Uma Thurman
Uma's blue period began thusly, in what my eye keeps tricking me into thinking is a top and skirt, but it's just the way she's standing. I think I like it, but that might also be because she's glaring at me and she could totally kick my ass and I'm scared.
Uma Thurman
Then, another figure-hugger, this time at the closing ceremony. It's incredibly simple, with just that little trim that's sparkly, so it's the type of thing you can't wear unless you are SUPREMELY sure that you are smoking hot, because basically the only design element to the dress is: your boobs, your abs, your bum. Fortunately, Uma appears to be architecturally sound there.
Uma Thurman
Although perhaps not equilibrially sound. (That is so not a word. UNTIL NOW.)
Uma Thurman
Ta-da! Move along, nothing to see here, everything's fine.
Uma Thurman
I SAID TA-DA.
Uma Thurman
AND AGAIN. Good lord, this woman digs making an entrance. I probably would too, if I were eleven feet tall and gorgeous. I wish she'd toned down the pose on this one, though, because the view isn't as impressive -- I REALLY hate what the dress is doing to her chest. With all the body-con stuff Uma's been wearing, this totally loses the plot, like she got all tangled up in her nightie and decided, "Screw it, let's just throw on a cardigan and go DAZZLE THEM. DRINK IT IN. DRINK ME LIKE ONE OF THOSE BLUE MARGARITAS THAT TASTES LIKE... BLUE."