Here is an interesting article about the oscars fashion:
The plaudits for most age-appropriate elegance instead went to Susan Sarandon, in floaty black chiffon with the sort of expensively cut straps that fall casually off the shoulder to eliminate upper-arm issues, and Keisha Castle-Hughes, whose blush-pink dress and gauzy cape emphasised that, first, she's 13, and, secondly, she was appearing without the aid of Botox.
It's so disappointing. Having become a poster girl for baby boomers and triumphantly beating her co-star Jack Nicholson at his own game by proving that a 57-year-old woman (that's 90 in Hollywood male years) can look as foxy and gorgeous as any 35-year-old, she took to the red carpet as though it were not 2004, but rather 1978, when she was named Best Actress for her 1977 film, Annie Hall.
This was for many a halcyon time when you could wear half a sofa to a gong ceremony, wouldn't be lambasted for being anti-American if you weren't glamorous enough, and stylists were people who chipped the vomit off your frock when you turned up for a magazine shoot after a heavy night out with Jack and the gang.
Charlize Theron, fresh from terrorising Hollywood producers with her sheer unfanciableness in Monster, looked devastatingly gorgeous on Sunday in a hazy column of greige (Red Carpet's answer to beige) Gucci and a classy, Old-Time Hollywood waved bob. Scarlett Johansson, slightly grungy in Lost In Translation and wearing a Dutch cap that must have frightened the bejesus out of the marketing men behind Girl with A Pearl Earring, transferred her red carpet impersonation of Modern Marilyn from Leicester Square to the Kodak Theatre, courtesy of half a tonne of diamonds and a lovely, deep jade, silk Alberta Ferretti siren gown. Annie Lennox, the broad with scary hair (and now an Oscar for Best Song), also went for 1930s Hollywood glamour in a baby-blue Stella McCartney. In those agonised, last-minute decisions, when they can easily be swayed by their manicurists' tarot-readers' lucky colour, lie the fate of some of the world's biggest global brands.
It is a huge, expensive gamble. Roberto Cavalli told me last week in Milan that each of his Oscar dresses costs £10,000, (€15,000) excluding the team of seamstresses that are flown over by each designer - and no one knows until the ceremony starts if their designs will be worn. The jackpot makes it all worthwhile.
That's why Armani and Ferretti changed the dates of their catwalk shows last week; why US Vogue editor Anna Wintour was in Hollywood and not the front row over the weekend; why Tom Ford skipped his leaving party from Gucci last Wednesday to take a midnight private jet to LA.
The marvellous aspect - from the audience's point of view - is that after so much care, hysteria and last-minute jawline redefinition, it can still go so adorably wrong.
After last year's relatively toned-down awards (cue lots of black) this was destined to be one of the most glamourous Oscars - as beautifully demonstrated by Nicole Kidman, who looked exquisite this year in ice blue, slender Chanel, in contrast to last year's exquisite black Gaultier.
Oh, how an actress emotes with the tide of international politics when she is hovering between crotch-plunging Versace and dark, sedate Marc Jacobs. | 
![[ SARAH ]'s Avatar](http://www.eternal-allegiance.com/customavatars/avatar61411_1.gif){kind=avatar}
![[em0] h e a r t's Avatar](http://www.eternal-allegiance.com/customavatars/avatar54946_1.gif){kind=avatar}
