I have a lot of anxiety about tomorrow's elections because, well, I am going to be horrified regardless of who wins. And so I am going to lash out the only way I know how: through fashion via this unsuspecting victim, Elise Neil. This is a classic case of wrong place, wrong time.
I get that this is the Soul Train awards but I'm fairly certain that no one meant for the Train part to be literal. And to double down on that notion seems incredibly uncalled for. What in the flying freak is happening here? It's like some sort of reverse platypus. Even Elvis knew not to go this far and he isn't typically thought of as a man full of restraint. Is there a tiny maid of honor hiding somewhere to hold these trains for her when she walks? Maybe that tiny maid of honor could also play a tiny violin for her when she gets thrown on every worst-dressed list known to man.
The Wardrobe Whisperer is not typically this negative but I had to expel some of my inner fear and stress. Thank you, dear readers, for this therapeutic session. Unlike the election, at this point there is little question which way this post is going to swing: Hell No, Elise. You are so much better than this.