Those shoes, strangely, are marginally ahead of their time; not so the GIANT cuff on her jeans and the snug strapless shirt. This should not work, at all, and yet she manages not to look absurd in it, which is... a feat. Also, if there hadn't been a surfboard back there to prove the age of the photo, I bet you'd have thought it was a lot more recent. She looks EXACTLY THE SAME.
THERE we go -- those are the 2003 shoes I expected to see. Now if we could just take a scissors to that skirt...
This was at a Make-A-Wish Foundation benefit, and well, you know what my wish is. The early aughts were seriously such a rough time.
Why don't chartreuse lace-up boots feel more wrong to me? They deserve better.
Rachel's bodice is a little weird, but it may actually be more important to dissect what Samaire Armstrong has on her body. It's like she gnawed off the figure-skating skirt with her teeth.
This feels really Little Joey Potter On The Prairie to me.
Ah, kitten heels and fluff. I bet she wants this one back -- if she tried it now, with better lipstick, higher fun shoes, an updo, and MAYBE a trim of the hem, we'd probably be in business with it.
Classic over-accessorizing. Like, why do you need tights at all when only two inches of leg is exposed? There are seriously seven different pieces to this ensemble and none of them are saying much to each other.
By contrast: so simple, so refreshing.
There is way too much elasticized ruffling in this photo.
The cover line on Cosmo for this true tragic story is "THE LADY OF GARROTE: How My Lingerie Nearly Beheaded Me."
A year later, a MUCH cuter, cooler spin on the same neckline.
That's actually quite cool. We're getting into the phase where she was learning to spit-shine the boho thing that had been her signature.
And also, unfortunately, the phase where she wore an old woman's braid on her chest.
This is adorable.
Oh, lord and I remember ACTIVELY coveting this Sretsis dress. I yearned for it. No wonder those Hollywood miscreants spent so much time robbing Rachel's house. (Not that I advocate this behavior. I just meant, they had good taste.)
This glorified wet suit, less so. She really needed slicked back hair with that much dress.
I don't even need to deal with the rest of the outfit, because here is where it all went wacko for me. Your shoes should not look like something in which you can keep a forty of Old English.
Can we hold this against her? After all, shoving oneself into a tiny and tight bandage dress was a rite of passage at this moment. The key is that she never did it AGAIN.
We can hold this against her, though. The blazer alone, however, I wouldn't mind trying to hold against myself.
Cute again. So bright.
CRAZY again. So crinkled. Like if a Ferrero Rocher wore a training bra.
I'm distraught by the sleeves not actually being attached to the dress.
I'm distraught by EVERYTHING. THIS DRESS IS AN ENEMY OF THE STATE. Put it on the do-not-fly list at once.
And just like that, I can breathe again. So elegant (albeit slightly booby).
In fairness, I believe she arrived at the boat party wearing shoes. Also in fairness, that doesn't excuse the rest of it, unless she was the one serving drinks. And even then.
I suppose bejeweled areolae are better than real ones?
Dreamy.
Bad-ass and dreamy.
Gunmetal and dreamy. (It's a good thing. I love gunmetal. Just not on actual guns.)
Her face seems amused and a wee skeptical. With good reason. It looks recovered from a flooded, mildewing ballet shop.
But THIS is totally cute on her.
And this is probably as close as I'm going to get to being okay with hot-pink leopard.
Her tulle insect wings are killing the mood here.
A tad short, perhaps, but I LOVE the big ol' colorful paillettes. Cheers to her for having fun, and also not aging at all. I'll have what she's having.