Sexy. Sexy. Sexwaah. Backless, frontless, cut-outs, nude panels, skin. Legs, boobs, backs. More boobs. Stilettos, painted nails, painted faces, tumbling locks, bum cleavage. Fake tan, hair extensions and side boob. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.
Watching the red carpet dressing from the double whammy of award ceremonies last night – AFL’s The Brownlows and rugby league’s The Dally Ms – made me think two things: Since when did the dress code of ‘black tie’ or ‘cocktail’ become ‘Dress Code: Sexy’? And don’t nude-panels in dresses look like Nanna‘s cut up flesh stockings stuck on to some silk.
The Brownlows and Dally M’s are, to me, work functions for AFL and rugby league players respectively. Their partners are invited to come along and share in an evening where the season’s hard work is celebrated.
There were some elegant ensembles on the red carpet (they didn’t seem to get much attention). And then there were a lot of looks designed to make you look. Not because of OTT fabulousness or the sheer force of charismatic individual style, but because the wearer wanted to be sexy. Because isn’t being the sexiest woman in the room the highest praise of all? Because, whether you are 13 or 72, a mother or an oncologist, isn’t sexual attractiveness the greatest female achievement? What about looking stylish? Elegant even? Simply beautiful?
I’ve seen grainy pictures of teenage girls off to formals, leaning against balconies or standing beside front yard camellia bushes trying way too hard to look sexy. There’s no subtlety. They wear every single trick in one outfit: short, sparkly, cut-outs, fake tan, eyelashes that could come back in their next life as rollercoasters, but they are finding their way. Learning about their own bodies and their own style. I did the same thing, but my style learnings involved Tontine pillow shoulder pads, fuchsia lipstick, and home-dyed blonde hair that always had a yellow sheen.
