I should feel bad, a small part of my brain keeps insisting, judging the clothes of beautiful women. Me with my sagging couch, cluttered living room, college sweatshirt at 23 older than some of the women on screen. There's even chip dip involved.
And I have opinions. Opinions about strapless dresses that look like swimsuits and skirts that look like minky craft fabric. I have opinions about ponytails and brown office shoes worn with gowns and about the need for a little more sparkle at the neckline and and a little less make-up.
It started with 30-second clips of "Fashion Police" at the end of "The Soup" and by now I'm trolling the internet for celebrity dresses after an awards show.
Let's go back to feeling bad about judging the clothes of beautiful famous women. No, let's shorten that sentence. I am judging women based on their appearance. Which is wrong.
But, sweet lord, some high-waisted ruching or a blue that compliments red hair...woman, she is beautiful.
I've never cared much about clothes or fashion. I liked Calvin Klein jeans in 8th grade because they fit my ass. I had a red dress coat because...well, come on, it was a red coat.
Left to my own devices, my ideal outfit is cords, long-sleeve tee and polar fleece vest, with an occasional guest appearance by a Cookie Monster t-shirt. Some of this ensemble worn, perhaps, in excess of three consecutive days, perhaps, in fairly recent memory.
