Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh dearie me

I don’t know. I don’t know. Suddenly, I’m just not as confident as I was. I mean, I’m sure NO ONE was wearing anything even remotely like this at the SAG Awards. I mean, it’s the dress I would have worn if I hadn’t been a prom-refusenik in 1987. Except probably I would have worn white pumps. Or neon pink.

And that’s the thing. Where is that little soupcon of neon pink? Or the clutch of emu feathers? Or the tulle? Dammit. There’s no tulle! Block out the head and this could have been anybody (well, almost anybody). And she’s wearing black platform pumps! I mean really. Kim Kardashian probably has those same shoes. HB-C could at least have had little rhinestone skulls on her shoes.

I mean, I’ve just built this up so. This run of truly Helena Bonham-Carter dresses that will get progressively more HB-C. Until, the crowning moment. The Oscars. When she glides down the red carpet in something truly magnificent (possibly motorized with fairy wings, or a small tasteful brooch made from a functioning Tesla machine). St. Helena of the Volcanic Gowns is really one of the last bastions of individuality on the red carpet. And not to get attention. She doesn’t need attention. She has talent! And she’s also not doing it because she’s over-medicated. She just seems to wear what she wants to wear.

And this is what she wanted to wear. I mean. It’s okay. But it’s just so . . . plain. Damned near, oh, I can barely think it. It’s almost . . . tasteful. I’m so concerned. Maybe this is just a red herring. A sartorial sorbet, to clear the palate. And she just has something incredible planned for the Academy Awards. Like twins dressing with Tilda Swinton. Oh! I just made myself gasp! I need to keep my expectations low. What if she were to show up in . . . Calvin Klein? Or, oh my gawd, Michael Kors! I love you, MK. But if you even try to put a stitch of clothing on La Helena, I will scratch your eyes out!