Dream sequence? High-budget porn? Film still from an MSNBC "Dark Heart/Iron Hand" documentary?
Oh no. None of the above. This was the ensemble of choice of The Hills' L.A.-based Whitney Port to deliver the most important professional presentation of her young, well-dressed life. In Manhattan. In September. In the AM.
For this woman.
I gasped out loud every time Whitney, her halter bikini tan lines and Milly 'Filcoupe' dress sashayed on-screen. I gasped when she matter-of-factly told LC as they waited in the Teen Vogue lobby, "I would never wear this to work in L.A. - but this is Manhattan, it's different here." I gasped when, in the middle of her presentation, when Whitney explained - er, tried to explain - where the flower arrangements would be placed in the venue, she inserted both thumbs into her sweetheart bodice and shimmied her cleavage back into place. I gasped when she bent over at the waist to pick up a piece of posterboard and we the viewers, not to mention the entire Teen Vogue senior staff, got to see just how mini her mini actually was. I gasped when, upon Whitney's return to L.A., her relentlessly condescending boss, Ms. Lisa Love, met her with a half-smile, tilted head and a very icily delivered, "So...I heard your dress made quite an impression."
And finally, I let out a last gasp when Whitney nodded, shot a lip-bite and curious look at an equally confused LC, and said, "Oh, did it?"
In the spirit of maintaining equilibrium - a concept I absolutely believe in - for every flower-emblazoned ruched strapless party dress worn to a morning business meeting, there scientifically has to be an outfit of khaki capris, a denim jacket and oxford pooties* having drinks at an upscale hotel bar.
Both, in my opinion, are equally offensive, but I just wish we, the women of DC, didn't always have to be the latter.
*actual outfit sighted last night at Palette in the Madison Hotel
(all photos courtesy of the Vh1 blog)
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