Dodgy At Best

Me? Meet Meryl.

// February 10th, 2010 // Daily Jots

Is there a movie in which Meryl Streep doesn’t look like the epitome of refined hotness? I’m not sure such a thing exists. I was never a huge Meryl fan but it seems that as she gets older — aging more gracefully than us mere mortals could ever dream — and I edge up in years right alongside her, she becomes gorgeous-er and gorgeous-er and I just find new wrinkles that never used to be there.  I suppose you could argue that she didn’t look all that smashing in Doubt, but given the potency of her performance there’s still a sort of talented magnetism that would make her amazing even after a 48 hour binge on potato chips and episodes of Anne of Green Gables (really, enough to make anyone go a little off).

I watched The Devil Wears Prada the other week, which is what brought all of this on, plus I have a major awards show coming up in which I expect/hope to have to stomp up to the stage at least once, so while dress shopping and shoe shopping and doing all those fun girl things that all girls should love, it’s all I can do to try desperately to channel Meryl, so that I’ll look disgustingly fab in a potato sack, which is all they offer women who have more than one of the following features: height, big feet, big boobs, anti-waifish build, a vague grasp on reality.  There are few times during the year that I hate the fashion industry more than February.  If anyone knows where I can get an attractive pair of size 12-13 flats in the next week and that won’t cost me my left kidney in barter value, let me know because I’m dying here.