Soledad O'Brien is pretty.
Pretty, and also possibly suffering from what I like to call Dress-Up Drawer Syndrome, which is what I had when I was five and used to try and improve my outfit by making a cape, a train, or a fabulous combo of the two out of any of my Mom's old clothes I could find.
I'll give Soledad props for using a really nice tablecloth instead of an ancient satin nightgown or a button-down shirt, but I feel like she'd have looked plenty elegant if she'd stepped away from the hot glue gun and left the basic dress alone. As it is, it just looks like she's trying to hide something -- and as Jess pointed out with Demi Moore yesterday, the idea of seeking a glamorous equivalent to tying a sweater around your waist is, to borrow from Clueless, a bit like searching for meaning in a Pauly Shore movie: ugly, fruitless, and ultimately not that flattering to your ass.
