The New York Post called it the “no apologies dress,” but someone needs to apologize to starlet Kristen Stewart for letting her leave the house in that frock.
The Twilight star stepped out with famous boyfriend-cum-cuckold Robert Pattinson for the premiere of the final installment of the Twilight film franchise. But fuck the movie. We need to talk about this dress.
This white-girl flesh-toned (“nude!” exclaimed the fahionistas) strapless dress, with her boobs encased in what appear to be rejected chalices from the Game of Thrones prop department, is a hot mess. But the true horror comes from the lace that turns mere meh into a peek-a-boo monstrosity. Apart from the aforementioned booby chalices, the dress is made of itchy lace, which makes me want to scratch off a pound of flesh just looking at it. And the outfit is topped off — well really, bottomed out — by a pair of ridiculous matching granny panties (that have never looked good on anyone, ever) to keep her nether regions shrouded in mystery.
But the New York Post said “yes” to the dress and swirled into a type of Dr. Phil-esque sartorial support, citing fashion experts with all sorts of bizarro statements of “empowerment” that this frock wielded.
A contributing style editor to Glamour magazine called the unfortunate look “sophisticated” and that it was Stewart’s way of saying “I am leaving Twilight behind me and am ready to move onto the next stage of my career as a woman.” With any luck, her “career as a woman,” which I was unaware was an actual career choice and makes me ponder what her “career as a man” might look like, no longer includes such things as “acting” and “appearing in public,” and “falling asleep while speaking.”
”Style expert” Robert Verdi referred to this thing as a revenge dress. “[It said], ‘I can move on at any moment,’ or ‘I’ve moved on’ or ‘I’m in the process of moving on, and I look fabulous’ combined with, ‘Aren’t you jealous?’”
I’d actually be more jealous if Stewart had herpes. As a matter of fact, any form of venereal disease would be more desirable than that costume. Mostly, I am angry because I feel sorry that she went out like this. Hurricane-ravaged New Yorkers and New Jerseyians need my sympathies. K-Stew? That’s just pathetic.
Certainly K-Stew is not the first celebrity to blow it on the carpet. Remember in 2001 when Bjork headed into fashion victim-land with a puffy swan wrapped around her body? But Bjork was an eccentric music artist, and even mainstream musicians are known for pushing their red carpet looks to straight-up trash and/or vaudeville (unless you’re Taylor Swift). Bjork’s fashion choice was more avant-garde than anything. The end result was just as bad, but definitely more understandable.
Since we can all agree that bad style happens all the time, what’s with the pop psych analysis of this particular red carpet look? Even the commentary section on Jezebel.com is awash in the psychology of this dress, though admittedly nothing quite lives up to the level of insanity as the comments at the New York Post. In a nutshell, some commenters defend the dress by explaining that K-Stew’s image is about being edgy, and said shmata reinforces said image.
There is a symbiotic red carpet relationship between designers and the celebrities they dress. Stars are loaned out gratis garb, and the right dress on the right celebrity can launch an unknown designer to fame, or keep an older designer relevant. And since stars are more relatable than skulking fashion models, clothing an A-lister guarantees that the designer becomes, or remains, a household name. Later, the masses will swoon over those same designers’ more affordable designs for Target or Kmart. Incidentally, these collaborations between high-end designers and lower-end department stores actually end up banking more money for the design house than the couture items that made them famous.
Celebrities don’t pick their red carpet looks with the thought of subliminal messaging, hoping to mind-bend their fans and foes through the color, cut, and drape of fabric on their body. And if this was the case, the only message this dress is sending me is, “K-Stew needs to fire someone for letting her leave the house like this.”
Where’s the poor girl’s BFF to tell her, “Sweetie, I love you too much to let you walk out like that.” What happens if she gets toilet paper stuck to her shoe? Or she tucks her dress into her granny panties? Is there no one who loves her enough to help her with her red carpet choices?
Sorry, no amount of psychoanalysis will make the dress anything other than unfortunate.
So enough with the psycho babble. Let’s move on to group therapy. Can we all just say it? All together now.
That is one dumbass dress.
Feels good, doesn’t it?