I don't post during Mercury Retrograde-in fact I try not to do anything during Mercury Retrograde. I prefer to hibernate in my room curled up under a pile of furs while Marianne Faithfull sits in the corner and sings Witches Song repeatedly and occasionally spritzes me with an alternating blend of Lys Mediterranee by Frederic Malle and Chanel Sycomore. She's also there to make sure none of the candles set anything on fire. I love Edie Sedgwick but there's a limit.
Anyways Mercury went direct just in time for Marianne to bang the ceremonial gong and wake me from my slumber so that I was ready and drunk and wearing Valentino for the most important night of the year on television: THE OSCARS.
I freaking love the Oscars. I love the winners, I love the losers, I love the clothes, I love the fact that the gift bags are worth more than most people make in a year. I love that they are "#aspirational" and make anyone feel like they can achieve anything, when in reality most of the time they can't. I also love that J.Law pulled a J.Law and tripped over a cone. This just goes to prove the power of The Secret: I put it out into the universe that I wanted to her trip again at an award show because I thought it would be funny. Not only did I get my wish, I got a better wish: her falling in Dior again at the Oscars again. I must be a really good person for such nice things to happen to me.
Speaking of Dior: fashion. (that was the best transition I could come up with on such short notice). Let's cut the crap and talk about what really matters: fashion.
I cried at how beautiful this was and I don't cry. Do you hear me? Lupita made me feel emotion and I NEVER feel emotion. I also almost NEVER like Prada but I guess it's possible to have a change of heart. Thank you for being my Cindy Loo-Who, Lupiterella. I salute you.
I love this, I love her, I love the fact that her husband is visually a 2, and I love that Sandy Bullock looked pissed when she lost. Congratulations Cate, you tall flute of champagne, you.
I never thought anyone could look so good pregnant that they would make me want to try getting knocked up. I guess there's a first time for everything.
I can sum up this look in three words: Disco Mummy Goddess. Make of that what you will.
I'm torn because Angie's skin was GLOWING and her hair was shinier than Kate Middleton's, but this dress made her look like she was about to celebrate her 75th birthday. Still, she looks damn good for a septuagenarian.
She's like a whorish mermaid bride circa 1899 which normally would be fabulous except for the fact that her hair makes her look so old she may as well have been alive in 1899.
Portia de Rossi
I don't get it.
I don't get it.
I honestly can't put my feelings into words, so like any proper Taurus I'll put them into objects: medication and paintball. Divine that, bitches. Oh and IT'S LIZA WITH A Z.
I'm kind of disappointed we didn't get another inspiring man bun, because that thing was a game changer, but you still look like the version of Jesus I would worship if I had any inclination to worship anyone or anything besides myself. Also your brother is pants-dropping hot.
And to the most fabulous person of the night:
Bitch is too hardcore to even show up. Rock on Judi, rock on.
Now someone bring me a box of snakes.
p.s. I have no idea why the font is different. That's not on me.