I've been staring at what Marcia Gay Harden wore to the Tony's for a day and a half now, wondering why exactly I couldn't put my horror into words. Her sleeves broke my brain.
I mean... why, Marcia? Why? You are a handsome woman. You are not an elderly society dame. You are not a former silent film star who swans around her tony L.A. mansion smoking cigarettes out of long holders while your manservant irons your turbans, and braying to the young screen-writing lover you've somehow entrapped that eyes are the window to the soul and pictures were better before actors started talking in them. So I can't see any reason why you've chosen to Go There. Especially with sleeves that could double as a young girl's petticoats. Pants are not sleeves, no matter how much they look like it after a few gimlets.
