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The Emmy’s Worst Dressed!

DAHLINGS –

Due to a recurring illness, it has taken me a few days (cough) to get to this entry. However, how could I keep my beloved readers from missing this, no matter how great the sacrifice??

As in the Best Dressed, the Worst Dressed had an embarrassment of riches. And I do mean embarrassment.

WHY DIDN’T SOMEBODY TELL ME THIS WAS A RED CARPET AWARD SHOW?
Lauren Bosworth apparently thought her invitation read “Daughters of the American Revolution Afternoon Tea–no Democrats, please.”

Stephanie Pratt gave new meaning to “she looked like she just rolled out of bed.” When she awoke, the limo had been parked outside for more than an hour. Oh, well, everything looks dressy with heels, even a cheap Fredericks of Hollywood nightie! Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it? And thank you so much for the abundance of crotch shots!

Apparently Heidi Klum thought she was showing up for a taping of the runway segment of Project Runway. What else explains this dress? As she likes it on the show, too short, too tight, too shiny. Or is that what she doesn’t like? So confusing!

WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?

This category is for the dresses that leave one’s guests looking at each other in bewilderment. Yes, Alexander McQueen is dead and we should all be respectful of his memory…but Anna Paquin’s gown looks like she is starring in a bad fantasy film as “Rodarah, Queen of the Unalasians.”

There is so much wrong with Saturday Night Live’s Kristin Wiig’s dress one hardly knows where to start. The shoulder pom-poms? The cheap-looking print fabric? The sloppy, floppy black belt?

I am usually a champion of the unusual, but Lauren Graham’s gown is definitely a head-scratcher. Is the white bib to protect her dress from stray tomato sauce when the waiters are serving the pre-show cocktail nibbles? Is she afraid Lindsay Lohan is going to vomit on her? Or does she actually think it looks good? Your faithful correspondent is at a loss. There have been no photographs of the back that one can find, but perhaps that is a blessing in disguise.

And I am almost always a champion of larger lovelies, but KayCee Stroh’s gown…what look is she going for, precisely? Goth 60s hippie? Two unmatching gowns worn at once? And that pattern–I’M BLIND! I’M BLIND!

Remember when Jewel was a waify litle folk singer? Neither do I. In keeping with her recent glamorous image makeover (“I’m still relevant!), she is sporting a Carolina Herrera pink wedding cake dress. This photo does not show how perilously close the dress was to sliding off her body, which made for more entertainment than the actual show.

Why on earth did Glenn Close think this ill fitting green paper bag would be a good red carpet choice? Is it because the huge baggy hem is supposed to complement her broad shoulders?

FOLIE AU DRESS

This might be called a “catch-all” category, for all of those gowns that don’t fit easily into slots. First we have the Look At Me Dammit! awards.

This award is handily won by Eva La Rue. Even her name sounds like a burlesque dancer. Here, she manages to make virginal white look like ít’s been around the block a few too many times.

Speaking of white vulgarity, I know that this Kardashian (I can never tell them apart) made quite a few Best Dressed Lists, but this looked trashy, as did she.

What can one say? This Narciso Rodriguez dress would be a complete snore if it weren’t for the cheesy mesh insert at the waist, worn by Julia Louis-Dreyfus. The actress looks as if she divides her time between the gym and the plastic surgeon.

Now we have the general Oh, Dear category.

(I have no clue as to who this poor woman is. But the photo speaks for itself.)

Poor Toni Collette. On her way to the red carpet, her gown trailed through the mud. Perhaps that explains her displeased facial expression.








Cheryl Hines’s dress reminds one of a tree that’s been “toilet-papered” at Halloween. Not that your faithful correspondent would ever participate in something so common.

Elizabeth Moss’s gown, like Anna Paquin’s and Kristin Wiig’s gowns, has a bad case of “shoulder strangeness.” In this case, a large wad of fabric adorns a bunched up, badly-draped dress. The dull color doesn’t do her delicate complexion any favors, either.

To finish, Keri Russell’s Pepto-Bismol pink dress wasn’t exactly a “pop of color” on the runway, rather a splashed bucket. The top was far too large; every time Ms. Russell moved, the breeze threatened to expose one of her pretty little breasts. Because a dress is vintage, that does not necessarily mean it is a good fit.

So, those are my choices. Please feel free to respond in the comments. But remember, I am always right.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

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Woolly Animal Balls, Project Runway, Ep. 3 Part Two

DAHLINGS –

Again, the show was so long I needed two posts!

Tim Gunn (my BFF) is overwhelmed, in a good way, when he walks into the workroom. He stops at Kristin’s table, and picks up a package…he announces it’s labeled “Animal woolly balls,” and loses it completely, as does Kristin and nearly everyone else in the workroom. Why, Tim! He picks up a bag marked “Real balls.” “I prefer the woolly balls,” he manages to choke out, crying with laughter. Oh, God, I worship at Tim’s shrine. (One is sure there are a lot of shrines to Tim Gunn out there).

Valerie is making a dress entirely out of black and white napkins. As for being in the Top Three twice and losing to Gretchen, she said, “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.” Get over it, woman, it’s only three episodes in.

Besides Casanova, there is a little man, Michael Costello, who is CONSTANTLY alone on camera, bitching everyone out. I had no idea who he was until I looked at the website. Again, fodder for the reunion show! Speaking of Casanova, he and Tim have the inevitable clash because CASANOVA WASN’T LISTENING when Tim said “no tablecloths.” What did this stubborn idiot do? Bought boatloads of tablecloths.

We had glimpses of other people working feverishly, including Peach, who was really sweating this one. Gretchen is being foregrounded, as the Evil Bitch. (Rumaki started being thrown by my guests whenever she was onscreen. Thank God for the plastic over the flat screen.) Obviously she is being set up as the Bad Guy, ‘cause, as we all know, everybody hates a winner.

Then, the inevitable Twist: just as the designers are completely exhausted, their models enter carrying goody bags of detritus such as ribbons, cupcake holders, etc. The poor designers have to make a smashing accessory to go with their outfits. The screams can be heard across Manhattan.

Andy is making an impossibly complicated dress out of ribbon. Peach and April, their garments done, come to help. That is so sweet. Tim comes in to get everyone after the “Garnier hair salon and L’Oreal Paris makeup room.” He is still riding on the high of “woolly animal balls.”

On to the runway. Heidi is glowing; I’m guessing she found someone on the crew to suck the lifeblood out of. Her eyes have the feral gleam of a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting rodent. But all is forgiven, because BETSEY JOHNSON is the guest judge! Perfection! “Who IS that?” asked one of my guests, so I threw a deviled egg at him. Forgive me, the Cosmopolitans had reached their level. Please forgive me if I cannot remember what the dresses were made of.

Andy’s dress was an unqualified WOW. He made black ribbon look like finally tooled leather, accessorizing it with a black half-glove made from…balloons.

A.J.’s dress was a disaster: a Bizarro world child’s party dress, with crotch fringe. If he has ever watched the show prior to this, he should know that crotch fringe=very unhappy judges. Betsey Johnson tried to make him feel better about it, but to no avail.

Ivy’s dress is a beautiful compilation of petals. I cannot believe she did not make the top three.

Michael Costello, as much as he irritated all of us, sent an amazing red flamenco dress down the runway. The photo does not do it justice. It moved fluidly.

Gretchen sent down an…odd combination. The skirt was gold and silver tinsel, the top a cropped black jacket made from paper bags. It looked like two different outfits, neither of them particularly good. Betsey Johnson pegged it as “Dreamgirls on the bottom, Mad Men on the top.”

Speaking of flamenco dresses, Casanova sent yet another unmitigated disaster down the runway. Words fail me, but a picture will suffice, one hopes.

Sarah had struggled with a palm tree she had cut up, and ended up sending a rather bland little dress with unfortunate cardboard cutouts on top of it.

Casanova, A.J. and Sarah were in the bottom three; Valerie, Gretchen, and Andy were in the top three. Gretchen was preening, expecting to win. When they were all back in the waiting room, she bitched out A.J., sending a flurry of caviar at my flat screen. Really, if it hadn’t been for the bartender cleaning it off, I doubt we would have seen the end of the show!

Andy was the winner! Gretchen looked, let’s put it politely, miffed.

I was so afraid for poor little A.J., because I knew Casanova wouldn’t get the auf. So it turned out to be Sarah, mostly for lacking enough charisma.

At the end, poor Ivy caved in to all of the pressure and had to be taken to the hospital. Ah, well, that’s show business.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Woolly Animal Balls, Project Runway, Ep. 3

DAHLINGS –

Wasn’t last night’s Project Runway fun! Yes, by the end of the evening, my flat screen was covered with rumaki, but one has to take the rough with the smooth.

The 90-minute format still feels forced and bloated. However, it was an Unconventional Challenge, and those bring out the real creativity in the designers. I am always amazed by what they manage to accomplish.

The opening juxtaposed Nicholas sobbing in his comrades’ arms with Heidi, gleaming with evil, announcing the opening of the show. The contrast felt as abrupt as the little girl’s head spinning in “The Exorcist.”

Gretchen was cast as the Evil Bitch this week, and she did her best to live up to it. Blissfully unaware of her colleague’s hatred, she hectored them in the workroom. Probably followed the female designers into the lady’s room to spout some drivel: “Your dress just isn’t good.” One knew we were in for a bitch-fest when, in the workroom, Gretchen announced to a fellow designer, “You’re going down.” Way to endear you to your colleagues, Gretchen.

The group met at Party Glitters, which is exactly what its name suggests. The challenge was to create an outfit entirely out of party favors, eschewing tablecloths or anything else that could be construed as fabric. Mondo, for some reason, was wearing hot pants. However, I forgive him. He has decent legs.

A.J. was in his element, squealing with delight. I love A.J. I want to put him in my Coach purse and tote him around.

Sarah At Party Glitters


Back at the workroom, Casanova took his cue from Heidi and disemboweled small stuffed animals. Although Heidi uses the real thing. Being a professional moron, he took tablecloths for his dress. Is the man incapable of listening? Apparently yes. The gods of reality television gifted him with a thick accent, annoying personality, and a big presence, which will assure that he stays on the program until fairly near the end. Now that Jason is gone, I officially despise Casanova. As did most of my viewing party, except the guest who thought his accent is “cute.” There is something about Casanova that makes me want to punch him in the face. And I am rarely one who stoops to violence. It’s vulgar.

Speaking of which, has the phrase “sexy but not vulgar” become the mantra on this show?

(To Be Continued)

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky The Wonderdog

Infinity And Beyond: Project Runway, S8, Episode Two

DAHLINGS:

Bloated, long-winded, and faintly aggravating; no, I do not mean Rush Limbaugh. Rather, the new format of Project Runway. The ninety-minute episode.

What do we get for our additional half-hour? The only good thing I can think of is no more Models Of The Runway. Instead, we get more of the designers talking trash about each other, * footage of them in their rooms at the ATLAS (as is constantly pointed out), extended footage after the aufs, and most important, many, many more commercials. Second in importance is that none of the designers are particularly interesting people. A message to Bunim/Murray: Absence of footage makes the heart grow fonder.

There is little that can keep my attention for ninety minutes other than fantasizing about Alec Baldwin naked. However, I threw myself on the sword for you, my darling readers. Here is my “recap” of Episode Two.

Another change is that the Bluefly Wall (“Designers, use it very thoughtfully”) has been replaced by the Pipelime.com Wall. At least Tim Gunn doesn’t have to choke out “Macy’s” any more.

Right off the top, one of the designers nails the essential paradigm of the show: “Public torture of designers on television.” I hadn’t thought of the program that way, except for Heidi Klum’s new vampire teeth. (I still maintain she tortures small animals in her spare time.)

This week’s challenge is to create a look for a Marie-Claire Times Square billboard. Joanna Coles, an editor of the magazine, reels off a series of meaningless adjectives to describe “the Marie-Claire woman.” As opposed to the “Marie-Claire bedroom set” or “Marie-Claire baked beans”. I can’t remember them, but I’m certain they were along the lines of “strong, modern independent, feminine, has a vagina,” etc.

A.J., who obviously has his pulse on what the strong modern independent woman of today wants, decides to devise a “grunge/punk Courtney Love look”. Okaaaay.

Would Courtney wear this? Probably. She is on drugs.

Jason, wearing his bowler as per his persona, wants to create a dress of “infinity.” Because, really, what’s better than infinity? It left his peers shaking their heads. Throughout the program, the contestants in short interviews continue to tear apart everyone else’s designs. It gets as tiresome as one of those “Real Housewives” things, except less Botox and false breasts.

Mondo, despite having possibly the most irritating personal style, turns out to be extremely shy, so my viewing party didn’t have to hate him after all. (They get vociferous when the gin reaches its level.) Christopher, despite or perhaps because of being from San Francisco, looks like a Chelsea Boy clone through and through. Sweet little A.J.’s claws come out when Casanova asks him for help. If the tension level is this high on Episode Two, there will be blood on the workroom walls by Episode Five!

When Tim (God) Gunn, my BFF, enters the workroom, as per usual they skip some of the finale garments. Casanova has gone from stripper un-chic to country club matron, with a puffy black jacket and conservative white skirt that would not look amiss at the bar of a restricted private golf range.

“Henry, I think there’s an octoroon in the woodpile.”

Apparently when Casanova is alone with the other designers, his English is perfect. But let Tim or the judges be present, and he pretends to barely speak the language! One admits, the moment he’s “outed” this season should be well worth it.

Jason baffles Tim with his “infinity” dress, a gray-green thing with a lot of large curves that are safety-pinned together. For some insane reason known only to the denizens of his universe, Jason feels that safety-pins are excellent closures. As opposed to, say, buttons. Or hooks and eyes. (Has no one told Jason about the 80s?) In an interview shoehorned in, Jason feels that he is being punished for being a straight man, that Project Runway is heterophobic. No, Jason, you’re just an idiot.

Inevitably, as the designers rush to complete their garments, the Twist comes. The Twist has become such a PR trope that I simply can’t believe the designers have the capacity to be genuinely surprised. This week’s Twist is that all of the clothes will be part of a photo shoot. The designer’s choice of shot will also influence the judging of his design. As Karl Lagerfeld is the only designer who is also a photographer, I’m not sure I trust this batch’s judgment.

My guests cannot decide if Valerie looks more like Tracey Ullman (in which case the wig-like hair is appropriate) or Juliette Lewis (ditto). Peach made an unfortunate choice of fabrics at Mood and she knows it, ending up making three dresses in the time allotted. The final product is uninteresting, but at least it doesn’t get her booted off.

By the time my viewing party is quite ready for the show to be over and the serious food to be served, the guillotine/runway show begins.

Heidi again appears in age-appropriate attire. Is this a sign of the end of days? Blood trickling from her fangs, she runs through the usual opening, and Joanna Coles is this week’s guest judge. The models have either been swapped out or mercilessly drilled in how to walk. They do a far better job than Episode One.

Nicholas’s design is, as they say, a “hot mess,” but very well made. What was he thinking draping that circle of heavy cloth over a backless silk blouse?

Jason’s satin dress is the disaster we all thought it would be, both in the photo and the runway. If a “modern, strong, independent” woman wore this, it was probably because she had been unexpectedly been struck blind.

Ummm…er…yes.

Gretchen’s jumpsuit, while not my cup of tea, is extremely well made. I liked the shoulder and neckline the best. As a very tall, long waisted woman, I can tell you that jumpsuits are one of the banes of my fashion existence. I pull one up to my waist, then pull it over my shoulders and…

Ouch does not begin to describe the sensation.

Kristin sends down a strange mess of fabric that is gathered, bunched and draped, but does not resemble anything your faithful correspondent would call “clothes.”
Mondo’s creation is a bizarre combination of black and tweed with a pink lobster bib.
“For the seafood lover in you…”

Despite looking like an 80s prom dress made of upholstery fabric, I rather like Michael’s garment.

It is a considerable surprise when Mondo’s blob of stuff makes the top three. To cut to the chase (which the show seems unable to do), Gretchen is again declared the winner. This time, two designers are “auf’d”: Jason, who deserves it, and Nicholas, who does NOT. Nicholas breaks down in tears. His outfit, while badly styled, was finished and creative, if a bit on the not-well-thought out side.

This was the weekly “WTF?” moment in which all of my guests scream and throw things at the flat screen. (To guard against an onslaught of deviled eggs, I cover the flat screen with a thin layer of plastic before my viewing parties.)

Jason did not stick around to have Tim see him off, but Nicholas did. The other designers were stunned, as were all of us.

At the end, we watch Gretchen squeal at the billboard, which has Coco Rocha capering in the jumpsuit.

I’m guessing Ms. Rocha is short-waisted.

* This footage will be very useful for the “reunion” show.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Project Runway Season Eight Premiere, Part Two

DAHLINGS –

There is simply so much to cover in this season premiere, it had to take two posts!

When we last heard, there were 17 designers instead of the usual 16, and they had five hours to create a garment out of someone else’s piece of clothing. And this was considered an audition for the show itself; it was guaranteed that one or more of the contestants would be going home. And you just finished packing and had that big going-away party. Bummer.

We watched them sweat, freak out, etc., the usual workroom scenes, except for the small amount of time. I’m guessing that Jason isn’t going so much for a signature look with that idiotic bowler, he’s probably bald.

Now to the interesting part: the runway. What a delight to see that the Bright Orange Oracle of Fashion, Michael Kors, was in his rightful place! Next to him was Nina Garcia, who has actually started to sprout a personality. (I love how Heidi pronounces her name with a heavy inflection, the way politically correct folk in the 80s used to pronounce Nicaragua “Nee-haw- wagrah”.) Heidi was actually wearing an age appropriate dress for a change. Are the Four Horsemen here yet?
The special guest judge was actress Selma Blair. Not to worry, nobody in our viewing party could place her, either. She resembles a squinty Katie Holmes.

When Heidi came out and greeted the designers before the execution–er, runway show–the contestants were wetting themselves even more than usual. She rattled off “you’re in or you’re out” in rote fashion before the show began.

A side note: the models tonight were terrible. The way they clumped down the runway, they would make a Dior look bad.

Valerie made this eye-bleeding monstrosity from, I believe, Casanova’s Dolce & Gabbana trousers.

Afghanistan hooker dress, made of combat material w/ false blood for added piquance.

McKell fashioned a cute little number from a blue button-down shirt.

Ivy took a pair of flowered, matronly pants and transformed them into–flowery, matronly capris! Along with a sloppily made silk top that was supposed to match in some way not meant for this universe.

“Oh my God, there’s a sale at Pathmark!”
Unlike the judges, I liked Nicholas’s long gown, made out of a pleather bomber jacket, using the bottom rib trim for the neckline.
April “deconstructed” a tuxedo jacket by…well…deconstructing it, which consisted of turning it inside out. Mighty Goth there, dahling!


This dress is for when Wilma Flintstone wants to get down with her bad self.

Gretchen sent out a glamorous dress that moved well on the runway, with small beaded fringe on the shoulders. Don’t ask me what she made it out of, because I don’t care.

Jason’s dress was made from a black kimono. Although impeccably styled, the actual garment looked like a monk’s habit hastily pulled on backwards by a monk fleeing a medieval monastery.

Casanova’s “dress”, if you can call it that, was made out of a small blue blouse. Tim had tried to talk him into making something halfway less acceptable. But Casanova stuck to his guns, describing his creation as “sexy but not vulgar.” According to my notes, my first reaction was: JESUS!

Since I usually only use that word when I am actually addressing Jesus when he stops by, you can see how shocked I was. The judges agreed, and I simply cannot top the Duchess’s assessment: “a pole dancer in Dubai”. I love that neon orange bitch! Casanova’s English is terrible, so we actually got the treat of listening to Nina speak to him in Spanish. I wish she would do all of her critiques in Spanish, it’s so much more expressive. Then we wouldn’t have to hear “questionable taste” and “chic” repeated in every show.

During the commercial break, I knew that Bunim/Murray had calculated who would not go home, regardless of talent, because they are perfect reality television personalities.
Casanova ? Check. He won’t get the boot if he sends a dress made of cat turds down the runway.
Peach? Check. Not only did she make a lovely dress but she is also a lot of fun, rather like Paula Deen would be if she were sane.
Jason? With that hat? Of course. Check.
In the end, Gretchen won.

“I won, bitches!”

Poor little McKell was auf’d. But at least I don’t have to look at those dreadlocks any more.
One more thing to be grateful for: no more Models Of The Runway! If I wanted to listen to skinny ninnies babbling about nothing, I’d watch Kathie Lee and Hoda.
Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog
(all images courtesy of mylifetime.com)

Project Runway Season 8 Premiere

DAHLINGS –

It began. not with a whimper, but bangs. Meaning Heidi Klum’s terrible new pixie cut.

Believe me, it doesn’t look this good on the show.

The new opening style was truly execrable. First, Tim Gunn (my BFF forever) and Heidi driveled about the 17 designers, or at least some of them. At this stage in the game, who knows? Who cares? It reminded me of the staged “chats” backstage on that awful Isaac Mizrahi program.

It went precipitously downhill from there. Designer contestants were forced to “meet” each other on camera, saying their names and parroting their biographies. It reminded me uncomfortably of “The Bachelor.” “Hi, I’m April, I’m a designer and I love Goth!”

Speaking of April, she is a 21-year old airhead who is a completely newcomer to fashion—we all remember how well that worked out last season, don’t we? Like the vast majority of people her age, her fashion interests are “Goth, decay and destruction.” Yawn.

However, two designers instantly captured my heart. A.J., a nervous young man who said, “Anyone who says they’re gonna win, they’re gone.” Since this was followed by a parade of contestants bragging that they would win, I found his honesty refreshing. My second favorite is Peach, an older blonde who announces she’s 50, “Hell to this yes!” Oh God, I hope she sticks around for a while.

Peach yelling “Hell to the yes!” Or something.
A.J. (left) and Jason (right), hump firmly on head.

Most of the designers blended into a mass, save for an idiot named Jason wearing a bowler, which he called “a hump on my head.” I could not have said it better. And Casanova, whose accent was so thick he said “(?) take New Chork by de ballz.” There was Valerie, who wore an odd hat-shaped black wig.


Casanova, ignoring Tim Gunn and reality at the same time!

Valerie (right) and some other designer vying for worst hair. *

They met at Lincoln Center, soon to be the home to Mercedes Benz Fashion Week, and one of my favorite spots in New York. For one thing, it is close to my fabulous apartment.

Tim and Heidi waited (that haircut looked even worse outdoors), and announced that this challenge was actually an audition for the show. Which was why there were 17 designers, not 16. Heidi warned that more than one might go home. One member of my viewing party thought this was a great idea for a challenge, but seeing the designers gape in disbelief and dismay, I found it sadistic. Especially after forcing them all to go through that ludicrous “meet and greet.”

Heidi certainly thought it up. I swear to God, that woman has been watching too much True Blood. Probably went out and had prosthetic fangs made, with which she intends to tear out designers’s jugulars and feast on their blood when the cameras are off.

However, the challenge was excellent and actually novel: Heidi asked them to take their favorite piece of clothing out of their suitcases—and hand it to the contestant to their left. Who had to make a different garment out of it in 5 hours.

*Another contestant for “worst hair” was McKell, a young mother with blonde dreadlocks. I gather the way to keep dreadlocks dreaded is not to wash them, an instruction she followed faithfully. (Ugh)
More to come later!!
Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

2010 SAG Awards: The Worst Dressed

DAHLINGS –

First, my absolute top of the list:

The entire female cast of Nine! Together, they look like a fabric catfight. Separately isn’t so good, either. For instance, zombie Nicole Kidman:

At a distance it looks like an ugly peasant dress, but upon closer examination, it is an ugly peasant dress covered with sequins. Hair collides with Bob Mackie. And Kate Hudsonwhy this obsession with white?

From the front, she looks like a large bar of white chocolate. Simultaneously, she looks as though she never touches white chocolate, or anything remotely calorific. This dress gives me a severe case of cognitive dissonance. (Look it up.)

Speaking of Kate Hudson, one suspects Paula Patton stole Hudson’s dress from the Golden Globes (I hope Ms. Patton got the blood off the dress from the man’s severed hand, cf. an earlier entry):

Ordinarily I applaud women who display their curves. I fervently hope that Patricia Arquette’s gown is vintage 1970s, otherwise…well…although who in their right mind would wear vintage 1970s?

Anna Paquin’s dress would have made my “Breast Foot Forward” list if I had one this go-round. But I do not, so I’ll simply say it looks like a leftover from Snakes On A Plane. (Note tasteful placement of cobra head.)

Heidi Klum* would undoubtedly say that Mariska Hargitay’s dress seems to be “pooping fabric,” to use one of Ms. Klum’s favorite terms. Combine that with the unflattering hot pink, and you get this:

Sandra Bullock channels Jean-Luc Picard from Star Trek in this, er, rather strange selection. When she recieved her award, Ms. Bullock nobly tried to move her face, but to no avail.

Dianna Agron did not want to carry a clutch. So she kept a lipstick and some low-cal snacks in a handy pouch hanging off her cleavage:

Finally, I had not thought that Toni Collette could top that mass of sequins she wore to the Golden Globes, but voila! Words fail me (just imagine some gargling noises, dear readers).

* My apologies for not writing about Project Runway yet. Busy, busy!

As always, feel free to leave your comments. But bear in mind, I am always right.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog