Pret-a-Pinto: all that glitters...is a diamond bear trap

Bonnie and Clyde, Batman and Robin, and peanut butter and jelly are all superstars in their various pop culture realms. Yet if a list of delightful doubles were to be compiled by the general public, I am sure that there would be at least one glaring omission from their collective efforts. Many have already probably guessed where I am going with this one: E! Entertainment's own Joan and Melissa Rivers.

SARAH ENGLAND/YH

As if the acerbic and ancient Chanel-clad comedian did not bring enough sass (and plastic) onto respectable cable programming nationwide, Joan Rivers has made it her personal mission not only to annihilate her "empty nest" syndrome, but also to give her daughter a job. Thus, the toothsome twosome inflict a plethora of pre-show pandering and putdowns for every "major" awards show upon a viewing audience eager for a glimpse inside celebrity style. What any watcher should be asking, other than "How did Melissa Rivers develop her penetrating and erudite interviewing style?" is "What gives these two the right to systematically and publicly deconstruct anyone's style?"

I may be using Joan Rivers' own schtick against her, but she and her daughter always end up looking like dyed-to-match cabbages at public event. It wouldn't be prudent to put your faith in such red carpet couture commandos. It is my pleasure and my duty, then, to present a personal review of the most recent awards debacle, the Golden Globes.

Gliding down the red carpet, the men's wardrobe may appear less nuanced (read: tuxedo, tuxedo, tuxedo). Yet there are still surreptitious variations and egregious errors to be made. Many gentlemen made a subtle, yet elegant, protest against the typical black tie look. There were plenty of unctuous silken cream or silver neckties usurping the role of the hopelessly dorky and passé bowtie. Also in attendance were the new "not-quite tuxedo" tuxedos. Crafted more like a suit with only subtle touches of matte silk, these looks put a new spin on an otherwise stodgy range of options.

As the show progressed, it became painfully clear that the girls of the Golden Globes separated into three distinct camps: pretty, pretty princess and hoochie. Many of those who fell into the former category luckily managed to negotiate pounds of cloth and still not look like a dowdy bridesmaid. Sarah Jessica Parker complemented her adorable air-headedness with a light-as-air strapless beige number complete with fluffy train. Halle Berry, God's gift to Kodak, shed tears as precious as the tiny crimson primroses dangling from the bodice of her shaped white gown while she accepted her award.

Looking very much the ladies, Hilary "The Next Karate Kid" Swank and new bru Gwyneth Paltrow toed the line between daring and dainty. Swank chose a fitted black sequinned number, while Paltrow went for a lackadaisical pairing of black stovepipe pants and a yellow drapeneck tank (which, you will recall, would not have gone with her old hair color), jazzed up by what appeared to be a diamond bear trap dangling from her neck.

Taking a cue from the Mariah Carey makeover school, most of the other nominees went as tight as they could. Keri Russell of the WB network provided more than enough felicity for the viewers at home with her painted-on, low-cut mauve tank dress. Courtney Love, reveling in every minute of her newfound glamour, snaked her way through the proceedings in a shredded sequin and chiffon get-up. Love, like a Pinto in winter, goes from one rut to the next—just when it seemed that she would be forever promulgating the kinder-whore look, she is now interminably mired in post-apocalyptic couture. It is not a question of her looking bad, but she certainly must get tired of jamming those Versace gowns into the paper shredder at home.

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