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Some
little girls never stop dreaming of their wedding dress. My gown
fantasy moved into another realm somewhere along the way to puberty.
Not that I don't imagine an ideal wedding dress, but at the very
least, not a week goes by without trying to figure out what my
Oscar Gown will be.
I
know I don't want to show up in Cher's "Kiss of the Spider Woman"
stick-em outfit. I can't carry off a high neckline so trying to
be as hip as Julie Christie wouldn't come off as swank on me. My
jugs are way too big for a sheer Geena Davis snakeskin dress; Susan
Sarandon has oft proven that post motherhood boobs don't always
belong off the leash. I had no desire to wear a satin airplane hanger
construct a la Sophia Loren or Hillary Swank. Tons of light beads,
making really dorfy patterns on dark beading and shoulder pads,
and built in corsets made of dry walling? The Country and Western
Queen look is not for me. There's no possibility I would wave my
bravado in front of the world in khaki like Diane Keaton once did
in character, as Annie Hall. I leave humble and graceful to Jodie
Foster, Meryl Streep, and Catherine Denueve. The clueless shows
of Jessica McClintock velvet prom nightmare gowns are not even in
my eye-line. I surely don't want whacky and ill fitting like Glenn
Close or Frances McDormand or almost any female documentary maker.
There's
no fear I'll shock anyone with my boniness, like Lara Flynn Boyle,
Madonna, or Calista Flockhart. I'm not going be bald or look like
a big table with an expensive tablecloth like Sigourney Weaver has
been known to do.
Who
else is memorable? The insanely perfect women, fat-free amazons
whose tits politely stand at attention in the tiniest t-shirt.
The women with long waists and sloped hips and concave upper thighs,
replete with muscular thighs and perfect toenails. They wear dresses
made of panty hose and sparkle and I cry. They go strapless in
nylon and giggle right over my self-esteem. Any color, any design,
any length, neckline, shoe-style, and fabric are perfect on them.
They have to choose between Calvin Klein, Vera Wang, and Versace.
There's no competing on this level; and to be sure, I'm definitely
talking about one of those dresses that everyone talks about the
next day. Since no one makes anything for my figure off the rack
or even couture, I knew I'd have to design my own.
This
is something I have been doing since before the dawn of tampons.
As a child, I favored dresses that mirrored the 'Maid Marion' style
of gown. Everything but the pointy hat. There were some variations
on the Marilyn Monroe subway dress. In the 1980's my concepts were
primary colors, angles, 1940 shoulder blades and fairly boring.
For years, I went totally dissatisfied with my creations. As a
20-something woman I'd occasionally see a dress on some star that
I'd wish would look good on me, but not being my own design, I disowned
them.
One
thing for sure I didn't want to be was super made-up. Simple, fresh
faced, gorgeous in a naturalistic way. No Joan Crawford or Collins
impersonations allowed.
Recently, possibly because part of me thinks that some day there
might some reason that the universe tosses me into a place where
I AM THERE, and probably a habit that would be cured if I could
just find a babysitter that my kid wouldn't be terrified of; I picked
up my mental drawing board again.
I
decided to think of several gown themes to narrow my choices.
The
Mamas And The Papas Theme: Flowing psychedelic empire-waisted, low
neck-lined, peace wear. A long version of a groovy mini dress hanging
off a bias cut. Hair: wavy, with flowers tucked into my crown of
curls. Jewelry: A four-leaf clover suspended in a smooth glass orb.
The
Blank Slate Theme: A dress so simple that you only remember what
color it is. Admired for all its lack of detail, it refuses to
shimmer, sparkle, shine, ruffle, crinkle and otherwise exist in
a 3-dimensional way. Could be built by a GAP seamstress/designer.
The
Shakespearean Femme Fatale: Flowing and clutched by gatherings and
seams and stitching at the bust, waist, breast crossing and everywhere
else a man might like to run his tongue; this gown is a pastel if
not crème-colored, floor-length affair. A cross with large garnets
heaves up and down with your busty lusty presentation. Long hair
down, wavy, nothing ornamental. Try and think: MEDIEVAL BAR WENCH
IN HEAVEN.
The
TV Adds 75 Pounds To You Theme: Dark, slim, snug lycra where you're
supposed to have a more defined waist, smaller boobs and a tighter
rear end. Chiffon is hung over this base, so not to reveal little
puckers of normal human cellulite and to hide arms that cannot produce
muscle tone with every flex. Hair tied up partially or back partially.
No jewelry. Emphasis on lipstick and delivery of banter.
The
Ankh Theme: A snug, flexible, long sleeved gown (with hanging arms-loose
fabric). A dark forest green with hundreds of tiny hot pink Ankh
symbols embroidered as an hypnotic pattern. Crazy, "I will not
be ignored!" Fatal Attraction hair. A suede choker with a giant
platinum Ankh hanging dead center. Fairly low cut in the back,
another larger still Ankh hangs right over the tailbone from the
back-line of the dress.
The
Coffin Theme: A bias cut, 1940's Rita Hayworth dame-broad treatment
made from a startling brightly colored silk, bunched and stitched
like the inside of a pricey coffin. Every curve, each boob, and
loping feature is glam'd-up. A broach of fake diamonds or stone
of same color as dress clutches just over the belly from the cleavage
area. Va-Voom.
The
Winner: After a lifetime of thinking, it's at least certain what
I'll wear my first year: an exact replica of Bette Davis's velvet
off the shoulder party dress. The dress where she warns everyone
to put on their seatbelt because it's gonna be a bumpy night. It
was supposed to look red as can be for black and white television,
but the dress was really brown. I like brown much more by far.
I think I might wear a demure gold Ankh with this gown. Not only
is it so hot after over fifty years since its conception, but it
could definitely start a trend with such classic fabulous movie
gowns.
Having
settled on a gown, the next particular to tackle would be, of course,
my male co-presenter. I don't think for a minute I'd be getting
and award, and there's not enough fantasy spinning time in the world
for me to figure out the ultimate acceptance speech. Instead of
declaring one preference, life becomes easier when accepting that
I can only narrow the field to my top ten co-presenter choices.
I
would add that since this is a completely delusional drill on my
part, I reserve the right to be swept behind a curtain just off-stage
and passionately devoured by my co-presenter for no less than 45
seconds straight.
10.
Rowan Atkinson: call me freak; I grew-up with a huge crush on Richard
Benjamin.
9.
Willam Dafoe: I fully expect him to stare at me with a haunted enraptured
gaze as I speak.
8.
All of the Bottoms Brothers. Joe, Timothy, Sam. All of them.
I can't choose so I'm happy to be the meat for their sandwich.
7. Tom
Cruise: we're both from New Jersey, he's single now, and I don't
care if he is a Thetan.
6. Martin
Donovan: I call shotgun before every magazine in Hollywood decides
to make him stud of the month.
5. Jack
Davenport: the Brit actor from "The Talented Mr. Ripley" and TV's
"This Life". He seems dangerous. He will make me visibly nervous,
the press will talk about the chemistry all week.
4. Guy
Pearce. He has to pretend to be that guy from LA Confidential though.
3.
Hugh Jackman: since James Fox, David Hemmings, Tom Berenger, Alan
Bates, Robert Redford, Dustin Hoffman, and Eric Burdon are probably
too old for me; just as I'd be for them; if only I could turn back
the clock...alas Beck is too young, so anyone in the "technically
a baby" arena is out too.
2.Paul
Thomas Anderson: What would a girly chimera be without an intellectual
hottie? Of course, I would love to leave him speechless.
1. Liam
Neeson: for all the wrong reasons. I haven't been able to think
about what he's like in bed since I saw him do a guest appearance
on "Sesame Street".
For
the record, the category we'll all likely be presenting the Oscar
to is: Best Cinematography; Foreign Film.
Copyright
© 2001 Viki Reed. All Rights Reserved.
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