Wednesday, June 03, 2015
Mildly complicated and gently momentous news! This is my last post in this space, here on Blogger. But The Gallivanting Monkey is now alive and well elsewhere in its new home on my proper new website, and there's a new post over there as we speak, and more new posts will keep appearing, and maybe I will keep up this blog in its new form forever.
It's a teeny bit bittersweet, leaving this old home. I started this blog just about exactly ten years ago, right before I married Dave. I was pregnant here, a new mom here, pregnant again here, miscarried here, was pregnant again here, and went through all kinds of transitions and ups and downs–as you do in a decade—all the while finding my voice and learning how to write.
Now that I'm getting paid actual human dollars to write for actual other places, I need a home on the web to represent me properly, and this lil' ol' Blogspot address doesn't cut it. I thought about making another website AND writing here anyway for the hell of it, but it felt wrong. Posting here now feels like working on a stack of old recycling. Stale chi, you know? Bad Feng Shui. This space no longer feels right to me.
This old blog will stay up, though, just because why destroy a thing? I had a great writing mentor, Jack, who always says, "Don't throw yourself away." I shan't. So much of myself is in here. I'm going to let it sit here like a box of nice old letters.
Man, how dumb. I'm tearing up a little, and I'm stalling about wrapping this post up and directing you over to the new place. It's a WEB ADDRESS, Tina. Come on. But it's time.
Okay. Come over to the new place.
G'bye, you old horse.
Wednesday, March 04, 2015
Welcome, traveler, and let me take you to a time so deep in your memory that we can only access it via hypnosis, which I am going to do to you now. Yes. I'm going to do hypnosis to you.
Let your eyelids become heavy.
They want to close.
They can't. Stop them. You're reading something.
Let them almost close.
Let it be so that someone on the ceiling would look down and wonder, "Are that person's eyes closed?"
Think of what you had for lunch yesterday.
You're going back in time.
Now, go farther.
Go back three days.
What sorts of clothes were you wearing?
Were the styles different?
What were hemlines like?
What sorts of cars did people drive?
It was an earlier time. You are there.
Now, go farther.
Three days farther back.
Don't be upset with yourself if you can't see much.
We are talking about a far back time.
Just feel what it was like back there. Feel the feelings of it.
Were you struggling?
What might you have been struggling against?
Might it have been the elements?
You may have been a farmer, or a sailor.
It's time to leave this time. Let go of the struggle.
We're going farther back now.
I don't know when you're reading this,
so I don't fucking know how far back this is going to have to be
TO BE REAL
so I'm calling it at three more days.
We're going back three more days.
The printing press.
Open your eyes.
Look around you.
It is February 22nd, 2015. You are there. Yes! Believe it! It is the 87th Annual Academy Awards, prior to the existence of photographers, probably, in such a long-ago news cycle. You see people dressed in the shiniest clothing of their time moving along what appears to be a river of blood, or juice, or nail polish. They are like gods and goddesses! Feast your eyes because you won't retain this because memory is fickle and you live in March 2015 or beyond. Let yourself feel sad because you don't know what good fortune brought you here to this Holy Red River of Celebrities, even though you know full well it was me and my amazing hypnotizing. In any case, you know that nothing lasts.
Except this! What you see before your eyes is—oh, shit, I have to bring you back to the present. BANG!
I threw a brick on the floor to wake you up.
Except this! What you see before your eyes is The Illuminated Oscars, a hand-illuminated document hand-illuminated by an ancient artisan, because it is even fancier and older and farther back in time to illuminate than it is to illustrate. These pictures are now preserved forever. That ancient artisan, by the way, was I. Long did I toil, armed only with Paintbrush®™, anal-retentively hand-pixeling every pearl and tassel and square-inch of tulle, which, by the way, was the most fun I've nearly ever had. I have a passion for it! I have a passion for making dumb drawings of ladies, and I always have.
(Drawing men I find very difficult. When it comes time to draw men, I have to fight the instinct to just pile squares on top of rectangles and give them frowny eyebrows and call it a day. But I wrestled my weakness to honor one man today. My drawing does not look like this man! But none of these drawings necessarily look like anybody, so he's in good company.)
Enough! Let's go.
Normally, procedure would be to open a post like this with talk of Giuliana Rancic and Kelly Osbourne, but when you're illustrating the thing yourself, you cut to the goddamn chase. There will be no spare people in this post. (Giuliana Rancic and Kelly Osbourne! You are not spare people to the people who love you. You are only spare here.) I've chosen only the people who spoke to me on some level, whether it was because I loved their outfits or I have strong feelings for them as individuals.
Except, uh, with this one. I'm opening with Meryl Streep because I had this idea that I was going to illustrate each of the female nominees, and I started down that line but then Laura Dern's dress was too metallic and complicated, so I changed course. But I'd already done Meryl Streep. She's also first here because hers was the first drawing I made and thus the clumsiest. It's only upward from here! Maybe. I'm sorry, Meryl Streep. You don't deserve to look like this. Anyway, there you are in exactly the kind of thing you would wear.
Greetings, Emma Stone! The color of your dress was so perplexing, somewhere between stomach acid and pee. This says a lot about your general beauty and seasonal color awareness, because there are probably four people in the world who can wear that shade and not have people run at them with a mop and bucket. (God, I was nervous to represent your knee. Who draws knees when you can draw pants and skirts that cover them? But that business kind of looks like a knee, right? This good knee luck will never happen again, as you will soon see.)
I may not always love watching Scarlett Johansson act, because it bugs me that the kind of husky voice she has is supposed to be the only kind of sexy voice in the world, HI OH WHOA I TALK LIKE SULTRY TURKISH COFFEE I'M GOING TO SAY SOMETHING ELSE IN AN EVEN LOWER REGISTER WHOOOA MUDSLIDE, but she sure does have a sick body. And her voice didn't bother me in Her. And she was pretty good in Don Jon. (We won't discuss Match Point.) (I HATED MATCH POINT.) (And that's all I'll say.) I don't have to feel one way about her. A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. Somebody said that once, probably in a normal voice like everybody normal has.
I'd like to just briefly give the finger, by the way, to whomever it was that caused this year's red carpet trend of actresses wearing their hair slicked back, or pulled back tight in buns. I began these drawings before the red carpet was underway since I wanted to save time and I had an idea who I was going to draw, and so I took some risks and guessed at some hairstyles. Obviously this was stupid, and I had to erase a lot of hair. Anyway, updos and slicked-back hair are hard to draw, you bastards. Anybody who wore it down this year, I love you more than I love the others.
This is all to say that Scarlett Johansson is the sexiest green vegetable in the world here. The fit of the dress, the verdant bib-jewels, it's all so good. If she hadn't slicked back her hair, I would consider mailing her a twenty dollar bill.
What a very interesting summer picnic Keira Knightley went to at the Oscars. What a rustic, rustic picnic. Pregnancy is well known for making people dress as though they're wandering about in a meadow, and Keira Knightley is cashing in that chip very hard. She has words on her dress. Perhaps the dress is like a literary Baby Mozart deal, nourishing her child in utero. Her dress appears to be made out of very natural paper towels. But I think it's probably cloth, because I don't know if you've ever tried to embroider your paper towels, but you give up in frustration after a couple of hours.
Here comes a game! See if you can see what part of the body I'm trying not to draw because they're hard.
I was this close to giving David Oyelowo a giant bubble of gum for him to blow that obscured most of his face because this doesn't look like him. Like, at all. Well, we knew this would happen. He's a man! But I had to draw him because he looked so thrilling in his cranberry finery. I spent approximately ninety hours trying to get his stubble right, and then I had to admit defeat and move on. Just be glad he's not a square on a rectangle.
La la la, hurray! Lady Gaga has absolutely everything going for her here as far as I'm concerned. One of the Three Musketeers lent her his dish gloves, and the ocean sent a starfish to her house to personally hand her The Little Mermaid's very best coral scrunchie to wear for the occasion. In a good way! Her dress is in a delightful new shape, and even though I cursed its texture as I drew it, it gave me Japanese fairy tale feelings.
Do you remember when she sang "The Sound of Music"? She opened her mouth and there it was, the sound of music. I kept waiting for something different to happen, but it didn't, and she just sang it, and while there was debate about how well she sang it, I don't know anything about special singing facts so she sounded like she was singing it great to me.
Sweet, adorable Lorelei Linklater from the real best movie of the year, which was of course Boyhood, I couldn't get your face right either. I really kind of fucked you up. I apologize.
Oh, Lorelei, your body language killed me with your little hunched-up shoulders, so beautifully not-red-carpet-practiced. And your slit up-to-there and your sheer bodice made me feel so maternal I almost got pregnant looking at you. Oh, heavens! My baby! Cover up! What's happening?! Are you using condoms? Is your boyfriend going to to be that party? Don't tell me! No, tell me! I'm not slut-shaming her, so don't start. She can do what she likes. But you can't stop my uterus from contracting about it.
Game time! If you guessed "hands", you guessed right. This is where I gave them one last go and then gave up. I let her flip me off with her wilting hand as one little parting gesture of protest about my poor hand-drawing skills.
I loved Margot Robbie's look so much that—what do you know?—my heart flew out of my chest and got all convenient up there.
If you think there's something more difficult than doing justice to Lupita Nyong'o in Paintbrush when you're not even properly an artist, then you're wrong, unless you're talking about dealing with cancer or scaling Everest or being a single mom or a coal miner or a lot of other things. After this post, I expect there will be a law passed that you're not allowed to draw Lupita Nyong'o unless you get a special certificate. But, again, I had no choice. Lupita Nyong'o in a dress made of pearls? I'm supposed to pretend like that didn't happen?
*Little known fact: the skirt portion of the dress was not a skirt but an actual basket full of pearls, which is of course why she's sticking her hands in there. There aren't any other reasons.
You guys, if you could have SEEN the gestures Rosamund Pike was making all the way down the red carpet, you would have fainted. They were so obscene. I could not in good conscience show them here. Also, this is where my knee luck ran out. She looks like she fell down over and over in the weeks leading up to the Oscars. She may require surgery, even.
Fuckin' Felicity Jones dress texture pearls in cups all over the fuckin' top, GOD. GOD, NOMINEES with your TEXTURES. She was born with triangles for hands, so that's sad.
Well, so listen. Nobody bitches about the Venus de Milo. If Marion Cotillard wanted arms she should have worn a dress without a repeating pattern.
It's bright here around Nicole Kidman. This "photograph" is "overexposed". You don't really know what's going on with her right hand, and her left hand, hey, if it grew into her dress and a flower grew out of it, are we going to be able to verify that?
Some people thought her red belt ruined her outfit, but her red belt is WHY I'VE TAKEN THE TIME TO DRAW HER ASS IN THE FIRST PLACE so they're wrong.
Congratulations to Julianne Moore for winning Best Actress and being wonderful all the time! Condolences to Julianne Moore about that super-localized raincloud and carnivorous plant that follow her around everywhere. And, finally, my thanks to Julianne Moore and Chanel for keeping the texture to a bit of a low roar.
Hoo boy. So. Patricia Arquette is somebody that I generally adore, and she deserved that Oscar, and I was thrilled along with everybody else when she spoke from the podium about the ERA, and then I'm in the camp that says she fucked it up in the backstage interviews. And then she fucked it up again with her response on Twitter afterwards, all "Don't tell me about privilege because I grew up poor." STOP SAYING THAT, FELLOW WHITE PEOPLE. JESUS. THERE'S ECONOMIC PRIVILEGE AND THERE'S RACIAL PRIVILEGE. THEY ARE DIFFERENT. IF YOU ARE WHITE, YOU HAVE ONE OF THEM EVEN IF YOU GREW UP EATING PEBBLES AND LIVING IN A BOOT.
AND WHEN YOU'RE DEMONSTRABLY HEP TO GENDER PRIVILEGE, THEN YOU HAVE EVEN LESS OF A LEG TO STAND ON.
INTERSECTIONALITY, MY FEMINISTS. COME ON.
She wore stuff, and I don't know. I'm done.
Let's kick back with some Behati Prinsloo. She had the easiest pulled-back hair to draw of the night. And isn't it nice to get to erase Adam Levine from a thing? (I just said that to make friends. That was wrong. Everybody hates him a lot, but I have to really be me. I kind of like the guy. He makes me laugh. I watch him on the teevee with Blake Shelton. I wish Blake Shelton were at the Oscars. I'd draw that guy, if you know what I mean. I mean that he's very sexy and that I would have sex with him. Except his wife would shoot me and Dave would be mad. But maybe they wouldn't if I asked them not to! DON'T SHOOT ME AND BE MAD, I'M JUST GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH HIM REALLY QUICK AND THEN STOP!)
I hold the super unusual opinion that the Victoria's Secret Angel known as Behati Prinsloo is very pretty. I love the ballerina-esque thing happening here, and even more so expressed in red and black like this, and I enjoy her Flintstones necklace. Somebody played a goof on Behati Prinsloo and Adam Levine, though, by putting glue at the bottom of their swag bags. Whoops! (I should have written "swag" on those but I wrote "loot" instead. At the Oscars, they give you a little paper bag on the red carpet just like you get at a kid's birthday party. It's got bouncy balls in it, and fake tattoos. You couldn't pay me to change those bags at this point, though. But you can make me some offers anyway.)
Ol' Reese Witherspoon is over here blowing nobody's minds again in a neat, trim dress. Sun's setting in the same place tonight. Death, taxes. I should have angled the black trim at the top the other way, but guess what? I should have done a lot of things differently in this life.
Flying saucer flew by.
Hannah Bagshawe is who, and she's the beloved of Eddie Redmayne, who won Best Stephen Hawking. There is SO MUCH TEXTURE here but that's why I loved this dress! Feather awnings, what?! Great! I didn't begrudge one pixel here.
Some of you younger people might not know about Soap-on-a-Rope. Now you do.
Who turned down the klieglights or the sun or what have you on the red carpet near Gwyneth Paltrow? Her pale pink dress did, that's who. Like I'm going to change all the background colors in all the other pictures for just her one dress so she doesn't disappear in a wall of pink. Dream on, hosers. She can stand around in dim light for a second. It's probably good for her skin. She can bask in the bright glow of that probably very detoxifying lemon.
Many people objected to this dress and the giant flower shoulder growth. Yeah, well, lots of people object to Goop but I've asked for that fucking thing to show up in my inbox every week. I've had the flu followed by bronchitis and I've been sick for a month, and all I ever want when I'm sick is to live in a world where Downton Abbey and Goop come together and I can ring for Carson and say, CARSON! Please make Gwyneth bring me one of those Moon Juice smoothies she talked about in the newsletter last Thursday, and I also want some of the Spirit Truffles and chocolate Sex Bark. I am peevish and unwell. She should bring me some bone broth, too. I'll take my dinner in my redesigned yoga gazebo.
I like the dress. I like it. You want to fight? Wait until I'm over this asthma and then we can fight.
Oh, god. Fuck it, you know? Sometimes good enough is good enough.
I'm a little bit sorry I made Cate Blanchett's hair look like Guy Fieri's hair, but not a lot bit sorry.
"What the hell is Lena Dunham doing here?" you might ask, right after you ask, "Who the hell is that?" Well, listen, anybody can "be" at the "Oscars" when it's all happening in a fake cartoon. A dear friend of mine expressed the wish that Lena Dunham could have been at the Oscars so she could see what she wore when she read this post. So Lena Dunham WAS at the Oscars and she wore TRIANGLES.
And who on earth is this? Since we've established that anything goes on this fakey-wakey red carpet, C'EST MOI, CLOWNS. Am I this pretty? No. Am I this tall? No. (Are my arms this long? YES.) But I'm at the Oscars for the only time ever so I'll look how I like. I'm wearing some fucking angel wings because I wore them to a costume party once and they felt amazing. And I'm wearing kind of a tutu because Behati Prinsloo did and nobody stopped her. And I'm wearing blue eyeshadow because I like it. I kept it real with some gray in my hair, though, due to integrity.
I know what they say. They say to look in the mirror and take one accessory off. I did that already. I was going to give myself a beauty mark, but I changed my mind.
And if I get to go to the Oscars, my mom gets to go to the Oscars, too, and furthermore she's going to win. In advance. On the red carpet, before it even starts. My mom has always referred to herself as a "frustrated Helen Hayes", so now's the time to get some goddamn dreams coming true.
I told her about this plan and asked her what she wanted to wear. She asked for a tiara or some pink roses (No need to choose here! Sky's the limit! You get both!) and then she told me about a school play she was in when she was a child in Finland. She played the sun, and her cousin Leena played a hurricane, and she sang this song to some pussy willow branches, all "Go to sleep, it's not spring yet, I'll shine later" and word on the street was that she nailed it shut. Nobody in Northern Finland was going to play the sun after that. She owned it. So she thought she'd like her outfit to tip the hat to that role, which she's getting this belated Oscar for.
I'd have dressed her in a big ball of shining white or yellow to be like the sun, but she's a Winter so she looks best in jewel tones. And I figured she didn't want to be shaped like a ball. I gave her some effulgence to make up for it. I also didn't mean to make her dress look like a bathrobe, but if a gold tiara and pink roses and some fucking effulgence isn't dressy enough for the red carpet, then good night. GOOD NIGHT.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Welcome, humans*, to the most super-sized edition of a Gallivanting Monkey Red Carpet Post ever. I'm a little amazed to be reporting on this topic again today, as I believed I'd finally shot my wad with an unheard-of five red carpet posts in 2014. How much can one person say about people walking along a souped-up sidewalk in fancy outfits? Eventually you have to end up in a loop saying the same things over and over again and go mad, right? But it looks like I have even more wad to shoot. The most wad in Gallivanting Monkey history, even. Will the wad be endless? Is it an infinite wad? Only time will tell.
*And anyone else! Listen, if I have a reader who's an actual dog or something, that'd be the limit. Lord, if you exist, please give me this one small miracle. I don't ask for much. I just want there to be a schnauzer somewhere wearing a cravat and drinking Irish coffee and working a laptop, surfing the web for red carpet looks.
Let it be known, before we begin the Passing of the Judgment, that while I was writing this post I was unshowered and braless, wearing a raggedy skirt with some brown sugar stuck to the ass from where my children had spilled it on the couch, and underpants that were so old and worn out that they basically fell off on my way to the kitchen for more coffee. So that's who's talking. If any of you movie stars are reading this (which probably) and feel piqued, know that I know what's going on here. If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended. Think about my underwear, and about the bra that wasn't there, which I don't mean that in a sexy way. (<—Shakespeare.) On your worst day, you look 14,000 times better than I do on my best day, all you celebrities who, along with that magical dog, are reading my blog.
Okay. We're going now. The road before us is long. Honest to god, it's going to take you a year to read this thing. I urge you to eat a protein bar.
Sometimes I don't even want to start with Giuliana Rancic and Kelly Osbourne, but I've done it three times or so, and now I've developed a superstition about it. Tradition, superstition, isn't it all one thing? Sure! Sure it is. They rhyme. So to prevent tragedy and celebrate the past, I'm going to do it again.
You can tell by Giuliana Rancic's happy face here that this picture was taken before she tried unsuccessfully to get George and Amal Clooney to do a tequila shot with her on camera. This face has childlike hope. Her dress even has childlike hope. Her dress is childlike hope, itself, represented in fabric. Look at it. Babies dreaming. Babies dreaming of being ladies.
But then she did try to get George Clooney and his amazing and extremely dignified new wife to do a tequila shot with her on the red carpet, and they were all, uh, no, and she was like, OKAY, then, I'M A GOOD SPORT, I'LL DO ONE and they were like, yep. And so she did it, and it was the most tragic tequila shot ever done in the name of a rousing good time, and everybody who watched it felt worried and then sad.
Kelly Osbourne is loyal to purple hair, to begin on a positive note. Sometimes it's lavender, sometimes it's violet, but there she is, Ol' Purpletop, reliable. I like this dress. I think it's time to grudgingly admit that I almost always like her dress. She's a chic one, let's face it. Why do I have to struggle so hard to be nice to Kelly Osbourne? Maybe it's because of years and years of photographs of her in which her face is saying "YOU ARE ALL STUPID." Maybe that's it. I'd like to congratulate her face for doing something different here. (How often am I allowed to say "face" in this post? Did I use it all up?) Anyway, the slightly-cape-evocative sleeves and the modest, cool, interesting neckline and lovely fit of this dress make me happy. Good job, Osbs, if I may call you Osbs.
It satisfies any OCD tendencies I may have to move next to our hosts, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. They shouldn't be in the middle of the post because that's like going backwards and then forwards again. Let's run this errand first and then we'll always be moving in one nice, neat direction.
Question: Do I have to like Tina Fey? I enjoy many, most, or even all of her jokes, so it seems like I'd like her, but I kind of don't, which seems like blasphemy in the world we live in today. If a stranger punched me on the street about this, I wouldn't be totally surprised. (Since it would have to be a stranger who had memorized my picture from my blog and lurked all over Seattle every day lying in wait, I guess I would be kind of surprised.) But yeah, no. I withhold my affection. Maybe it's because I think she'd size me up and expose my worst weakness and I don't want that to happen if I'm not ready, if I'm sitting there with a heart full of love. If I'm against her first, then I'd be braced for her to get me. Do you know what I mean? Doesn't this seem kind of smart, when you think about it? Shh, it does.
This dress is puffy and okay, or bad, or I don't know. I'm not really thinking about it very much. I was just thinking about Tina Fey herself, and our relationship, and how that's going. But I'm in active support of Amy Poehler's dress. I'm still feeling fresh about and enjoying these covered-up necklines you see more often these days, and these sleeves on young people that you never used to see. Sleeves used to be for your Brenda Blethyns and such. But now sleeves are for everybody, which I think most women with arms are kind of excited about.
I began this post with so many mixed feelings that it feels great to talk about Emma Stone now. Come on! Look how good! Sharp little trousers, strange and effective drape sash train thing hanging off of them, simple pointy sexy shoes, elegant sparkly top thing, all on a person that I unabashedly like who did a very funny lip synch on The Tonight Show. That's success, people.
Speaking of success, Meryl Streep! Do you know that she's a very successful actress? You might have seen her in the movies. But what you haven't seen very often is Meryl Streep at an awards show wearing something that's totally event-appropriate and even super cool. I love this dress and nominate it for several Oscars. It's original, which is almost all I ask. That said, I do NOT nominate Meryl Streep's performance in Into the Woods for an Oscar, like SOME academies do. I haven't seen the movie, and I won't, because I've seen the commercial and I'm all good. I'm good, thanks. Whenever I see that commercial, I turn to Dave and growl "GEW TO THE WOODS" at him a bunch of times as Meryl Streepily as I can, because I need to purge it.
Here on Reese Witherspoon we see a tiny red carpet trend that spread between two whole actresses, Reese Witherspoon and Jessica Chastain. The trend is sideswept, Veronica Lake hair that makes it so the person has to stand super still so that the hair stays on that one shoulder, I'm guessing. Both ladies were holding themselves so carefully in most of the photographs I saw that I wondered if they had a secret contest going where they both had to balance an imaginary egg on their head and not let it fall and break. I think that Reese Witherspoon thinks she's winning here. I'm the best fake egg balancer in the game. Teach Chastain to step to me. Do it. Take a step, Humpty.
Salma Hayek is a total 1950s dream date. This is so right on. It's kind of goody-goody but that deep silver metallic belt—or maybe metal itself, or maybe actually solid platinum engraved on the inside with their wedding vows because she's married to a French octillionaire—gives it an edge and saves it from prissiness.
Ah, me. Keira Knightley. I don't know if I can even speak about this. It's not even fair, maybe. It's like if a super huge, fat human baby covered itself with honey and walked itself in front of a grizzly bear and said things like "I HEAR I'M DELICIOUS", the bear might be like, oh, man, go home. Get out of here, baby. This is wrong. I can't. It's not sporting.
Guess what? I'm about to take advantage of the fact that this is my own blog and nobody can tell me what to do. We're going to have three pictures of Lana Del Rey in a row, all just because I feel like it. I just want to keep looking at her. This is so crazy wrong and sort of perfectly, overly anachronistic. You know how when the people of today successfully interpret a vintage look, sometimes it looks better to us than the original look itself? Like, the hair is more how we like it today, and the makeup, etc, and everything is gently pitched to current tastes? This isn't like that at all. Lana Del Rey just walked out of the '60s and decided that she wasn't going to try to improve anything. She was going to go with the pure deal, like a costume. And so I can't stop looking at her. This looks so fun.
And she knows it! She's like, yes, darling, MWAA, I satisfy you. I satisfy your eyes, even if you think I don't. I do. You wish I could kiss you. But you're far away. So I'm inventing a new thing, now, a new thing of today, 1967, where you put a kiss on your hand and you *blow it* to somebody. I call it "blowing a kiss". This part is the kiss. Watch what I do NEXT.
Boom. Your mind is blown. That's what Lana Del Rey is thinking. Oh, it's not? Your mind isn't blown? Well, guess what. I could give a shit. G'bye.
Some fashion bloggers out there (who shall remain nameless except that I'll call them "Bom & Borenzo") said that this was an overworked pink lace mess here on the very nice Chrissy Teigen who follows me on Twitter and I don't know why and I'll never stop wondering/mentioning it. Well, I don't just think they're wrong because I have this weird affection for Chrissy Teigen because of how she
married me on Twitter followed me on Twitter. I think this is interesting and pretty and I like to look at it with my face because it's true.
I'm starting to notice a trend with myself. Outfits that end up on worst-dressed lists have a 350% better chance of my developing love and affection for them. You know why? Because they're at least interesting, suckers! Kristin Wiig's dress got some flack, and so I predictably loved it. I don't care if it doesn't quite exactly look right for a red carpet. I just think it's a cool dress, and I'm better off for having seen it. If she didn't wear it, I wouldn't have seen it. Look at her waving like that, too. I love her. She's like, hee hee. I'm me here on the red carpet. I'm gettin' away with it. The whole reason she's so funny, too, is that she's superhumanly good with failing, which makes her my hero. She's happy to give it all a whirl, and she's not only okay with falling flat on her ass, she's kind of daring herself to do it. She's almost hoping for it. Kristin Wiig is the best. She looks great. Carry on, my wayward son. (Disclosure: she's my son.)
I've never watched Felicity Jones act, but word on the street is that she's good at it. Another thing she's good at is wearing this dress. I love it I love it I love it arrgh I love it. The color is a little unexpected, and the shape is, too, and it's simple and softly architectural. Hey, do you want to know how to say, "I very much like Finnish architecture" in Finnish? It's "Minä kyllä tykkään Suomalaista arkkitehtuurista." My mom taught me that when we went to Finland together, because the architecture was so cool. Oh, shit. I just googled that and it's wrong. It's actually "Minä kyllä tykkään Suomalaista arkkitehtuuria." What the fuck, Mom! You made me look like a dick in Finland twenty-three years ago. Anyway, Felicity Jones looks so grand, and it's not just her dress. Let's zoom in.
Normally I am the enemy of peach or coral lipstick. It displeases me. Sorry, sad peach and coral lipsticks everywhere. It's not personal. I'm a Winter. I can't wear you because when I do I look like I'm on my deathbed but trying to put a brave face on it via lipstick, and so I resent that and that is why I curse you everywhere you go. Be honest, though. You're only nice to Springs. Admit it. And so I guess Felicity Jones is maybe a Spring, or you've made an exception. Anyway, I'm tough but fair. You both look wonderful.
I'm also very much enjoying the warm (spring, warm season....just dropping some more Color Me Beautiful knowledge, you're welcome) and smoky eye makeup and the ladylike hair of Felicity Jones. I tend to like a messier bun (see below) but this is all so of a piece, and the earrings are unexpected, too, and so now you know all the reasons I feel that this look is so FELICITOUS*.
*LICKING MY SIZZLE FINGER AND PUTTING IT ON MY BUTT, quickly, before I get shot.
I don't know what the world is saying about Amanda Peet here, but I know that I'm delighted by what she has going on here from head to toe. Everybody always looks so stiff on the red carpet, so I always love it when someone rolls along looking comfy and chill. Yes, it is saggy. Yes, it is baggy. But I assert that it's saggy and baggy in a cool way.
And her head! This is the best Amanda Peet head ever. The bun is just my type. I'm going to ask it out. The wisp of hair heading down her cheek is perfectly artful, calibrated just right. The lipstick is possibly my favorite color in all the world. Her eye makeup is barely there in order to compensate for that strong lip, and I always find that look so smart and appealing. In the battle between Strong Eye/Nude Lip and Strong Lip/Understated Eye, the latter always wins for me. The former looks like it's trying too hard to be sexy, while the latter is sexier and classier and more effortless. MY GOD, I'VE BEEN WAITING TO SAY THAT FOR YEARS. GOD, THIS FEELS GOOD. I SAID IT. I FINALLY SAID IT. I might even take off my pants now, just to put a bow on the relief feelings.
Here we see the Maggie Gyllenhaal of the species. The dress she's wearing is just fine by itself, kind of cool in a this-fabric-looks-like-it's meant-to-be-dress-lining kind of way. I like that it looks like the color of an old slip, the sort they don't sell anymore. But can you see the Maggie Gyllenhaal's toe peeking out there? That's the money. That's what makes this so good. Let's look at the Maggie Gyllenhaal from a different angle.
Here the Maggie Gyllenhaal is in motion and we can see her hot pinky-purple shoe plumage. What? Hey! Those colors don't go together! But guess what? THEY DO. THEY DO BECAUSE THEY DON'T. The risky tropical sunset color harmonious mismatch of dress and shoe is the business here. And she's wearing almost no jewelry, which makes the shoes the jewels. Clever, and so great.
I have always loved a blonde woman in a yellow dress with red lipstick. Do I know why? No. But it is a thing I have always loved. Travel with me in my memory to previous blonde ladies in yellow dresses with red lipstick.
Do you remember Reese Witherspoon many years ago being yellow and red like this? Wasn't it nice? My son carried around this picture of Reese Witherspoon when he was barely a toddler because she looked like my mom's financial adviser, Mary, whom he met one time and fell in love with. The picture was an old magazine insert that had fallen out, and he rescued it because this was clearly his beloved. He used to coo, "Oh, Mary" at it.
And then do you remember Renee Zellweger in this vintage yellow dress? So simple, with just that nice red lip. To this day, if I ever wear yellow (which I can't very often because I'm a Winter and...Color Me Beautiful, are we allowed to talk about that some more? Like all day? Because I'm up for it), I always wear a little red lipstick. So this was nice, too. I've never forgotten these looks because they were that delightful to me.
I think it's the thing where you love a song and you play it nonstop for a month and then the flavor falls out, only in this case the months are years and the carpet is the song and the gum and let's leave it at that.
Look at Michelle Williams in this fantastic purple dress. Didn't she look wonderful? PSYCH! This isn't even at the Golden Globes! This isn't even from this year! I think this is from 2012! Oh, golly, I don't even know what I'm going to do next. What fun. Here's the story: I saw this when I was looking for other pictures, and I loved it so much that I was like fuck it. I'm putting it up there. This color reminds me of a restaurant in Paris the one night I was ever there, fourteen years ago. The walls were golden-y apricot-colored and the curtains were all of these colors in Michelle Williams' dress here, and I couldn't get enough of the combination, I thought it was so beautiful, and then later I got food poisoning and spent all the rest of my one night in Paris throwing up tuna in my hotel room while my boyfriend wandered around trying to make mint tea happen for me. Nobody in Paris believed in mint tea. They said it didn't exist. Memories are important.
I spoke to my mom about the Golden Globes, and while I didn't have strong feelings about what Jennifer Lopez wore, my mom certainly did. Let me quote her, "When I saw Jennifer Lopez's dress, I said to myself 'Oh, god. What a rag.' Did you like it? I didn't like it. Did you like it? I didn't. Did you?" She seemed dejected that I didn't not like it like she didn't like it. But now that the word "rag" has gotten introduced, I can't see anything else, so I guess she's right. Congrats, Mom!
I'm not going to spend too many words on Kate Beckinsale because we're all getting old here reading this post. But I loved the sheer panel in the front of the skirt. When she walked on stage and I saw it, I almost even gasped a little. In conclusion, my life is maybe not what you would call exciting.
Miss Golden Globes, Greer Grammar. Congratulations to the letter G! The people over at The Letter G, Incorporated are having a banner year so far.
This is my favorite Melissa McCarthy thingy ever, even if she looks like a little bit like a hostess at a turn-of-the-previous-century Farrell's Ice Cream Parlor. Who cares! It's fun to look at and she looks so jaunty and pretty. Some adorable, bespectacled gentleman is going to roll up to her ice cream parlor and fall in love, and it'll be the cutest love story ever. I know she's married already, but I'm telling a story here. Just...c'mon.
Just so you don't think I like every questionable gown on the red carpet, I give you Ruth Wilson. Man, no. This is not right. And her acceptance speech for her work in The Affair was devoid of charm. Her anecdote about being nominated for a Golden Globe a few years ago and losing was super blasé, like, GOD, I was NOMINATED and I didn't even WIN, quel DRAG, I was ROBBED, but now I guess it's okay. So, no. No, smug, too-cool, polyester-vibin' Ruth Wilson. No.
Michael Keaton, on the other hand, is the perfect antidote to the Ruth Wilson droops. I'm going to say it: Michael Keaton was the hottest dude at the Golden Globes, easy. By a mile. He looks fantastic and his speech for Birdman was the sweetest, most life-affirming goddamn thing I've seen in a long time, giving all that love to his parents and his upbringing and, most touchingly, to his son. Anybody whose heart didn't grow three sizes watching Michael Keaton is made of styrofoam and thus terrible for the earth.
Claire Danes, I just. I. This is. Well, on the upside, this is another opportunity for me to prove that I don't automatically adore every sartorial risk every human being takes. There is no circumstance on the planet for which this dress is the answer. Props to Claire Danes for not crying while she wore it, though.
Katie Holmes, YOU are an AUTUMN and THIS is your COLOR and YOU look WONDERFUL! Colors and people, everybody! People in colors! Good colors, bad colors, GREAT COLORS, people in them! Boing boing boing boing boing!
I love Patricia Arquette and I love how she looks like a non-Hollywood, everyday kind of lady here. I mean, she looks beautiful, scads better than most human ladies, but it's not too perfect, and it looks like it took a little effort to get dressed up properly, which is how it is for humans without enormous teams of people making them look just so. So this is satisfying. Patricia Arquette is the cat's pajamas.
Look at Amy Adams, walkin' along! She reminds me of that song from Sesame Street, "The People in Your Neighborhood". They're the people that you meet when you're walking down the street, they're the people that you meet each day. Amy Adams is a person in your neighborhood, in your neighborhood, in your neigh-bor-hood-OH blackout
Lupita Nyongo is as great as ever, but this is maybe a little overly floral for my taste. Calm down, bougainvillea.
I am fAsCInaTed by this dress. Sweet Moses, it's the stiffest material that ever made a dress. I think this maybe isn't a dress. I think Kerry Washington might be wearing a little building. I bet somebody bumped into her hem with their shin at some point during the evening and they were like OW WHAT THE FUCK. Maybe she wanted it like that. Maybe it's revenge for something. The stiffness of this dress goes against everything I believe in and yet I'm perversely into it. You know who loved this dress, too? My mom. Hey, Jennifer Lopez! Come see what Not-A-Rag is.
Here's something dumb, and it's not Julianne Moore, obviously, who's an eternal miracle. It's this: whenever I see Julianne Moore, I think, oh, man, she's aging so well. She looks fantastic. That is some graceful aging. It's great to age like that. And then I remember, RIGHT. SHE WAS THE MOST RAVISHING YOUNG PERSON WHO EVER LIVED, SO WHAT A HUGE SURPRISE THAT HER BEAUTY REMAINS. And so if I'm looking for a person to be inspired by re: graceful aging, I should probably choose somebody who started out a little closer to the middle of the spectrum of human attractiveness, and not somebody dangling way out on the far end like that.
The same will be said of Rosamund Pike one day. "She's aging so well!" Remember the lessons of Julianne Moore, everybody. This dress makes me nervous, like it's going to shift over or fall off, somehow, and there's a strange contrast between sharp diagonal lines and flowiness, but I still think Rosamund Pike looks glorious. She's like a modern, angular, porcelain pitcher of cream with some actual cream pouring out.
This photo was taken right after Jessica Chastain moved and lost her head egg battle with Reese Witherspoon, so while she's still carrying herself stiffly, she's at least treating herself to a little bit of lateral movement, noggin-wise. Also, while Reese Witherspoon's smile is victorious, Jessica Chastain's smile, if you look closely, has bitch written on it in tiny, pretty script.
Just once I wish Jennifer Aniston would fucking crimp her hair out for the red carpet so it's like three feet wide and wear an iridescent, assless pantsuit and show up smoking a joint and, I don't know, give every person on the carpet the bird right up their nose or something, one after the other. You know? Something.
Dakota Johnson is the person who isn't Zoe Kazan or Zooey Deschanel here, in case you, like me, were wondering. She was all, Fifty Shades of Gray? How about FIFTY SHADES OF SILVER! Bang. (She's in that movie, I figured out.) She's the daughter of Don Johnson and Melanie Griffith. Once I scribbled "Don Johnson + Melanie Griffith 4EVER" on the bathroom wall at a bar because it seemed as pointless as everything else everyone had graffitied on there before me.
As a person with very little dignity and an enormous appetite for entertainment news, I can't even form words about how high I get off of George Clooney and Amal Alamuddin. (Amal Clooney, excuse me.) It's too much. I would have offered them a tequila shot, too, if I were standing right in front of them, and then I would have turned into a parakeet and then I would have exploded into confetti and then I would have melted into the carpet and nobody would have known I was ever there.
Luckily, I seem to be one of the rare humans who can keep her cool about Benedict Cumberbatch. I mean, I like him. Why wouldn't I? He's wicked talented and charismatic and has that deep, dreamy voice. And he's also married to a smart lady, Sophie Hunter, whose dress is the real reason I posted this picture. I have a Pavlovian reaction to navy and red. It makes me want to clap my hands and purchase things.
I don't include so many men in these red carpet posts, but I do when they give me a reason to, which David Oyelowo did. Thank you for wearing a shimmery navy tuxedo, David Oyelowo. You look grand, and you and your shimmery navy, gilded wife, Jessica, make a perfect little set. You could be salt-and-pepper shakers. If you were navy and red, I would buy those salt-and-pepper shakers.
Eddie Redmayne is a man who also gave me a reason, with his deep green velvet jacket and his mossy, elfin ladyfriend. I love it so much when fellas make these moves and pull them off. Try this more, men of the movies!
I think everybody enjoys a good segue. Are you like me? Do you think so, too? And do you know what I just learned? I just learned that the word is "segue" and not "segueway", which would be like seg-way-way, I guess. Anyway, see if you can guess the segue between Kate Hudson here and Jane Fonda down there. You have eyes so I bet you can. I'm going to spoil it! It's LADDERS! It's ladders built into cutouts. What a seamless transition this will be. Also, Kate Hudson really went for it with the eyebrows. She was like, "Give me a strong brow. No, stronger! NO, STRONGER! NO, STRONGER!" And then she crushed her to-go cup of coffee in her hands.
If you like segues, like we just talked about, you're going to be in heaven for the next couple of minutes. Ladders cutouts to RED DRESSES, and then RED DRESSES TO SOMETHING ELSE. Can you even? Isn't it? So, Jane Fonda. You know what I liked most about Jane Fonda at the Golden Globes? It was seeing her present an award with Lily Tomlin. Would you care to hazard a guess about how many times I watched Nine to Five on cable when I was a young girl? If you guessed anything less than five billion, you were off by five billion. Would you like to know my shameful secret? I thought it was hot when Dabney Coleman was always sexually harassing Dolly Parton. I was a child, so all is forgiven? HEY LOOK OVER THERE ISN'T THAT HELEN MIRREN
Helen Mirren's gesture here is what Lana del Rey's would have been like if everybody loved her. Saying nice things about Helen Mirren is the endless loop I was talking about at the top of the post. "Big Ben!" "Parliament!" "Big Ben!" "Parliament!" I've been bowing down before the wonders of Helen Mirren for so many years that I'm wandering straggly in a desert with long, bird's-nest hair, and all my clothes have handkerchief hems now because of strife and the passage of time. Where am I? I'm thirsty. Helen Mirren is so pretty. Is that a raisin on the ground? I'm gonna eat it. Where was I? Her neckline. Oh, that wasn't a raisin. Oh, well.
So many red dresses! I didn't even include all of them, because that would have been insane, and also boring. But I love Viola Davis in this, and it's a testament to how good she looks that she can follow Helen Mirren in a beaded red dress and still come out smelling like a rose.
Taylor Schilling dress shape simplicity greatness! Why have extra fabric, jewelry or words?
Lena Dunham will not be out-cool-shaped by Taylor Schilling. Lena Dunham is the daughter of artists, and so she's going with an art shape. Also, for the record, I loved her book, haters, and I don't think she molested her sister, for Christ's sake. Take it easy. Jesus Louise.
Allison Williams is the daughter of a news anchor, so this is what shape? Look, I don't fuckin' know, but I know I don't like it. Not one little thing. And while we're talking about things that nobody's talking about any more, how did she get cast as Peter Pan? I mean, she's the least whimsical, childlike motherfucker out there. She's a Wendy at best. AT BEST. Lena Dunham, now, she would have been a fine Peter Pan. I would have watched that. I'm getting tired so I'm starting to swear more.
Do you see the segwayway here? Ladders to red dresses to GIRLS. Ta da! Zosia Mamet. I wonder if people call her Zosh as a nickname. Shosh. Zosh. Food for thought, at least for the next one second. I'm enjoying all her pastels after that wall of red. Even her hair is kind of pastel.
Jemima Kirke, I'll say this: Your outfit is what clinched it for me that I would write a Golden Globes post. I love-hate it, I hate-love it, I'm so glad it exists. It's provocative, even if it's not in the way you think/hope it's going to be. I know you feel that you're so wrong you're right here, or so right that nobody can possibly understand it. I know you're like, man, I'm so freaky and I don't even care. I just do my thing. I just do it. This is my thing. Take it or leave it, mortal. You must check yourself, child. I know it's not fair to compare anybody to this next guy here, but THIS, Jemima Kirke, is a true freak. Bow down.
This thing we've got is alive (ALIVE)
It seems to transcend the physical
One touch and I'm satisfied (AAAH)
Must be a dream it's so magical
Thank you Ma'am
You really make my day
Thank you Ma'am
I pray you'll always stay
You will always stay
You will always stay
You will always—MAGICAL HORN CHAOS
HORN HORN MAGIC WOODLE DOODLE DOODLE
BLAST BLAST HORN FADE
that was really Prince there
there at the Golden Globes