The other day, I was watching the reruns of The OC that they're currently airing on Soapnet, and thinking about Mischa Barton. Namely that even when she's dressed like a total nut job or delivering a less than stellar line-reading, you can't escape the fact that she is extremely pretty. Which does help her get away with these sorts of pantsual shenanigans:
I think my feelings on super-high-waisted pants are very well documented, but the issue with these, as far as I'm concerned, is less "Ooh, if these are totally accentuating HER tiny saddle bags, I'd look like I was stocking up for a trip on the Oregon Trail in them," and more that they're total Mom jeans. Not in the unflattering pleated Mom jeans sense, but in the sense that I am pretty sure my ACTUAL Mother wore a pair like these when I was in pre-school. So my reaction to them is very confused and visceral. On one hand, I think they're insanely unflattering and I hate them. On the other hand, I feel like I just had a nice long stint with finger paints, a peanut butter sandwich, a hug, and I'm ready for a nap. Which is quite pleasant really. I think I shall resolve this quandry with a little Seasame Street.
Okay, Granny Barton, turn up your hearing aid and have a listen: When Julie Andrews tore down the drapes and made them into children's clothes for those crooning moppets, she had the benefit of some very high-quality fabric to use in her forced improvisation. Do not try to achieve the same effect by ripping down your cheap mangy old kitchen curtains. For one thing, it's completely unflattering. For another, when you are skipping around a Swiss mountainside -yes, I noticed your frolicking sandals in your hand there- it's far too likely a gust of wind will catch your flimsy tent mini-dress and blow it up over your head, unveiling your girlie mysteries to whatever eager cows, goats, or roving bands of close harmony singers that might happen to be cavorting alongside you. Not to mention, chopping up your great-grandmothers good napkins just to make an ill-fitting vest seems a bit unnecessary. Is this all some kind of rage issue against your home decor? Perhaps you need to go stand in the time-out corner in your nursing home. Or be banned from Friday night bingo until you stop wearing flimsy household objects.
Ladies and Gentlemen, (props to the one guy who reads my blog even if it is my husband), I give you Mischa, demonstrating the latest in tourniquet-chic:
I have questions.1.) At what point in her day did she say, "What this torn white tank really needs is a plaid diaper"?
2.) Can she please have a chat with her pelvic bone? It's an awful camera hog.
3.) Does she travel with sanitary seat liners?
4.) Don't you think Marissa Cooper would have worn these shorts....as a hat?
5.) When will someone tell her that being born with beautiful eyes, skin, hair, and bedding a string of gnarly boyfriends, is not actually a strategy for defying gravity?
Sigh. I guess we should just be thankful she's not parading around town with things tied to her head right?
Okay, one more question:6.) When did "modern-day flower child with dash of Bjorn Borg" become a personal style?
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