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April 01, 2008

April Fug's Day

The Sex and the City movie, for me, is really just an opportunity to check in on what new, delicious nonsense the four heroines will wear around town as if it's completely normal, like, say, a flower bigger than your head pinned between your boobs.

Or an ensemble inspired by what Fozzie and Miss Piggy's illicit offspring would look like:

[Photo: Splash News]

Okay, so as you may have guessed from my feeble Photoshop job and the INCREDIBLY SUBTLE title of this post, that is not actually Sarah Jessica Parker up there wearing that outfit. You may be able to guess who it is -- the answer is after the jump -- but first, admit it: If I had been able to pull off a seamless face transplant, you might have believed this and just let it go. It's a very "Carrie Bradshaw Goes To Paris To See What Tiny Hijinks Mikhail Baryshnikov Is Up To These Days" outfit, with the possible caveat that it's almost too tacky, and yes, I totally just wrote the words "too tacky" in reference to Carrie Bradshaw's wardrobe and meant them.

But no, the REAL perpetrator of that crime is:

[Photo: Splash News]

Poor Isla Fisher. The shoot for Confessions of a Shopaholic is still going strong, and the photos still reek of eau de Patricia Field, like they're hoping people will mistake this film for a romp with Carrie's surprise baby sister, who is a mustard fetishist.

Points in its favor: Isla Fisher is cute and funny, so maybe she can yank some semblance of likability out of the formerly British, now apparently American, financial-writing-bullshit-artist and all-around idiot Becky Bloomwood. Plus, there is something soothingly frothy about the bright colors they have her in all the time, kind of like a walking approximation of a gelato-shop window.

Points against: If I have to watch the character dump credit-card statements in the subway and generally act like a selfish moron JUST so she can afford to dress like a Baskin-Robbins bubblegum ice-cream sundae... well, it's going to make it very difficult to sit through the movie without yelling something inappropriate in the movie theater.

Because let's face it, of COURSE I'm going to end up seeing it. I will be shaking my fist at the sky and cursing the author's name the whole way, of course, but far be it from me to avoid something because it's going to be some degree of terrible. Just THINK of the many hours of Ghost Whisperer fashion malarkey (or vampires smelling the past on Moonlight) I'd have missed that way.

Posted by Heather at 09:03 AM | Permalink


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