Kate Walsh has been all about the shorts lately -- which, if I had her legs, I probably would be too. I just read something about how her divorce is about to get really ugly because her ex's lawyer is allowed to depose ABC about her earnings potential at the network, and if that's true, then I guess divorce suits her because she's clearly working out all that aggression on her quads. Thanks in large part to them, I'm actually thinking mostly favorable thoughts about her formal-shorts ensemble here.
[All photos: WENN.com]
Don't misunderstand: It's still formal shorts, and I still find that concept a bit silly. But as far as seasonal whimsy goes, Kate looks kind of fabulous here -- the suit theme is playful, and the clutch and phenomenal gold wedges accessorize it really well without taking it over the top. It all makes me want to go sit outside somewhere fabulous and have a mojito, which is quite an achievement, considering it was 103 degrees in my back yard today and merely walking to the car felt like going into menopause.
However, I wish the hot California sun would've incinerated this little number:
[All photos: WENN.com]
Don't misunderstand: It's still formal shorts, and I still find that concept a bit silly. But as far as seasonal whimsy goes, Kate looks kind of fabulous here -- the suit theme is playful, and the clutch and phenomenal gold wedges accessorize it really well without taking it over the top. It all makes me want to go sit outside somewhere fabulous and have a mojito, which is quite an achievement, considering it was 103 degrees in my back yard today and merely walking to the car felt like going into menopause.
However, I wish the hot California sun would've incinerated this little number:
This might be okay if you are weeding your garden, or tilling the soil in your vegetable patch -- basically, somewhere where you don't care if you look droopy, slouchy, and like you might be someone's dotty great aunt who's under the impression she's the hottest piece at the assisted-living facility. But when you're Kate Walsh and you're lunching in Los Angeles, it's downright weird to stroll around in a romper whose weird brand of staid straplessness evokes an Amish outfit that came alive and went on its very own rumspringa. You are not Rumer Willis, Kate. Rethink.
