It’s a mans(wear) world.

To me, awards season — and the red carpet that comes with it — is like the Superbowl. Or, at least the playoffs leading up to the Superbowl (Note: when I took this argument for a test drive on my better half on a Sunday during actual football playoffs, I basically got laughed off stage. Proceed with caution).  You can sit around in your robe, throw a face mask on, snuggle up with a bottle of wine and witness the fashion victories (and sometimes, pitfalls) of your favorite celebrities. Sans bra. It’s really just a glorious time to be had by all.

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You know a carpet is a true contender when you have one or all of the below emotions in a given sitting:

  1. Goosebumps (like I had when Gwyneth had that phenomenal white Tom Ford moment at the Oscars in 2012. Never forget.)
  2. Nausea (how J.Lo makes me feel every time she shows her 6-pack and I remember that she has TWINS)
  3. Discomfort (Claire Danes’ interviews. Always.)

The best part about a red carpet is when someone wears something that literally makes you question everything you ever thought you knew about fashion. There is no doubt it makes you nervous, but you like it. I digress.

I’m going to come right out with it… so far this awards season has given me blue balls. The anti-climax. There is only one exception: the menswear. There has been so. much. A+. menswear. So much of it that it is making me question my entire wardrobe. Emma Stone (deux!!), Lorde (ignore the pained smile), Jen (nickname basis) … have taken some true risks in the menswear space and have caused me many a sleepless night.

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