Best five

My far and away favorite on the red carpet tonight is Nicole Kidman in her cherry red Balenciaga halter gown. The bold color is perfect, the simple cut and form-fitted drape are perfect, and the drama of the exaggerated bow and red metallic trim are startlingly unexpected but still, perfect.

Put simply, she looks just as a Hollywood starlet should.

If I had to choose four others and it wasn't an option to simply say Nicole's name four more times, I'd have to give nods in the direction of Cate Blanchett in another liquid metal Armani Privé column gown, the stylish unit I wouldn't mind getting in between that is Daniel Craig and Satsuki Mitchell, J.Lo in a I-thought-I-hated-it-but-I-actually-kinda-love-it empire waisted jewel-tastic Marchesa gown, and finally, Gwyneth Paltrow in her gauzy apricot, please-check-out-the-back-before-you-judge-it Zac Posen confection.

Enjoy.

Oh, the neckline!

Unimpressed by the all-Armani clad women - a group that included style mavens Cate, Penelope, Ziyi, Katie and her majesty, Ms. Mirren - at the designer's eponymous pre-Oscar party last night, I took what I thought would be more than a few steps down on the fashion-ladder to peruse the womanly wares at the National Hispanic Media Coalition awards.

Yeah, I'd never heard of them, either.

But instead of the gaudy, pageanty, Miami-esque halter gowns I expected to quickly click through, I found "Ugly Betty" star America Ferrera in this beautiful chiffon LBD with geometric plunge neckline and delicately constructed flutter-tiered skirt.

To flatter her fuller figure, America smartly chose a muted color, a wispy fabric draped in layers with thickness-minimizing gathering at the waist, and a dramatic neckline that draws all attention upward to frame her two best assets: her face and décolletage.

Her simple black suede Prada peeptoe D'Orsays were an ideal choice to temper the busy layering of the hemline.

Jennifer Hudson, take note.

Casual never looked so alluring.

Because I consider Oscar night as serious and as endurance-necessary an event as a Princeton dual-race, I stayed in last night, ate a well-balanced sugar-free dinner, opted for Fresca over Stella and went to bed at a reasonable 11:30pm.

I had planned to On Demand "An Inconvenient Truth" - pretty much the last nominated film I'd yet to take in - but in the end, I just couldn't fork over $3.99 to spend my Saturday night learning about diminishing ice-caps and indirectly supporting Cameron Diaz going makeup-free at yet another hybrid-required green carpet event.

No, instead, I flipped to channel 49 and caught one of the 365 films chosen by the TCM network as part of their "31 Days of Oscar."

Rarely can I ever catch a film in its entirety on cable, but last night the stars aligned - and why wouldn't they on Oscar-eve? - and I was able to watch for the first time all 150 sweeping minutes of the Meryl Streep, Robert Redford classic, Out of Africa.

Not since The English Patient has khaki casual looked so divinely inviting.

Whether toiling in the coffee fields, on safari in the bush or sipping whiskey with Denys in wicker porch chairs listening to Mozart on the gramophone, Baroness Blixen was head-to-toe the lady in varying degrees of fitted khaki, rolled-sleeved oxford shirts, distressed caramel-colored riding boots and when the occasion called for it, simple structured hats and waist-cinched tea-length sheaths. In short, the perfect country-house attire.

It takes a quite a film - and quite a costuming director's eye - to make this can't-live-without-bronzer girl want to trade the Fendi high-waisted crepe trousers she doesn't even have yet for dust-stained dungarees and her sideswept bangs for sweat-stuck tendrils.

Then again, it might be because I assumed those matted tendrils came with a complimentary wash-and-rinse and Coleridge recitation from Mr. Redford.

The spring-is-on-its-way coat

With the official start of spring less than a month away, the annual assessment of whether your mid-weight wardrobe components are in good enough condition to bridge this year's high-40s to mid-60s winter-to-spring transition must now commence.

We start with the most critical item -- the overcoat.

The transitional overcoat is typically worn four months out of the year in DC - September, October, March and April - and is made of a not-too-thick-not-too-thin material like twill, linen, poplin, corduroy, canvas or a lightweight wool-blend.

If you are in the market for a new transitional overcoat, here are the best of the best I rounded up from my favorite online stores:



Top to bottom:
1. Wide neck coat by Nina Ricci ($2,190 at net-a-porter.com)
2. Polka dot dress coat by Paul & Joe ($643 at shopbop.com)
3. Shantung twill coat by MARC by Marc Jacobs ($628 at shopbop.com)*
4. Daisy eyelet day coat by Cynthia Steffe ($570 at bloomingdales.com)
5. Mandarin collar coat by Milly ($545 at net-a-porter.com)
6. Wrap coat with belt by Ziji ($528 at couturecandy.com)
7. Hanky panky coat by Nanette Lepore ($430 at saks.com)
8. Canvas manteau by A.P.C. ($424 at azaleaonline.com)
9. Cold snap coat ($328 at anthropologie.com)
10. Belted trench coat by DKNY ($168 at nordstrom.com)
11. All-weather poplin coat by Larry Levine ($98 at nordstrom.com)
12. Asymmetrical collar coat by Kimchi & Blue ($59.99 at urbanoutfitters.com)

*your editrix's favorite

If I had a sugar daddy...

Moon bow pumps by Christian Louboutin

$650 at net-a-porter.com

Since I don't (yet)

Richh polka-dot pump by Steve Madden
$84 at lorisdesignershoes.com

It's down to the final fitting...

Not that any of you need a reminder, but tomorrow at this hour we'll be in the midst of the red carpet arrivals for Oscar Night 2007.

I'm most looking forward to Cate, Penelope, Natalie, and Scarlett's gown choices, but honestly, on Oscar night, surrounded by a buffet of homemade finger foods and the women in my life whose love for all things celebrity is almost on par with my own, I'm pleased as punch to see just about anyone traipse through that flash-bulb gauntlet in their borrowed jewels, double-stick tape and freshly-injected Restylane.

Even Kathy Griffin.

Red carpet coverage will be televised on nearly every network starting at 6pm, but the awards themselves are exclusively shown on ABC beginning at 8pm.

Also, the best supporting actor and actress awards are no longer handed out first and second, respectively. Instead, they now join the best original/adapted screenplay, director, actor, actress and film awards in the last hour, which is presumably but not always between 10 and 11pm.

Full coverage of who I think the best dressed bitches on the block are can be found here tomorrow shortly after 6pm.

FYI: Monte's coat and tails are made by Pup-n-stuffs and his smoldering expression was completely unprompted

Poise first, Prada second, then everything else.

Though I really didn't have much of an opportunity to take in the Anne-Hathaway-lookalikes with perfectly coiffed bangs and short nails polished with whatever color is most in vogue I normally see in droves on the Upper West Side, I did see one woman who, had I not been wearing patterned tights, would have literally knocked my socks off.

She was a bit homelier and a bit older than the women who typically stop me in my tracks. She was perhaps mid-40s, maybe even early-50s given her enormous shopping bag from La Prairie, but in her case, it wasn't about her beauty, her age, her statuesque figure, her Diddy-sized diamond studs, or even her charcoal double-breasted boatneck waist-cinched Prada coat -- a coat I've wished for on four separate 11:11 occasions since I saw Kelly Ripa wear it to her interview with Dave Letterman last month.

Her upmarket trappings were hard not to be impressed by, but it was much more her dignified walk, her air of contentedness and the calm ease with which she navigated through the throngs of cold, cranky New Yorkers - in tall, skinny heels, no less - that made her stand out from among the other well-dressed women fortunate enough to be shopping at 3:15 on a weekday afternoon.

I'd heard over and again melodramatic fashion experts chide women for letting their clothes wear them, not them wearing their clothes, but it wasn't until yesterday, until I actually saw firsthand what it looked like when a woman owned a busy sidewalk with her air of confidence alone, that I finally understood what they meant by this.

DC is filled with accomplished female lawyers, lobbyists, politicos and academics, but very few - none, in fact, I've encountered - could've held a Vie Luxe City 3-wick to this woman who probably spent the better part of her life "lunching," spa-ing, and helping Barneys salespeople exceed their monthly commission goals.

"How is this possible?" I thought to myself as I watched her pause in front of and then enter the Stuart Weitzman boutique in the Time Warner building.

On my return home, between reading my Betty and Veronica Double Digest and shooting are-you-'effing-serious? looks at the man whose left hip was unapologetically 2/3 into my seat, I thought about this question. Flush up against the cold metal siding with no sign of relief in sight, I turned to the soothing sound of Mandy Patinkin for temper deescalation. Serendipitously, it was in his glorious remake of the Les Miserables classic, "I Dreamed a Dream," that I had a revelation.

"There are dreams that cannot be, and there are storms we cannot weather. I had a dream my life would be so different from this hell I'm living, so different now from what it seemed, now life has killed the dream I dreamed."

Most women in DC whom I've met place primacy on their careers and eventually, split themselves - not just their time but themselves - between their jobs and their families. Gone are the personal dreams of self-improvement through "me" friendships (i.e. not just those borne out of your carpool group and neighborly get-togethers), "me" reflection, and yes, even "me" physical maintenance. I'm not talking about the occasionally penciled-in massage or a once-every-two-months girls' lunch, I'm talking about the daily "me" time that used to occur out of instinct, not when-I-can-find-the-time convenience.

From what people who have families and/or highly demanding jobs tell me, the personal sacrifice is worth it. At this point, on the cusp of entering into virgin late-twenties territory, I'm not sure I think it is.

If it's at the cost of being as slim as I hope to always be, fine.

If it's at the cost of having less time to discover new vintage stores, fine.

If it's at the cost of a full-makeup routine in the mornings, fine. Really.

But if it's at the cost of losing the way I carry myself, losing touch with what made me me five years ago, ten years ago, I'm not sure I'm willing to sacrifice that.

Granted, I don't know the life journey of this striking New York City woman. For all I know, she too might be a career woman, one so successful she's allowed to leave her office early on a Friday to do some "light shopping"; she might be that lucky brand of woman who belted out six kids without affecting her boyishly thin hips; she might even be one of the DC women I described above who just decided to take a daytrip on the Acela to pick up some items she couldn't find in our fair city.

Either way, seeing her on the street yesterday brought on this realization for me: there will always only be 24 hours in every day and 48 hours in every weekend. It's going to be impossible to achieve everything and be everything we want and to keep dreaming of new goals and thinking of new roles to pursue without losing something on the other end. At some point, if we choose the big things - the big career, wealth, a family - we risk becoming different people.

For those of us who love ourselves the way we currently are, that sounds more like a threat than a tempting adventure.

All I know is that no matter what age I am, no matter what city I'm in, no matter if I'm a stay-at-home Mom, a China analyst or writing for Marie Claire, no matter if I'm wearing an Ann Taylor coat or a Prada coat, I want to own a sidewalk just like she did.

You can call me superficial, you can call me selfish - both are often true - but that's a dream I'm not willing to let go of. Not for anything.

If I had a sugar daddy...

Prima lux sail pant by Lotta Stensson
$253 at couturecandy.com

Since I don't (yet)

Safe passage trousers
$118 at anthropologie.com