The Golden Globes are supposed to be glitz, glamour, and the kind of outfits that make people pause, applaud, or at least talk. This year, though, the afterparties felt like a different story — more craft-project-gone-wrong than couture. The ceremony had its share of awkward red-carpet choices, sure, but once the gowns and tuxes came off and the afterparty wardrobes arrived, it was as if a stylist left the room and chaos moved in. Not a single look felt quite right; some were oddly inspired, others just plain baffling. I mean, I appreciate daring, but there’s a line between bold and… whatever that was.
A strange tone set the evening. Host Nikki Glaser opened with self-deprecating jokes — a plastic-surgery gag and a few barbs aimed at the industry — and it loosened up the room, or so you’d hope. People were winding down after speeches, after jokes at their expense, after flashbulbs and schmooze. In that relaxed mode some artists double down on fun; others apparently go for what I can only describe as “mad-scientist chic.” You know the look: half-assembled, a touch theatrical, and oddly proud about its own problematic seams.
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Quirky, dated, and a little Frankenstein-y
Amal Clooney showed up to the Netflix afterparty in a Brat-green minidress fastened with visible safety pins. At first glance it reads like a very intentional nod to punk or DIY culture, and maybe it was. But there was also something comic-book Frankenstein about it — you couldn’t help thinking of stitched-up seams and a costume party prop. The shiny fabric and the way the pins were used gave the dress a slightly ’90s, Romy-and-Michele vibe, which is fun if you’re committing to camp. Amal, though — champion human rights lawyer, red-carpet regular — felt a surprising mismatch. Maybe she was trying to be playful. Maybe the dress was an in-joke. Either way, it landed a little off.
When biker-chic goes sideways
Tessa Thompson’s Balenciaga minidress read like an experiment that should have stopped in the fitting room. Imagine a sleek black motosuit with the bottom abruptly chopped off and replaced with shredded tire-tread layers. It was clever in a concept-art way, but on the dance floor it looked more like a costume rehearsal for a dystopian ballet. The shoes — sharp, birdlike heels — somehow pushed the whole look further into “I just performed with crows” territory. I like Tessa’s risk-taking; I just think this particular risk needed a bit more thought or maybe a nap beforehand.
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Western pastiche that missed the mark
Timothy Simons’s outfit felt like someone had reread a late-’90s sci-fi-western screenplay and decided to dress for the sequel. A long brown jacket, Western bow tie, and cummerbund made him look like he’d stepped off a film set that forgot to tell him what decade it was. It wasn’t a total disaster; it was more of a misread — a costume that tried to be playful and landed as nostalgic in an odd way. You could see the humor in it, but it also had that “weird prop in an otherwise serious movie” energy. He’s charming enough to carry it, but I kept thinking this outfit needed context.
A single embellishment and all the questions
Keri Russell wore a black halter gown with one strange silver detail at the torso. The accent looked like a small unblinking eye, oddly centered and oddly definitive. It’s not that the dress was bad on a technical level; it was that the single ornament felt unresolved. Like an unfinished thought. If it had been part of a belt or balanced by another element it might have worked better. As-is, the eye held the viewer’s attention in a way that didn’t help. I found myself wondering what it was meant to signify: fashion-forward boldness, or just an avoidable design quirk?
When stains and structure steal the show
Not all wardrobe missteps were about daring design. Will Arnett, who lost the best podcast Golden Globe to his ex, Amy Poehler, turned up to the Netflix party with a yellowish stain down the front of his white shirt. It’s petty to dwell on spills, but there’s something unglamorous and utterly human about it. Celebrities get nervous, they drink, someone elbows them — whatever — and the stain is suddenly very visible. The image of a well-dressed man with a blotch running down his chest is oddly grounding. We expect polished perfection, and that kind of imperfection is, weirdly, relatable.
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White dresses that read as tissues
Malin Akerman’s white structured minidress had so many folds and layers that, from certain angles, it looked like a crumpled tissue firmly glued to her. That sounds harsh — and yes, it was probably meant to be sculptural and elegant — but the execution made it look bulky and a touch clumsy. She carried it with confidence, sure. But sometimes fabric with too much structure becomes an accidental prop, and this was one of those times.
Nobody came out of the night completely unscathed. Some of these choices were brave, some felt like jokes, and some were just puzzling. I half admire the willingness to try something weird — it takes guts to gamble on an outfit in front of the whole industry — but there’s a difference between fresh and unfinished. Still, I’d rather see someone take a swing and miss than watch a room full of safe neutrals. It keeps things interesting.
The Golden Globes afterparties were messy, theatrical, and a little bit human. That’s not all bad. The red carpet needs a few more stories like this: the odd ones, the imperfect ones, the ones that make you pause and smile or squint and ask, “Did they mean that?” Fashion should provoke, not just polish. These looks provoked, even if they didn’t always persuade.
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