The Golden Globes are this weekend. Because of this, I spent the last three hours checking out couture gowns for a red-carpet-fashion-predictions article over at Woman.ca (not yet posted).
I have very little reason to dress up. I type all day. I go to church in a movie theater. I went to one wedding last year. It was in February and I wore pants. I suppose my hobnobbing at the film festival was my sole flirtation with glamour in 2008. That and a couple of funerals. (Hey, I was cute, okay? I come from a family that respects the pretty. Grandma would have smiled.)
Maybe one day I'll nab a ticket to an awards show. Or be the date of a nominee. Or crash an after-party.
Or get nominated.
Yes, even better.
And I'll wear something like this. Sigh.
(But never fear, brown is the new black. I would never abandon the hue of champions.)
*A girl in my ninth grade French class announced that she wanted to go into fashion. More specifically, she wanted to meet her idol, designer Gianni Versace. I had to break it to her that he had been murdered months earlier. I'm pretty sure I'd be aware if my idol had been gunned down on his doorstep in Miami, making international headlines. But maybe she was illiterate/TV-less/dumb. Poor girl. She now spends a lot of time naked. Maybe that's how she dealt with her fashion grief. It's probably my fault.