Dresses at the Oscars — why

Baubles for spring

I write this in a pair of tracksuit bottoms with a splatter of Oral-B 3D WHITE Vitalizing Fresh on my right thigh. My hoodie is from H&M. It cost €19.99, if I remember correctly. My whole outfit is washed out, faded, and hopeless, much like my prospects at the moment, in general.

I’ve put another layer of Vo5 on my scalp to flatten my pube-like flyaways and mounting grease. I haven’t shaved my legs since 2007. Okay no I have, but I barely pass as acceptably groomed today, so basically, I have no right, no leg to stand on, and no formal qualifications in fashion or indeed journalism to critique the garments worn at the Oscars.

However, I am extremely bothered by some of the outfits, specifically the dresses, at the 97th Academy Awards. This is haute couture here, made with the utmost of craftsmanship, the highest of quality, the richest of materials, and the largest of budget. Yet how can these gúna’s be so horrific? Who is responsible? The actor, their stylist, their manager, their publicist or the designer themselves? I don’t know. But Oscar nominees and Hollywood Stars, this is your big night! It is your time to shine, your moment to celebrate your immense talent and facial symmetry, none of which is to be lightly.

To be clear, I am not criticising the actors, the skill of actors, or the personalities of the actors. I don’t know these people. However, I love movies, I love the cinema, I love paying to watch films, and I love availing of 123movies when necessary. I have not seen Anora, but I am excited to see it. I am still getting over The Substance, which I saw on the big screen several months ago, and was so disturbed and weirdly fascinated by that film, that I had to go and write a whole decompression essay about it.

I am doing the same here again, but this time, it is to process my horror and confusion re: the dresses at the Oscars, some of which upset me greatly, even though right now, I am the equilivant of a crust, a fungus, a fart compared to the gorgeous people that graced the red carpet on Sunday evening at the Dolby Theatre.

Also, I’m sure some of the men wore shite suits but I don’t care about shite suits. I only care about shite dresses.

Let’s ~break it down~ in 7 clinical evaluations:

Rachel Sennott in Balenciaga

A disastrous collab between Jane Norman and Lipsy, one would think. But no, it’s custom-made Balenciaga. I don’t know who Rachel Sennott is but I wish her well.

Elle Fanning in Givenchy

Incredibly boring. A doily glammed up with a ribbon from the art cupboard in primary school.

Ariana Grande in Schiaparelli

I actually quite like this shade of dusty champagne pink, but I can’t help thinking about a cake, as if Ariana had just popped out from a massive cake at a guy called Otto’s 21st birthday party at his father’s summer house in the Hamptons. “Surprise!”

Zoe Saldaña in Saint Laurent

If anyone can pull off an expensive curtain tassel purchased from Hickeys in 1974, it’s Zoe Saldaña. No easy feat, but the Best Supporting Actress winner can pull it off.

Penélope Cruz in Chanel

Plucked from Marian Gale’s discount rail post-Debs season. Highly upsetting.

Rachel Zegler in Dior

A sneeze of a dress, straight from the nostril of Dior’s creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri. Why Maria? How did this happen? Just why.

Mikey Madison in Dior

The dress that broke me. Dior causing havoc again. The worst of them all, and it just kills me to think that someone thought it was a good idea to style a Best Actress nominee (and winner!) in such getup. WHO is responsible for this two-tone atrocity? The bow, the sheen, the black bandeau situation. A pink bauble, a gaudy Christmas decoration from Dealz. A real tragedy, and the inspiration behind this deranged edition of Not Music Journalism.

Still can’t wait to see Anora though. xxx