Emmy Awards

OH. MY. GOD. YOU GUYS.

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IT'S LIKE CHRISTMAS MORNING! You know how we always use the old Demi Moore Wears Bikes Shorts to the Oscars outfit as, like, the Alpha and the Omega of Terrible Celebrity Fashion? I NEVER THOUGHT IT WOULD HAPPEN AGAIN. This is like...WINNING THE LOTTO. Twice! And having Ben Mackenzie bring you the check! Wearing his police uniform from Southland! And then him letting you take it off him! In other words, IT'S THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED! Elizabeth Hendrickson -- who I know best as Bianca's girlfriend on AMC -- ACTUALLY DID IT AGAIN. Without a shirt! And with a weight-lifting belt! I am SO buying a lottery ticket tonight!

I know, it looks like it COULD just be a super short, tight underskirt, but dude, I promise it isn't. Look!
 

Some days I feel so indecisive.

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I just can't come to a final opinion on this dress, so maybe I'll make a good old-fashioned Pro/Con list.

PRO: It fits her.

CON: People are going to think that mark on her left boob is a majorly misplaced nipple.

PRO: It probably isn't a majorly misplaced nipple.

CON: Is it?

PRO: No. It can't be.

CON: Whatever you say.

PRO: Stop it! No one has nipples in their armpits.

CON: Sure, fine.

PRO: Snap out of it. Hey, she has nice shoulders.

CON: But look how skinny that thing makes her sternum look. I could play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on that sucker.

PRO: Oh, you are so crabby. She's always been thin and she looks way healthier now than she did on some seasons of Will and Grace.

CON: True, and her hair does look sort of great.

PRO: HEY. BACK OFF. You are stealing my positivity.

CON: Fine, fine.... okay, here's one: I am not wild about all that tulle.

PRO: At least the silhouette is interesting, though! And I mean, she's looked way worse before. Remember this old thing?

CON: Dude, I could never forget. And this one was even worse! The MAKEUP!

PRO: I think I just wooed you onto my side.

CON: I hate it when we agree.

Sometimes here at GFY HQ, Jessica and I have to make important decisions, like who has to start writing the NY Mag column this week, or who has to tell Intern George that we blew his Hallmark card budget on Diet Coke and Ruffles. And over the years we've developed a pretty mature, thoughtful strategy for addressing these sorts of dilemmas: flipping a coin. Since we're always losing our favorites, I've decided we need to start making more commemmorative ones, and I may start with these photos of Golden Brooks.

This could be heads:

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And this would be tails:



I was all set to love this dress when I saw a thumbnail of this photo. And then:

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Another beautiful moment ruined by the wrong undergarment. I love a red bra -- or perhaps more accurately, red boob patches -- as much as anyone, but methinks the jazzy lingerie turns sour if it makes people stare at you, brow furrowed, wondering if they should alert a medic to your bleeding chest wounds.


We touched on Marcia briefly in yesterday's NY Mag piece, but it bears repeating: This dress evokes nothing so much as memories of my sixth-grade Science Fair project.

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It was called "Spoil Spores," because even at that age I was a sucker for a terrible pun, and it was all about mold. I grew it in different conditions and on different substances: bread, cheese, orange juice, and pieces of wet cloth, and let me tell you, the penicillin mold that bloomed in my glasses of Tropicana were utterly magnificent. Had they not smelled musty and strange and been gaggingly furry, I probably could've swallowed all of them and become invincible. So whenever I see Marcia up here, it conjures images of going into the laundry room every morning to check the fridge and the windowsill and the shelves to see how far my mold had crept along overnight. And I'm not sure embodying the fruits of a third-place science experiment is exactly what Marcia had in mind.

However, she has inspired me to take "Spoil Spores" to the next level: a ballet. In that twee, stumpifying tutu, Marcia could play the lead -- a rogue mold that falls in love with the food she's supposed to ruin, culminating in a heartbreakingly luscious pas-de-deux that ends in death. Bring Kleenex, people. It's going to change the way you look at those pita pockets that have been sitting on the counter for two weeks.
September 23, 2008

Emmy Awards Fug Carpet

I sort of feel for Amanda Seyfried here:

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In that (a) I think I might own this dress, and (b) it does look REALLY comfortable, and kind of cute. I can see looking at this hanging in the closet and saying, "Ugh, I am totally bloated. That sack dress is pretty cute. AND it has pockets. AND I can eat in it. SOLD." But then you show up places and people are like, "Ooh, bad break-up?" and you're like, "What? I'm fine." And they're like, "I know, honey. I know." And it's because you're kind of accidentally wearing the dress version of sweats with no jewelry and your hair tied back. Seriously, it happens to the best of us.
I think Grace Park used to be on Battlestar Galactica, which I watched obsessively for like 1.5 seasons until I realized that literally nothing funny ever happened and I couldn't take it anymore. Not that I require everything to be laughs-a-plenty, but, seriously, there were more moments of break-the-tension levity in all eight hours of both miniseries about the Menendez brothers. Anyway, I believe Ms Park is now on that new Benjamin Bratt show, The Cleaner, which I trust is not about, like, what it's like to have a really neat roommate, and here she is at the Emmys:

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This is cute! Right? Super cute! Just so cute...for like a night out with your boyfriend. I am not the sort of person who is all, "MY STARS! PANTALOONS ON A LADY? I NEVER! ELOISE, FETCH ME MY SMELLING SALTS!" I once quit a job in part because we were not allowed to wear pants. You should have HEARD my ranting about all the sorts of pants that were appropriate for the office. I LOVE pants. I am wearing them now. However....for the Emmys... perhaps a wee casual?

Trust me, I hate to beat the same drum over and over again, but the thing is, apparently I am a natural percussionist. So I am compelled to point out that as much as I love Cynthia Nixon, she looks way, way too skinny:

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I just want to yank this dress up, buy her a necklace, and hand her a plate of wienerschnitzel. But first I might need to borrow her purse.

Oh, you have GOT to be KIDDING me.

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Leaving aside for a second that mention that her nightly bronzing rituals clearly don't extend as far as her feet, how does one woman -- who runs a boutique, no less -- own so much nearly identical leopard print? I mean, REALLY? You could fit her imagination inside an egg and still have room for the yolk. And maybe a meatball.
In addition to Continuing Emmy Coverage here on GFY, we also contributed a piece for NY Mag.com today, all about -- what else? -- the red carpet:

"Fanciest Toga: House's Jennifer Morrison must have thought being gorgeous would allow her to get away with wearing a tremendously shiny sheet. News flash: No one can get away with wearing a sheet, especially not one that needs its own blotting papers."

Read the rest, if you're so inclined, on The Cut.


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