Last night all of America gathered around their flat-screen televisions to participate in that age-old pastime, the Oscars. Yes, it’s a night of glitz and glamour, jewels and gowns. It’s the ultimate opportunity for Hollywood’s elite to twirl on the red carpet, wave at scary fans, relish in the fact they’ve made it — out of all the hundreds of thousands of delusional, striving, starving actors who come to Los Angeles with ten dollars in their pocket and a creepy uncle back home, they’ve beat the odds. And what do we do? Tear them down while stuffing our faces with homemade nachos and various carbs those bitches ain’t had for WEEKS. It’s an evening where we, the unfamous plebeians of the world, can shout our shamefully judgmental and wholly inconsequential commentary from the sidelines. Like it matters.
And so, in keeping with the collective and needless urge to weigh in on ultimately useless matters, we’ve made a little recap of our own. We’ll keep this short and sweet, unlike the acceptance speeches that kept you up way past your bedtime on a school night.
Number one stunna in an Easter egg ball gown fit for a winner. The night belonged to Nyong’o, who is in clear possession of that thing they call “inner beauty.” Mad props for making an emotionless stone like me cry into my chicken tacos during that acceptance speech.
Think Jen got my last memo about the haircut and is growing that shit out. Only one more year and we’re back in Babe Town. Short hair notwithstanding, from the neck down all systems were go. Dior was on point, per the usual, and jewels were fresh. I, too, would like to casually drape a billion dollars of Neil Lane around my neck. Oh, this old thing?
I don’t want to trade in my mom because that would be weird, but if I could trade in my mom, I think it would be for Cate Blanchett.
Camila Alves (aka Mrs. Matthew McConaughey)
Another girl on the Easter egg tip, Camila’s dress read as a little too Gwen-in-Tom-Ford derivative for my taste. (Gwenny’s look was untouchable; anyone who attempts to recreate it shall be slayed in perpetuity.) That being said, Camila’s life is way more fucking awesome than mine, so my commentary about this dress (which she looked gorgeous in) is null and void. If one day some dude incorporates me into a speech like Matthew McConaughey’s, I should be so lucky.
That Bulgari necklace needs to be mine. Pronto.
This Jared Leto and the Fountain of Youth topic has been beaten over the head, but let’s revisit. This dude was born in the ‘70s. In a side-by-side picture my friends crafted of the two of us for hair comparison purposes (happened around hour three of the Oscars, after the snacks had run out and the blood sugar started crashing), he looks younger (and more attractive) than I do — which, unlike his, err, band, is something I have great respect for. Last night served as a revelation: If you checked his mom (babe alert) and his older brother, they’ve clearly all sold their souls to the devil. No one in the family looks a day over 35.
Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell
These two are still clearly fucking, and still fucking when you’ve known someone for a few decades seems pretty ideal. Sidenote: Never get married.
Sometimes things are so perfect and beautiful that you take them for granted. It’s, like, too much to take in so you live in denial of their perfection in order to go about life normally – sort of like living in Rome or having breasts like Emily Ratajkowski’s. You’ve got to just ignore it otherwise you’d be forever standing in the shadows of the Vatican with your mouth agape or jerking off in your bathroom all day to your own reflection. Angelina Jolie is like that.
(Photos courtesy of Getty Images via Style.com)