Watching the Oscars is like going to the gynecologist. No one likes it, but we still do it once a year anyway. I hate myself for tuning in, and when Hugh Jackman thanked me at the end of the broadcast for making it through this crap fiesta, I said "No Hugh, thank you for wasting three hours out of my life I'll never get back. And for forcing me to consume an entire bag of Kettle Kurls just to remain semi-conscious. And in my good sweatsuit!"
Unfortunately, my homie Mickey Rourke didn't take home the golden nude dude that he totally deserved. Fortunately for me, however, was that he was at least able to showcase his stunning sense of style: the sweaty weave, the stunna shades, the Al Bundy hands in the pants stance, the chains and the pointy pleather boots. What can I say? It works for me. He wins the coveted Dapqueen Dapper Dan Award. Don't sweat it, Mick, you earned it!
The Dapqueen Dame Diva Award was a little harder to narrow down. While I was completely drawn in by the gothic '80s prom vibe Marion Cotillard was sporting and the creamy dreamy swagger of Taraji P. Henson, it was of course Angelina Jolie's elegant impression of an evil Disney sorceress that made me cackle with delight. Her look was made complete with a witchy black gown, over the top emerald jewels and some wicked looking combed-back villain bangs, not to mention that trademark expression of carefully measured insanity on her face. Angelina, you are the shit and you know this. That is why only you deserve the Dapqueen Dame Diva Award!
Honorable Mentions:
Beyoncé Knowles, Anjelica Huston, Anne Hathaway
You broads are supremely foxy for sure, but how could you have predicted Angelina was receiving fashion advice from Cinderella's backstabbing army of sewing mice? Those meddling rats.
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