Oscars

Okay, Adams. You get credit: I figured you would go for a strapless dress, but I was certain it'd either have a fishtail hem, or be a straight up-and-down shift with very little to recommend it. I'm not sure why, exactly. But apparently, based on what she did wear, I can't trust my gut -- which makes sense considering I allowed it to convince me that I needed to eat a bunch of artichoke dip before plowing through several slices of pizza, and that may have been a bad decision.

All of which is to say, my gut told me at first that I really liked this dress, and now I don't know if I can believe what it's saying:



I love the detail on the bodice, no question. It's interesting, it's flattering, and it gave the dress a cool extra dimension without resorting to haphazardly ornate flourishes or unpleasant fabric tongues. What has given me pause is how the skirt connects back up to the bust -- part of me thinks it breaks up the nifty effect that bodice has going, and the rest of me thinks, aw, screw it, she looks pretty, and at least it's a trend nobody else went for that night. Not to mention that the fabric isn't white like practically everyone else's gown (AND Mickey Rourke's suit). And finally, I am divided on the necklace. At first blush I thought it was a funky and unusual choice, but the more I stare at this photo, the more it seems to fight with the gown -- and resemble a commemorative mosaic someone's mother made out of a bunch of broken marbles, which her child shattered during its first and most hilariously memorable tantrum.

Ergo, my gut is conflicted. Usually that ends in a sandwich somehow, but even a sandwich doesn't help with my immediate problem.

I don't know where to start, so I think I'll take "People Whom Justin Timberlake Either Has Dated, Or Is Dating, Who Refuse To Do Their Hair And Who Wear Weirdly Constructed Bridal-Looking Gowns To The Oscars" for $200, Alex:



Tragically, this photo does not quite do justice to how mangy and faintly greasy her hair looked, like she threw it into a half-updo right after she finished a rigorous course of squat-thrusts and lunges. Do we think maybe J.T. is to blame? After dating Pop-Star Britney when she was spit-shined and squeezed into bikinis with snake accessories, maybe he's decided he prefers his girls a little rumpled.

The dress itself doesn't get any more interesting when you see the whole thing, either:

REBECCA MILLER: Darling, you look so dapper.

DANIEL DAY-LEWIS: Thanks, sweetness. I thought it was about time; I'm tired of lumberjack plaid. You look gorgeous, too, of course.

REBECCA: We're so in love.

DANIEL: Although...

REBECCA: Wait, what? I never said anything before about the plaid or those silly earrings, and now you're giving me an "although"?

DANIEL: It's just... you're marvelous, but the dress is a bit Death Of An Accessories Salesman.

REBECCA: Daniel, if you want to throw my father's work in my face, he ALSO wrote a radio play called The Pussycat and The Plumber Who Was A Man, which is what we USUALLY look like when we leave the house. Well, minus the cat. But you get my point.

DANIEL: No, I...

REBECCA: Maybe I wanted a turn being the wacky one. Did you ever think of that?

DANIEL: All I'm saying is, what if  someone comes up and tries to use the door-knocker on your breasts? Then it's all "knockers" puns, all the time, AND I'll have to punch someone. And I'm just not that guy.

REBECCA: No. You far prefer to be wearing your wood-cutting loafers than starting fights.

DANIEL: At least I might have made these myself.

REBECCA: Well, maybe I made this, too. You don't know. You're not the only crafty one in the family.

DANIEL: Let's not squabble. Let's just agree that we're both a little crazy, and then go home and recreate that scene from Ghost but with my cobbling equipment.

REBECCA: You naughty crumpet! I can't wait. Make your acceptance speech short.

Because we are nothing if not committed to keeping you up to date on the movements of the Sisters Peldon:

They're alive! They're attending Oscar parties in outfits which may have been purchased at Forever XXI, but hey -- a girl needs to save her coin sometimes! They're at an Oscar party partially sponsored by something called Tummy Tuck Jeans, which would have prompted me to hiss, "WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING?" at the invitation. And most disturbingly of all, Brown appears to be going blonde, an alarming development that surely signals some kind of Single White Female/Kelly Taylor's Friend From Rehab Who Tries to Steal Kelly's Life And Also Murder Her situation. I'm just saying, if we start seeing but one Peldon around town -- one sort of unidentifiable, blonde-ish Peldon -- the authorities should probably be alerted.

Wondering what Tara Reid's been up to, other than gracing the pages of our book, in which we might be a leeetle mean about her propensity to be, as Heather once said, "too often Wild and not nearly enough On"? Well, someone invited her to an Oscar party!

And she remembered her spray tan! Is it me, or is this dress way too big? I know La Reid has lost weight -- I've been reading my Star Magazine! -- but the droopy dress + the tan + a sort of aggressive expression + the blonde + a resemblance I never noticed until now = Rachel Zoe. I don't mean that she appears styled by Zoe, I mean that if you squint and shake your head and move ten feet away from the computer, she sort of LOOKS like Rachel Zoe. Though surely Zoe would have accented this with giant sunglasses and a fur stole -- and would kill me if she knew I were comparing her to Tara Reid -- but you know what I mean. My question is: does this mean that Tara Reid is on the road to producing a book about style, perhaps titled From A to Reid, all about the stylistic merits of denim minis, excessive boozing and drunk-dialing Alyson Hannigan at midnight to yell that SHE should be the one in a sitcom? I certainly hope so. I would be first in line to buy it.

Being the employers of one of the country's sauciest bachelors and smoothest-sailing dreamboats, we understand Sarah Larson's pain: All eyes are on her because George brought a date, she's the only one of his string of brunette-bots that he's brought to something like this, the magazines are screaming that she's the lucky girl who'll get him to commit again, and she knows we're all wondering why Clooney is making out with a girl who once ate a scorpion on Fear Factor.

But dating Intern George has its plus side -- you know, one or two -- and that is the fact that designers were probably throwing gowns at her by the dozen in an effort to woo her into their camp for the Oscars. She must have had an entire room at the villa full of options, and she picked this:

It's apparently a Valentino couture dress, but it looks more like Jessica McClintock passed out one night on top of a book of Monet paintings and woke up with drool on her cheek and a jones for wearable water lilies. We complained about a lack of interesting colors at the Oscars this year -- it was all red and black, making me wonder if there was a poker theme we didn't know about -- but I'm not sure I can get behind a crazy melange of pastels that may once have upholstered a couch in the lobby of my grandmother's condo building in Florida.

Oh, George, don't be like that. You know we're right. We're not saying she's not NICE -- not that we'd know, though, since we never heard her say anything all night and you never bring her around for dinner or Diet Coke breaks or donuts, but WHATEVER. So chill with the skepticism. Also, you've never seen that couch.

That's better. Now come home! We want to hear more stories about Tilda Swinton.

Today, we encountered several people who said one of the following to us:

1) "Oh, GOD, are you actually HAPPY Diablo Cody won for writing Juno?"

2) "Oh, GOD, are you one of THOSE people who are PISSED Diablo Cody won for writing Juno?"

Personally, and shallowly, I'm stoked for her -- everyone loves a stripper-to-screenwriter tale (or at least I do, especially if she has an evil twin lurking somewhere), so I say let her have the bronzed naked dude. It's just a trophy. And if it turns out she's secretly the daughter of a wealthy oilman who only stripped out of self-indulgent fascination with her own nipples, well, whatever. That's between her and her therapist.

Who, it's worth noting, may be getting paid overtime to counsel Cody through her Oscar fashion debut.

Objection #1: This feels a bit off-the-rack, which is fine when you're at an Oscar viewing party but not when you're viewing it from your awesome seat at the Kodak alongside the people you're about to beat. It has no shape. It's billowy. I'm pretty sure someone's slutty grandmother in Boca Raton wore this to Red Lobster on Unlimited Shrimp Night in the hope that she could eat all she wanted and still get groped by Original-Teeth Jim. If she didn't use a stylist, she should have -- most of them were probably clamoring to clothe her; she was the unanimous choice to win in our GFY HQ office poll (Intern George abstained because he was busy, or something), and you know she's going to make it in Us. GIVE your services to her, folks.

If Diablo did have a stylist, here's Objection #2: That person is BORING. Like, Cold Mountain boring. Ivanhoe boring. Or, more relevantly, 80th Annual Academy Awards boring. I like a good animal print, but when you're outfitting an unusual and rebellious sort, it's the laziest and easiest choice (except for black, possibly) if you are trying to say, "Hey, CHECK IT OUT, this woman is unusual and rebellious!" Diablo could look bitchin' in a bunch of colors and cuts that wouldn't blunt her edge, so stop sleeping on the job, people.

Objection #3: Yes, there is something really charming about a woman who clearly didn't pick her dress by thinking, "Okay, but how's it going to look when I win?" However, seriously, you're at the OSCARS. Even if you're Entertainment Weekly's 100-1 shot, you HAVE to pick your dress by thinking, "Okay, but how's it going to look when I win?" Otherwise, this happens:

Hey Jer,

What's up? Not a lot going on right now, huh? Kinda just bored at home? Doing a lot of "chillaxing" with your bros? Yeah, us too. You know,  just doing our thing. I feel you.

One thing, though:

I know it was The Most Boring Oscars EverTM, and everyone -- except Marion Cotillard, whom I've decided upon reflection that I might be in love with -- looked Totally Boring, but do you really think it's wise to attempt, once again, the old I'm Too Cool to Bathe, Dude, I Just Show Up And Do My Thing scuzzathon? It's possible no one told you, but Colin Farrell JUST did that.  And he actually made me laugh during a leaked sex tape (not that I watched it, I totally just made that up, but if I had watched Colin Farrell's sex tape -- under duress obviously -- then I might have laughed when, whilst manning the camera, he commented that his cinematography was REALLY terrible and embarrassing.). So I think it's apt to note that he might be the more skilled man at Charming Scuzzery. You know?

Hilary Swank is someone who should probably avoid making statements -- I wasn't a fan of the navy backless dress the year she won for Million-Dollar Baby, and of course there was that pre-GFY Academy Awards to which she wore a pink minidress wrapped in full-length tulle. It's like she thinks we still don't Get It that she's attractive and womanly, but in fact, we do.

So I was relieved she stayed away from statement dressing -- for her sake, of course; OBVIOUSLY we were hoping she'd show up in a piñata. But in the end I still don't think I'm entirely on board with what she picked.

The translucent skirt is sort of fine, but I'm not wild about the way she's woven into it, nor how the design makes it look like the cross-hatching is slowly coming undone and will eventually leave her semi-nude in a big swinging, filmy black drape. And my early interest in the bodice wore off the longer I stared at it, at which point it began looking like arachnids on parade.

And then, of course, there is the close-up.

In a year when a lot of people showed up in red, I half-expected Katherine Heigl to whip out a shiv and shank the hell out of Anne Hathaway for arriving earlier in a jazzier, more romantic version of her tomato gown. Not that it's Hathaway's fault; I just feel like if a girl is so annoying as to complain about her husband and married life every time you shove a microphone into her face, then she's the type of pill who will sneak up behind Anne at the post-party and husk, "You know what the devil wears? HOSPITAL SCRUBS, bitch. Sleep with one eye open."

So let's compare the dresses. First up: Katherine Heigl, because maybe by putting her first she won't leave a flaming bag of manure on our doorsteps.

It's nice. And it fits snugly. Her makeup is a splotchy hot mess and I'm a little tired of her trying to morph herself into Marilyn Monroe -- which, speaking of pilfering, I wonder how Christina Aguilera feels about her aesthetic being snatched out from under her nose while she was doing her laamaze breathing. But otherwise, there's nothing really overtly wrong with it.

However, although the dresses aren't identical and certainly there's room for both of them in this world, we're guessing Katherine Heigl took one look at Anne Hathaway and immediately ran for the bar: