There's just no excuse for Jessica Simpson showing up to the most high-fashion event of the season - arguably of the year - looking like an Atlantic City cocktail waitress who just won the lottery and bought the first "this-shows-off-my-boobs-good" gown she could find at the Caché outlet store.
I'm speechless. Literally.
(taking a Fresca/Marie Claire break)
Okay, I'm back.
With a dress this frenetically busy - just so typical Roberto Cavalli - your eyes don't know where to settle first. The intricate beading, the metallic sheen, the deep-plunge, the larger-than-life focal points Jess can't seem to keep to herself lately (evidenced here, here and here, all of which were snapped within the last seven days) -- it's just too much.
And though her makeup this year is slightly less transgendered looking than the spackle and magic marker job she sported last year, she still bears a striking resemblance - especially in the last photo - to that ladyboy who introduced me to the most amazing spicy Cuban corn outside Psyche's Tears in the East Village last July.
In the end, all of this vitriol is really just my being jealous that a woman who has a body and a bank account to kill for, one who is fortunate enough to nab an invite to an event I would sellwhat's left of my soul to attend, essentially shows up with a sign around her neck that reads: "For a bucket of chicken, my cleavage can be your wonderland."
I'm speechless. Literally.
(taking a Fresca/Marie Claire break)
Okay, I'm back.
With a dress this frenetically busy - just so typical Roberto Cavalli - your eyes don't know where to settle first. The intricate beading, the metallic sheen, the deep-plunge, the larger-than-life focal points Jess can't seem to keep to herself lately (evidenced here, here and here, all of which were snapped within the last seven days) -- it's just too much.
And though her makeup this year is slightly less transgendered looking than the spackle and magic marker job she sported last year, she still bears a striking resemblance - especially in the last photo - to that ladyboy who introduced me to the most amazing spicy Cuban corn outside Psyche's Tears in the East Village last July.
In the end, all of this vitriol is really just my being jealous that a woman who has a body and a bank account to kill for, one who is fortunate enough to nab an invite to an event I would sell
3 comments:
That is a hooker face if I ever saw one!
she's a bit terrifying in this dress. the lips, the orangey skin, and the gravity-defying breasts make me wince. the entire look is just so wrong for this event.
She looks like a big-haired Dallas hooker. Earth to Jessica: we know you have big boobs. Ok. Let's move on. Maybe her Dad put her up to it.
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