Carpet Remnants

The season of the Awards is in full swing and everyone seems to have a hair across their ass. No one seems to have anything good to say. What happened to the days when we all sat glued to the tube just waiting to be blown to bits by some incredible star in a dreamy dress? Where are those nights when you planted yourself in front of the telly from 3 p.m. on watching every pre-red carpet special all leading up to the first limo to spew forth its fare? Did something change or did we lose our child-like innocence?

Last night's Golden Globes was not unlike countless award shows before except it aired before an audience no longer in its thrall. When you have editors in magazines and news papers disassembling the whole institution of the Red Carpet, its hard to keep up your enthusiasm. The fashion nowadays is to trash and look down on this once sacred cow. The most fun to be had in this game is to be a lucky designer with your creation on the delicate shoulders of a glittering star. When that is the case, the evening is fraught with excitement and satisfaction. The night can be one that forever changes your life, at least until the next award season. I know of what I speak. I was once a contender and oh, how sweet the torture was. No thanks to Fashion Police and cretins like Joan Rivers, Kelly Osbourne and Julia Rancid/Rancic, who've hacked that rose right off the vine. These subspecies of humans have hosted on and helped to destroy fashion for their own personal gain with no care for our shattered illusions. A nasty bleach job and a partial stomach stapling, not to mention a face job so heinous that her venom is spat by the very thing she sits on is no license to dissect the work of people who are masters of their craft no matter how misguided they can be. There. I said it.

Sure, I saw some train wrecks and lots that was less than stellar, but I also saw some beautiful men and women in some great clothes. As opinionated as I am about just about everything, I know enough not to try to impose on you all what I think was good and what was less so. Those of you with truly good taste will agree with my choices and the rest of you are on your own. That said, it was an amusing night and the real point of the evening was the entertainment. Colin Firth won for The King's Speech and that's all I really cared about. Tilda Swinton put that Jil Sander "couture lite" ball skirt in play and I f%#@&?g loved it. Lanvin on Julianne Moore was the queeny mess I thought it would be and Oscar's gowns, though pretty, are a metaphor for a shaggy dog story. Jennifer Lopez looks better in Chanel couture and Hailee Steinfeld is one amazing looking kid...AMAZING. Hemming one's gown to an appropriate length is a concept that should be taught in school and Francisco Costa has an interesting way of making some women look so RIGHT that the all the others should consider sacking their stylists. Oh, and big-assed jewels are looking fake these days. It's not a good thing when your hair cut makes you look like one of the Rodarte sisters and your dress looks like one of theirs, too. So that's all I have to say about it. The Oscar's are coming so let's re-adjust our attitudes, call some friends to come over (assuming we still have some) and get that party started.