If the skirt weren't sheer, we might be having a different conversation right now, because the weirdo poncho and cummerbund REALLY appeal to the part of me that loves melodrama, and wants to imagine Gwyneth sitting at home at her antique typewriter, sipping a cleansing juice from fruit she just pressed with her own legs like a Thighmaster, plotting to take over the world and eliminate complex carbohydrates.
But, it is sheer. I see pelvic bone. Repeat: SHE IS WEARING HER PELVIC BONE AS AN ACCESSORY. I feel like she's thinking, "Come on, dude. I'm giving full groin realness over here and you choose NOW to be straight-faced and silent and businesslike?!?"
IT'S NOT EVEN EXPENSIVE-LOOKING OR FLATTERING SHEERNESS. IT'S LIKE SOMEONE SLAUGHERED SEVERAL PAIRS OF L'EGGS.
Imagine it black. Imagine it white, like the front. Or navy, like the back. But no. It HAD to be an episode of What Would J.Lo Do.
No, Robert. I cannot take your hand and go on this journey with you. Iron Man 2 was terrible and I REFUSE to let your lovely suit hypnotize me into being less crabby about GOOP's buttock windows. No sir.