Most people won’t get it, but Anja Rubik (in Anthony Vacarello) managed what many could not at the 2013 Met Gala. The model executed on the punk theme without falling into some of the most common sartorial traps of the evening (don’t worry, we’ll get there). The shape, color, and fabric reference punk while remaining high fashion. If this puresex look isn’t totally fuckable, you tell me what is? 
Let’s just get this GOOP out of the way right now before this candy-coated bitch drives me to distraction. I thought Paltrow swore off pink gowns after that cloying Ralph Lauren she donned for her Oscar win. Is she fucking with us? I loathe this Valentino Couture gown on so many levels I can only assume she chose it as her hate campaign uniform. Nude illusion, really girl? Pink shiny too short long sleeves? What? A puddle of bridesmaid satin pink? Incomprehensible. How is she going to sell those expensive gym memberships when the skinny bitch actually looks chubby (gasp!)?
Who the fuck did Kanye blow to get Kim in this year? So this florabomination is courtesy of Riccardo Tisci. I’m not sure we can blame him. All I can focus on is her Miss Piggy foot. Poor pregnant Kim is puffed up painfully and spilling over the edge of that shoe. The gloves are totally freaking me out. Hand camo. 
Cameron Diaz served up a spiky-waisted Stella McCartney in a bold blue cape style. I dislike how this frock is both droopy and restrictive. 
After all that Hathaway drama at the Oscars, Amanda drew upon all her Givenchy spokesbitch connections to score this archive gown. I think it is fucking genius. Suck it Anne! 
In Valentino, Anne Hathaway’s boobs channeled Madonna’s titties from the Express Yourself video, right? Do we like Annie as a blonde? I don’t hate it, but the brassy color is undoubtedly aging. 
Christina Ricci knocked on the door of the right fashion house – Vivienne Westwood – for a post-punk glam moment, but it looks like she got tangled up in the tartan. I do love the orange lip and fishnets. 
Ashley Olsen robbed a Palm Beach Socialite of her vintage Christian Dior Couture for her sherbet sparkling Met moment. In keeping with her body dismorphic trademark style, Mary-Kate wore Chanel and Balmain that was five sizes too big for her. 
I get the impression Allison Williams takes herself way too seriously. She smacks of try. The heinous piecemeal gown is Altuzarra.
Anna Wintour stuck with sequined floral Chanel, and Bee wore Dior. Can’t say I’m particularly wowed by the wicked stepsisters.
Does anyone wear clothes better and with more enthusiasm than SJP? Love her Giles Deacon gown and Phillip Treacy headpiece. 
Topshop dressed Nicole Richie. The overall styling isn’t that flattering, but I’m still oddly attracted to her white hair. Punk Glam Granny?
Opa! Here comes the flaming cheese – Beyoncé in Givenchy.
Uma Thurman looked absolutely snatched in this leafy Zac Posen. What did she do to her face?
Stella McCartney must be best friends with Liberty Ross because this outfit is obviously a revenge burn on Kristen Stewart. Is she smuggling honey-baked ham in there?
I’ve been loving me some Rita Ora lately. She not only successfully fucked-over that whiny Rob Kardashian, she looks super fresh in this white Thakoon.
Emma Watson worked her sexy, but she remained eternally adorable and demure in this Prabal Gurung. She’s our modern day Audrey. 
Miley really went for it in Marc Jacobs and it worked. Hate to admit she’s been serving something savory lately. Applause. 
Compare Miley to her contemporary Taylor Swift who looks about 53 in this old lady J. Mendel number.
Speaking of 53, Madonna came in her Givenchy costume. For a woman who hates her thighs, she sure is accentuating them in this fussy get-up. You could bounce a quarter off that face (and ass!). 
Dakota Fanning looked super cute in her Rodarte. Even though this look was understated compared to most, the simple and sweet styling stood out from the crowd. 
Here is Lena Dunham in Erdem with Erdem. The makeup is the best ever for her. 
Jessica Alba belongs on a Maxim list and nowhere else. Seriously, who wears Tory Burch to a punk themed gala? Sheesh. Why don’t you just wear Lilly Pulitizer bitch? 
Carey Mulligan is everything in Balenciaga. Die for the safety pin. It isn’t showy, but it doesn’t need to be. Fucking chic.
Lopez put a little leopard on it in Michael Kors. The girl gives good face, and I love the unusual hair Jen! Bonus points for not letting the cabana boy ruin the shot. 
May we all be this ravishing at her age. Diane von Furstenberg rolled in as a disco-dipped Mrs. Roper. 
Calm down Gisele. (From what I hear Cara brought the eight-ball).
As those of us with a pulse know, last night the Met Gala threw down in NYC. The ball celebrated the opening of the exhibit Schiaparelli and Prada: Impossible Conversations at the Costume Institute. Let’s have a conversation about the fucking weird ass choices some of these bitches made last night. 
It is hard to know where to start, so let’s start with some one who should know better. Rachel Zoe looks like a fringed push pop in this ridiculous-on-her frock. Zoe styled Karolina Kurkova (where you been girl?) in a gown from her eponymous line. The dress appears to have been heavily influenced by the Armani gown Zoe dressed Anne Hathaway in for the Oscars not too long ago – that Zoe, always full of fresh ideas.
Beyoncé loves that stupid ass pose. Who the fuck stands like that in real life? The way she stiffly palms her outer thighs is so forced and unnatural. Do we need to talk about this Givenchy Couture? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it seems to me that Givenchy cares more about appearing on the red carpet than maintaining a high standard of brand integrity. By my totally unscientific estimation, about one in ten times Givenchy gets it right with their red carpet loaners. Sorry B, this is definitely not one of those times. I hate almost every single thing about this dress. 
It took some nutz for Christina Ricci to rock this odd Thakoon number. It isn’t perfect, but it is courageous. Is she going through another praying mantis phase or is it just a pre-Met crash diet?
If Laura Ashley and a flora chintz sofa made a bastard love child, this Valentino blanket that SJP is wearing would be the unholy spawn. 
Jessica Paré wore the shit out of this L’Wren Scott gold cap sleeve. No dummy, our little Megan obviously plans to squeeze every last drop of exposure from her Mad Men supporting role. Good for her, this was one of the better ensembles of the evening. 
From one Mrs. Draper to another, January Jones typically pushes boundaries, at times at the expense of flattery. The more I look at this sculpted Versace, the less it offends me. Yeah, the peplum has been overdone this season, and yeah yellow and black tends to evoke bumble bee, but I think this is a bold and interesting post-baby choice. She’s done worse. 
Lately, Emma Stone has made me forget why I like her. The color, shape, texture, and timing of this Lanvin cocktail frock is all wrong for this season and this event. Did she get lost on her way to homecoming?
Carey Mulligan co-hosted the event and wore this shield to protect her soul from the despotic clutches of Anna Wintour. 
Paltrow predictably in Prada presenting a pinch of side boob. Have we reached a consensus on whether she conservatively augmented her tatas after Moses? If she’s going to continue to push those absurd Tracy Anderson workouts then she might want to actually wear something that celebrates her hard-fought body. Unfinished is the word I would use to describe this look.
Is Cameron just straight up old now or what? Squint – is this Sharon Stone or Cameron Diaz? Stella McCartney provided the matronly gown. Stella McCartney is just mean with some of the ugly ass shit she makes her friends wear, damn.
Claire Danes evoked a little Betty Draper from the neck up, which was a welcome departure from her minimalist tendency. J Mendel conceived of the ill-fitting garment. The cut accentuates her tiny top and then betrays her by creating the illusion of a big bottom. Face it, she’s serving sleeveless bathrobe. 
First, why are these two getting married? I dislike them each individually more when they are together. Biel looks like she hemmed that dress with two-sided tape 5 minutes before she strode onto the carpet. We all know very well that Jessica Biel couldn’t dress herself if she were locked in a Chanel store. When it comes to Biel, the expectations are very low. Yet she still repeatedly fails to meet them. Much like Justin Timberlake’s acting career. 
Dunst looks pissed. I’d be pissed to if I wore that random shit to the fashion event of the year. I hate this evening suit almost as much as I hate that overrated Melancholia.
Hey Flo! I truly appreciate your willingness to go balls to the wall. At Coachella, you served me desert couture and I’m grateful for it. However, you are not Lady Gaga. This fussy layered McQueen is an overreach that reads more costume than gala. 
Prabal Gurung is a pimp. That’s called swagger bitches. Recognize. 
One of the best dressed of the evening – Marion Cotillard in head to toe Dior. Don’t usually love a sheer bottom, but this dress photographs and fits beautifully. J’adore. 
We saw quite a few subtle variations on a very similar look; here Rihanna does the long-sleeved reflective column in black Tom Ford. Snooze. 
Scarjo no! This embellished, pink, antiquated Dolce & Gabbana mess had no bizness at the Met Gala. I need more modernity from you Scarlett! You are not a little girl anymore; evolve past this princessy shit. 
Bad Grandma! Bad, bad Grandma! We told you not to leave Shady Pines without a nurse’s aid. Oh wait, that’s just Mary Kate at the Met Gala. 
Jessica Alba improved over last year, but she should have worn this dress then when this Michael Kors metallic lamé might have felt fresh. Did Brad Goreski style her again this year?
The unofficial perennial Prom King and Queen of the Met Ball, Gisele and Tom stuck to boring black this year. Is it me or does that photo reveal a bit of tension between the power couple?
The Best: Emma Stone in Giambattista Valli
Fresh from the couture collections, Shailene Woodley wore this modern, white, long-sleeved number. It might look familiar since we featured it as part of the best of Fall 2012 Couture earlier this month. It’s a little old for her, and her face would benefit from a pop of color, but not a flop by any means.
After favorable reviews from fashion folk for her Globes look, Octavia went back to Tadashi Shoji for her Oscar gown. Clearly, cultivating that relationship has paid off; the designer knows her body and the fit is beautiful. Second best of the night.
I really want to like this Gucci gown, but I don’t. She needs a waist and this dress gives her no shape through the torso. It reminds me of a melting chocolate and vanilla soft-serve twist cone.
She gave birth to a new era of shitty style.
Went to the high priestess of skincare again today and realized I’ve been over-exfoliating. I attributed the downturn in my skin’s appearance to tremendous stress. A demanding life taxes the skin for sure, but I shoulder partial blame as a result of my over zealous exfoliation routine. 
Too frequent or vigorous exfoliation can cause inflammation and over-active oil glands. This extra oil paired with extra stress results in extra unhappy skin. 
Rodger’s discontent has been simmering all season, but this week his epic case of pussy hurt was triggered by an unfinished plate of breakfast pasta. Rachel rushed Rodger and Brad from the café to finish out Milan with the Armani, Gucci, and Pucci shows. 
Again, Rachel fixated on a totally inappropriate navy feathered Pucci gown for Demi Moore. Short in the front long in the back is so wrong. It is the fashion equivalent of a mullet.
Back in L.A., figure skater Johnny Weir dropped by to collect a few looks for the Indie Spirits. Brad tried to get his twirl on, but couldn’t quite compete, saying “I’m actually masculine next to him, and I don’t know if that really works for me.”
Rachel concluded the visit by extending the ultimate invitation (and endorsement) to Mr. Weir, saying “Next time you come to L.A., I would like to invite you to my house to come play dress up in my closet, for real.”
When the feathered Pucci gown arrived, Brad began to second guess whether it would work. Rachel called Donatella who sent some sketches over. Rachel decided to have two gowns whipped up for Demi, one in silver, one in blush.
Later on, Rachel bitched about a migraine while Joey worked her weave. While she was putting on Tom Ford’s last YSL, Rodger bitched and moaned to the uninterested help. Joey bid adieu by yelling, “You guys look so beautiful, it’s a shame both of you have bitch attitudes.” Unquestionably, this was the episode (if not season) highlight.
Rodger woke up the next morning super bitchy and snipped at Joey and Rachel over the decibel of their morning activities. A true masochist, Rodger decided to attend the fittings with Rachel. He had no actual purpose in tagging along, so he just stewed in resentment and picked at Rachel until she grew a pair and shut his Bieberish ass down by reminding him, “This is a big day for me and my clients not you, so just calm down.”
As a pouty Rodger sat in the car, Rachel dressed Cameron Diaz who barely made the red carpet.
No big surprise Sandra Bullock ended up in the Marchesa. Too bad it was one of her worst looks of the awards season. The finish down the front didn’t lie quite right making it look cheap, but at least someone had the good sense to remove that big ass bow from the shoulder. 
Demi wore the blush Versace and it fit beautifully. Overall the look wasn’t hideous, but wasn’t that major either. It was a little granny does bridesmaid. 
Cameron made more of an impact in the Oscar de la Renta dress, but as a former model, she wears clothes well. It is pretty hard to fuck up styling Diaz. 
Post-Oscars, Mr. and Mrs. Zoe sat down to discuss their priorities. Rodger complained of all the Rachel-centeredness and threw down a toothless ultimatum. Obviously, Rodger’s clock is ticking. Rachel, just give your wife a baby so his pussy can stop hurting.
This week Rachel was on the hunt for the best gowns for the 2010 Oscars. She proclaimed a white obsession and declared everyone should have a white moment on the red carpet. According to her, everyone looks good in white. The truth is most people look like shit in white. A rare woman wears white head-to-toe well, and it ain’t exactly slimming. Occasionally, white works and when it does it can be admittedly spectacular. More often than not, it evokes the inevitable and dreaded bridal comparisons and should be avoided.
First, Rachel sycophantically gushed over the brilliant Oscar de la Renta, but it was slightly less annoying than usual since he actual deserves it. As expected, Oscar served gown after delicious gown, but really only one princess gown stood out as a possible Oscar option. 
After the show, Rachel, Rodger, and Brad piled into an SUV to go ten blocks to the Michael Kors show. Despite sitting in gridlock traffic less than a mile away, it didn’t occur to the West Coasters to get out and walk to make it on time. The three self-important assholes rolled in late and rude, even though all the editors and other fashion folk seemed to make it on time under identical circumstances. On the way out, Zoe complained loudly about people sweating them for their bad manners and tardiness.
Rodger and Rachel’s sister, Pam, went to Kiki de Montparnasse to find something sexy for Rachel. The thought of emaciated, wrinkly, Rachel ensconced in lingerie is enough to conjure the heaves (Rachel Zoe presents the Refugee Collection). The lubricious salesgirl wasted no time breaking out an “intimacy kit” complete with vibrator. 
Mortified, Rodger moved on to the French Maid getup, before settling on a simple black camisole and lace thong that he could have bought anywhere. Proving he’s at least forty percent queen, Rodger closed the sale by saying, “We should get this because it is sexy, and she can definitely wear this with a Chanel jacket and be happy.”
Next, Brad (sans Rachel and thus relegated to the 5th row) at Derek Lam. Brad fixated on the modern white drapey cowl-neck high collar gown for Cameron Diaz, which was amazing (and was coincidentally included in Demeter Clarc’s selections of the best Fall 2010 gowns). Despite the gown’s dopeness, it obviously wasn’t right for Cameron or the Oscars. Brad says Taylor made him look incompetent, but so far he’s done just fine proving his lack of artistic vision. His picks are off, and that’s why you should never trust a gay man to do a woman’s job. Brad excels at dressing men, and that’s where he should turn his focus.
Rachel rushed waaaaay down market to style her QVC fashion show. The collection looked cheap, budget, and utterly home shopping. This should prove once and for all that this woman’s style and certainly her design talent, are greatly exaggerated. Admit it, the collection was not hot.
For their anniversary, Marisa gave Rodger and Rachel a DVD of their 1998 St. Barts honeymoon. Rachel was barely recognizable in the video describing herself as “a brunette with no wrinkles.” 
After, Rachel and Rodger traded gifts. Rachel bought Rodger a gift, and a gift for herself from Rodger – rose gold and diamond handcuffs. 
When Rodger busted out the Kiki de Montparnasse box, Rachel recoiled in horror repeating the mantra “not wearing it.” When Rodger pulled the relatively benign cami out of the box Rachel’s panic subsided, but she batted down his attempt to show the thong. Can we agree that a sex tape staring these two would be the least erotic thing ever?
Rachel seemed pretty disappointed with her gifts until Rodger busted out a custom Barbie doll fashioned in her image. First Dylan McKay’s Porsche, then Rachel Barbie, gentlemen take note.
That evening at Donna Karan, Rachel chirped, “Hey Beauty!” to the likes of Demi Moore, Susan Sarandon, and Brooke Shields reminding us that Zoe herself is more hired-help than style star. Rodger and Rachel told anybody who would listen about their wedding anniversary, and then feigned surprised when congratulated, exclaiming how nice it was that everyone remembered.
Pam sat Rachel down and gave her a serious talking to regarding her reproductive future. Rachel blames her hectic schedule on her childless womb, but she probably just doesn’t want to get fat or quit smoking. Hermès, Chanel, Balenciaga, these are Rachel’s babies. 
Getting ready for Marc Jacobs, Rachel vacillated between hair-up or hair-down, with the majority of Team Zoe preferring the hair up so as not to compete with the ruffled shoulder. 
Considering the jacket choice, her hair did look better up, and that’s how she walked out the door. However, moments later in the car, the hair was down. How can you trust a stylist that cannot style herself?
The next morning, Brad broke the news of a ban on white gowns at the Oscars. Rachel whined, “I hate no white.” Fear not, she utilized the Lam in this Bazaar spread with Atwood.
Wrapping things up at 
So many of you will be rush, rush, rushing out to see the new Julia Roberts movie Eat, Pray, Love, opening mañana. The book evokes derisive, polarizing, debate for a variety of legitimate reasons. Regardless of personal opinion, never have so many approached me as when I read this book on vacation a few years ago. Eat, Pray, Love lives in the realm of white female privilege. If you can get past that, the kundalini discussion is pretty interesting. So yeah, in honor of Mz. Roberts, please enjoy a retrospective of her earlier guilty pleasures.
Satisfaction, a 1988 cult classic staring Justine Bateman as the lead singer of Mystery, and Liam Neeson as the curmudgeony barkeep. Julia Roberts embarrasses herself with her rhythm-less, pouty portrayal of Daryle, the slutty bass player in a nearly all-girl band. This marks the beginning of a string of roles where Julia plays the lovable, ditzy skank. The soundtrack, while hard to find, contains some memorable moments – consider tracking it down.
Also right outta ’88, let’s enjoy a slice with the gang from Mystic Pizza. Strong performances by Lili Taylor and Annabeth Gish challenged Julia to step up her acting a notch in her portrayal of Daisy Arujo. Julia captures Daisy’s yearning to abandon her towny-waitress life by using her significant wiles to leverage her ivy league boyfriend as a ticket to the good life (remember, this was the 80′s). Don’t even attempt to watch this without your favorite pizza handy.
Steel Magnolias marked a shift in the public perception of Julia Roberts. Abandoning slutty to play Shelby, Julia proved she had acting chops and gravitas. Julia’s humility allowed her to learn from those around her, and she obviously absorbed a great deal from the talented cast that surrounded her in Steel Magnolias. It is still the gold standard for conjuring laughter through tears.
1997′s My Best Friend’s Wedding still holds up as the best of those misogynistic wedding-themed movies. Julia brings true star power to this role, filing up the screen with her toothy mopish grin. She creates fizzy chemistry with Cameron Diaz and Rupert Everett, proving she can magnanimously share the laughs. My Best Friend’s Wedding marks the last film Julia made before she lodged that giant self-righteous rod up her ass. 