Drew Barrymore

Okay, first of all: we get it.



Second of all, this dress is -- undeniably -- gorgeous. Thirdly: that doesn't mean it works on her. D) Have you SEEN the tag line for Grey Gardens? It's something like, "the true story of Jackie O's incredible relatives." I'M NOT KIDDING. How freaking lazy is that? I mean, I guess it's DIRECT, but it's also BORING and doesn't seem to convey the idea that Drew is playing a woman who regularly wore her skirt on her head as a fashion statement. I'm serious. That needs to be better conveyed, and "Jackie O's crazy relatives!" doesn't do it. On the other hand, this would be an amusing trend. Like, "Terminator Salvation: Yeah, Yeah, This Is the Movie Where Bale Lost His Shit." Or, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince: The Awesome One With All the Flashbacks and Stuff, But Be Warned BAD THINGS HAPPEN AT THE END.." (iv)  I guess that doesn't have anything to do with the matter at hand, but I had to get that out.

 

When I first saw this pic, I was like, "Drew looks great!" and then I looked at it closer, and I was all, "DOES Drew look great?"


[Photo: Splash News]

My internal monologue went something like, yes. No. Yes. I love the shoes. I don't know about the hair. No. No, she doesn't. Wait. Yes. She really does.  She looks adorable. I don't know. Is it that flattering? Sure it is. She looks totally cute. I don't know, but I feel like she could have looked BETTER. Sometimes I feel like the only person in the world who doesn't like Cadbury Creme eggs. No, I think she does look cute. Is Tim Riggins returning to Friday Night Lights, and if not, whatever will I do? No, she looks mediocre. No, cute. Mediocre. Super cute. RIGGINS! I love her. No, I don't. Well, you don't HATE her. No, that's true. I like her fine. That length is good on her. What should I have for lunch? You haven't even had breakfast. I wonder where I put my pants. I DO like this. Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. I DON'T. No, I actually do.

We here at GFY are nothing if not fair: We have a rigid Intern George time-sharing schedule, for instance; we never eat the last Twinkie without offering to split it into thirds; and we hardly EVER cheat at any of our epic Uno tournaments. So, in the name of that unflinching dispassion, I figure we might as well complete the pentagon, as it were -- we've had at Jennifer Connelly, Jennifer Aniston, and Scarlett Johansson, so let's have a gander at He's Just Not That Into You's other unfortunate participants, Drew Barrymore and Ginnifer Goodwin.

Side note: How weird must it have been on that set, with Jennifer, Jennifer, AND Ginnifer? Maybe they referred to them as Jennifer, Jen, and... Gin, although frankly, anyone running around a movie set screaming for Gin probably instead received a lot of sympathetic looks at at least one giant bottle of Beefeater. Maybe the next person to do a movie with Ms. Goodwin should try that one. You're welcome.

Ahem. Where was I? Ah yes: Let's start as every day should, with Gin.



It's hard to muster up much excitement, because in general, Ginnifer herself didn't -- I'm not sure I saw a single picture where she was smiling, except maybe for one in which she greeted somebody. Too bad, really, because she SHOULD be happy. She's fantastic on Big Love (and holy cheese sandwich, wasn't Sunday's episode brilliant? Wow), no one will remember she was even IN this movie in about six months, her hair looks really pretty and healthy, and that color totally works on her. Perhaps she's frustrated that her skirt is wrinkled. Maybe her necklace of giant amber kryptonite has sapped her of the ability to use her facial muscles. Or maybe the tight leather bonds of those shoes are cutting off her circulation, and she's embarrassed, because the second she tries to take a step her sleeping feet will betray her and send her tumbling toward a date with a mouthful of musty, moldy red carpet. Which is probably not the rebound relationship she had hoped to throw in Chris Klein's face. We may never know why she was so glum, but on the whole, I think she looked the best of all five ladies.

This leaves us with Drew Barrymore:

Oh, Drew. I'm glad you're having a good time, at least:



Having that kind of a good attitude can get a girl through all kinds of problems: break-ups, job drama, having people make fun of your hair on the Internets...

So, this went badly:

So, let me see if I've gleaned the correct message from this cover: this Spring, it will be the height of chic for women previously renowned for their cute, off-kilter spunkiness and sexy regular-girl charm to re-envision themselves as stoned-looking, moderately greasy mannequins with quasi-80s hair, wearing a scrunchie as a top? Good to know.

We've gotten a few emails this morning, wondering what the verdict is on Drew Barrymore's dress for the Palm Springs Something Something Film Something Something Awards. I believe some of these emails used the word, "seat belt," and some used the phrase "Girl Scout Merit Badge Sash." But a few of them also used the words, "I dunno. I still kind of like it."

I don't know, readers. Maybe my brain is waterlogged from all the rain we got here in Los Angeles over the weekend (and, word to the wise: in inclement weather, be VERY MINDFUL of whether you are hitting the "interior car light" button, or the "open sunroof" button, or you may be in for a wet surprise), but despite having a strong whiff of Bondage Night Toga Party about it, I kind of like it.

HUGH: God, I hate the bloody blow dryers in the bathroom. Some prat turned it upside down and it completely messed up my hair.

DREW: Don't worry, Hugh, you still look like the kind of destiny that smells like flowers.

HUGH: Er, thank you. And it's very nice to see that you're propping things up this year as well. Nicely done.

DREW: Well, I wanted to be the architect of my own dreams.

HUGH: I see. And in this case, your dreams are your breasts.

DREW: And my breasts are my dreams. It's beautiful harmony in a brassiere.

HUGH: I'll say. Because... I mean... bit of a disaster there last year, eh?

DREW: I think people were just startled to see the full extent of my feminine expression coming to blossom.

HUGH: I think they were probably more startled to see them express themselves down by your knees.

DREW: But this year, pink is my soul aura. I truly feel as though I've been touched by cotton-candy angels.

HUGH: Indeed, and your aura looks lovely on you. Congratulations on a lesson well learned. Although you might want to put on some sunscreen -- the rays from your soul glow appear to be giving you rather a tan.

DREW: No, it's just my radiant spirit ballerinas pirouetting through my skin. This dress, this night, it all feels like flossing my teeth with tiny threads of joy.

HUGH: Quite. Now I must dash -- I'm suddenly in desperate need of a scotch.

By now, we're all aware of the unspeakable crime against mammaries that Drew Barrymore committed when she grabbed her emerald sheath off the rack and said, "Oh, to hell with it, my girls have always been able to support themselves." [Except she's kind of dippy, so it probably came out more like, "Womanhood is a bulging blossom, and those lady flowers have to grow and breathe on their own -- just like the wind, you know?"]

And, just like all of you, we watched with a wince as her breasts began a tortoise-and-the-other-tortoise race to hit the ground first. With one move, the left one would drop a notch lower than the right. Then, as she shifted position, Leftie ground to a halt and let Rightie snag the lead. By the time she had finished her spiel, an audience member allegedly muttered confusedly, "Huh. She's not very busty... but her knee caps sure look awfully swollen."

Drew -- who unlike Dr. Sunkentits does not have a name that anagrams to anything more exciting than, "Bra worry? Merde!" -- may have been the most visible shunner of undergarments, but it would be remiss to think she is the only person who disrespected her golden globes.

Consider, for instance, Heidi Klum:

Props to Heidi for her happy marriage, her cute kids, and for walking in a Victoria's Secret show not long after giving birth; however, I am disappointed that this post-pregnancy outing is of the "Incredible Sinking Breasts" variety. The collar-and-leash setup is violent enough, but the waistline of the dress coupled with how low the bodice sits makes her chest look like decrepit dunes that are slowly leaking sand. Indeed, that neck harness actually makes it look like she's trying to keep her feuding rack and nape separated so that they can just please get through the night without them starting an awkward catfight.

Along those lines: Emma Thompson, who is darling and delightful and whose shtick hasn't grown weary yet (although hereafter I am ignoring the existence of the nightmarishly named Nanny McPhee, just in case), didn't exactly flatter her assets either:

She looks like she's having fun, so I almost feel bad pointing out how pancaked her chest looks because the bodice is down around her ribcage. Those aren't breasts, they're a short stack -- and with how far down that platter they're placed, there's plenty of room for the rest of the Grand Slam breakfast.

So, chin -- and chest -- up, Drew. You're not the only one who seems confused about what to do with your friends.

Um, Drew? Hey! Hi! How are you? Enjoying Fashion Week? Me too. Um, can we talk? Great, great. Um, how should I put this?

Look, you are so cute. You seem really fun and nice and I think you have an adorable little body. But, and I know it's Fashion Week and people get a little avant garde, but...tights are not the same thing as pants. They're just not. And I'm pretty sure you're wearing a shirt as a...dress? Is that what you're doing? I'm kind of not sure.  It's kind of not working. I think I have some jeans in the car! Do you want to borrow them? You can totally borrow them.

Because the thing is, I know you can look totally fab! See, look yourself earlier this week:

Fierce! Fierce and hot! So maybe later, when you're getting ready to go out again, you should hold the latter look -- fierce and hot! -- in your mind, instead of the former. Which was, I really hate to remind you, but it's for your own good, I promise, sort of, um...pantless and bizarre.

Okay! Loved you in Firestarter. Really!