. It's fantastically weird.)

Trying to hunt down what Melissa Rauch wore was no easy task, and once I found it, I couldn't help but just love this. There's something so blissfully elegant about it, and dressing as the color as my favorite cholesterol vehicle earns her major bonus points, too. Maybe Lupita's just rubbin' off on me, but sometimes, good fit trumps all. (And looking like a Grecian goddess doesn't hurt.)

But alas, Joanna Newsom, you win my favorite of the night. Yes, yes, YES all over. I love that she looks like the bedroom installations at Anthropologie. I love that this dress may have been worn during a scene in Boardwalk Empire, or that it probably came from the back room of a tiny vintage store and a frail old lady may have fainted from pneumonia in it. But, most importantly, I love that Andy Samberg didn’t try to change her into wearing something less reminiscent of an Austrian antique from Brooklyn Flea, because Lord knows if I was my loved one's date, I would be forced out of a Victorian ruffle quicker than you can say "Carlye, get the fuck out of that rufflefest". Applause all around, m'dear. This one's a keeper.




Now, I’d usually be all for Robot Caplan, as this dress is fantastic. So, why is it in the bad category? Because Lizzy Caplan's hair reminds me of what would happen if you didn’t nab an outlet to blowdry your hair in time at overnight camp. Translation: I'm getting horrific flashbacks of when my mane was a Jewwy fuckfest every time I look at this. If people don’t start calling her Frizzy Lizzy after tonight, then she dodged a serious high school tease bullet. Which, really, is some sort of small tragedy, as that Art Deco dress is simply bangin'.

Mila Kunis, everybody. Or should I say, Mi-Mother-In-Law, because the only person who should be sporting grey sequined chiffon is a parent who cannot handle that she won’t be the center of attention at her child’s nuptials. PASS.

And, now, it's not that I think Emilia Clarke looks bad, exactly. It's just that this is the type of fabric I'd pick up on the rack at Creatures of Comfort, hate myself for not having $700 to buy it in a basic black-and-white tee, and then saunter out with a full-body frown. Emilia looks good — maybe even great — but is this her best? Oh, oh hell no. Girl, if you look better on the back of a horse in leather scraps than you do with a team of the world's best handlers, you're doing something wrong.




Oh, Taylor Swift. You know, you’re probably some form of a sweet girl, but I am so deeply conflicted and filled with sadness about your style choices that I hate everything about you, ol’ toothpick arms. Go drape yourself across a martini, stick an olive in your mouth and wait for someone to start sipping. I'm sorry, but I just hate the old Hollywood schtick. I honestly wish she would make a left turn, come out in some whackadoo Acne sheath that would give Cate Blanchett a run for her money, and cause every Refinery29 newsletter for the next week to tout “You’ll never guess who’s Hollywood’s newest fashionista...” Or better yet,“Taylor Swift: Could She Be Fashion’s Greatest Muse?” You can do it. You have the body type. You have the fame. Just take a plunge into the deep end, please. Please. PLEEEZE.

Julie Bowen, now playing the role of Christmas Present You Bought At Saks Fifth Avenue. But seriously, velvet is for Shirley Temple, not silent Sofia Vergara rivals.

And, oh boy, Sandra. Sandra, sandy, Sandra B. Let’s just put all our cards on the table. You’re 49 years old. FORTY NINE. I’m 26 and I can barely fit into the same pants I wore last year, and you pretty much put on a modern dance in outer space while juggling life as a mother and an actress and a comedian and Melissa McCarthy’s best friend when you’re on your off hours. You are an Oscar award winner, you are Miss Congeniality, and you, oh Sandy B, can do better than an Easter Cotillion gown. You’re in too good of shape to be dressed and ready to go for a church party celebrating the resurrection of Jesus Christ. You're in the best shape of your life! So, go ahead and stick it to Julia Roberts and borrow a '90s two-piece from Miley. You can work it, but all you have to do is want to.




"Hey, y’all! Mom’s here! I know, you want to call me Reese, but Mom's fine! I found this dress in the back section of the Victoria’s Secret catalog, you like? It’s from their Cruise Collection, perfect for formal nights spent with your husband of fifteen years across the wide open seas. I know, I know, it won’t stop us from arguing about if we should pay the professional cruise photographer to snap our photo in front of the Titanic backdrop or just do it ourself to save money, but who cares! Oops - hear that chime? It's time to hit the sundeck. I hear there’s going to be a great canonnball contest, just let me go grab my skirted one piece!"

[Personal note: I for the freaking life of me cannot get this Lena Dunham image to work, so just squint and bear with me, OK?] Truth is, I kind of like this dress. The color is fun! Her hair is too short to do anything wrong with it! And, above all, it's dressy! But the real problem is it just reminds me a smidge too much of The Most Famous Dress To Ever Exist In My Lifetime. Unlike Melissa Rauch's up top, something about this one just bums me out about Heath Ledger all over again. You can always attempt to wear yellow, you can't beat Michelle Williams at her own game. It's an uphill battle, but your trek so far ain't bad, son.

Happy QuinceaƱera, Aubrey Plaza! I hope it's as fun if not more than the 1992 prom you borrowed this dress from. God, it really is so hard to hate on you since I find you to be lovely, but couldn't you have worn...well, anything else? Really, just anything. Ugh, what a disaster.






OH, PAULA PATTON. Paula, when they said brush that dirt off your shoulder, they didn’t say “and create a half-cape out of Bounce dryer sheets tucked over organza in case a sandstorm blows ye way.” Anyway, why are you here this year, dressed like you're going to suck all of Jennifer Lawrence's fame away into your wind tunnel? Because Robin Thicke burst out of his Foot Locker uniform two-piece suit again? It looks like you suited up as Bjork at a costume party and loved it so much that you wanted to relive the whole darn thing, which is way easy for me, because I could make a million bird puns out of this one. Like, how she’s crowing for attention. Or peacocking for people to despserate look at her and forget that she's basically “the lady who lives with that old guy that Miley Cyrus danced with that one time." But really, this is a piss-poor way to repurpose six wedding dresses into a new one. All of the thumbs down for you. All of the thumbs!




Hello, everybody! I’m Julia Roberts, former actress and current spokeswoman for Ann Taylor Loft. Isn’t this little number great? You can wear it to an award show, you can wear it to a Mormon wedding, you can wear it to the funeral of someone you hate. I mean hated! Because they’re dead. Also convenient: its floor-grazing hemline is perfect for dancing on someone’s grave. I love fashion! I'm so glad to be back!




Homedog, what?! Taylor Schilling, you best explain yourself. The whole world has pretty much only been exposed to you in a jail uniform with blackened eyebags, so the bar was set so low for this one. So low! All you had to do was show up with beachwaves and an A-line prom dress and you would have been the toast of the town. Instead, you rolled up like a washed-up ‘30s movie star so hopped up on barbiturates that you forgot the show was today, took your hair out of the bun you put it in while doing dishes, and rolled out to the show. This nightgown situation is such a major, all-out bummer that I don't even want to know what went wrong. Go back to you room, young lady. You're grounded for life!


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