Sign up to receive all the latest, direct to your inbox. It's what the cool kids do, promise.




It’s Brownlow Medal Red Carpet Time! *squeals*

Hands up if you actually watch the Brownlow Medal count.  (Oh put your hands down, very right now.  You do not. #liar)  I’m not sure who decided that the Australian public actually wanted to listen to three hours of the AFL Chief mispronounce the surnames of around 70% of the currently listed players in the league, but they should have all decision making privileges removed immediately, BECAUSE THIS IS SO DULL WE ARE ACTUALLY CONSIDERING GNAWING OFF OUR OWN ARMS, BECAUSE BORED.  Surely you’d get yourself reported (and therefore ineligible) because my godfather, that seems like some insane form of torture, having to sit through that, stone cold sober, just to win a crappy little medal.

But, I am so very glad that the Football Gods created the Brownlow Medal on the eighth day (yunno after they made all the ‘good’ stuff), because they gave us the gift of the Brownlow Red Carpet.  Stuff the Oscars.  This is what fashion blogging dreams are made of.  It’s 60% School Formal and 25% Gold Coast Barbie and much like Nordstrom Rack, if you look really, really hard, you can find some fashion gems amongst the Kardashian Kollection.  (And don’t even get me started on that hot mess.  Even the name makes me shudder.  But I digress…)

Even on the darkest night, there are some stars shining bright, and without further adieu, I present to you, the very (very) short list of who actually did fashion tonight.  (yunno, as opposed to FASHUN, which involves sequins, over-accessorising, and much, much boob-age).

Grab a cup of tea, pop your comfy socks on and find some snacks.  Because we’re going in deep…






Holy sweet potatoes, sports fans.  Mrs Judd has absolutely everyone-may-as-well-save-their-pennies-and-rock-up-in-potato-sacks-because-thats-basically-what-they’ll-look-like-in-comparison-anyway knocked the 2014 red carpet outta the park.  Diddya get that??  OUTTA THE PARK.  (Bold and caps so y’all know I mean business.)  It’s so bang on trend it makes my head hurt.  And she’s not letting the fact that the dress code for the Brownlows basically reads ‘Year 12 Formal or Disco Slut’ get in the way of some bona fide fashion – she’s brought her couture a-game that could basically rock the red carpet of the Met Ball.  You’ve ended up on the fail list a few times, Bec, but I’m happy to report that ALL IS FORGIVEN.




Dear Everyone Wearing Metallics.  This.  This is how you ‘metallic’.  (Just making up my own adjectives now, but eh, just run with me here folks…)  The silhouette?  Perfection.  The pattern?  Amaze-balls.  But where my mate Belinda has just smashed all the goals, won all the things and achieved world peace, is by remembering the golden rule of metallics.  When Thou Art Metallic-ing, Thou Should Keep Thy Rest of Thy Things Simple.  Meaning, (for those of you playing along at home) that she’s made the dress the focus, resisted the urge to rock the bling just because she can, and run a simple wave through the hair before she’s ducked out the door.  Ms Riverso, fashion salutes you.




This, ladies and gees, is the fashion equivalent of going on a date with someone you met on Tinder two weeks ago while drunk.  So ridiculously risky that even Tom Waterhouse won’t give you odds, but holy smokes if it works – you’ve got one major story to tell the world about how you won everything.  Yes, the boobs are out, but when you’re rocking suit-y chic, it’s cheeky, not trashbag.  And in a sea of Year 12 Formal chiffon, it’s an effing breath of fresh air.  The hair and makeup is so slick, even Barney Stinson would approve.  Suit up, indeed.




Nope, I’ve got no clue who this lil’ filly is either.  But can we take a moment to applaud her very first Brownlow outing?  (Ok, that’s very much long enough.)  Yes, I get it, I get it.  When in doubt, go all black errythang.  It’s predictable, correct.  But when you mix this much fun in a simple little black number, find a hair and makeup artist who actually gets you and whack them all together without whipping your boobs out, you get all the win.
Also, she’s a relative unknown, owning the fashion race, so 5:1 odds on her doing a Lauren Phillips. (That’d be ditching the AFL man-bag because she’s gonna be a media dah-ling in her very own right soon enough.  If you can’t keep up, we’re not going to be able to stay friends, alright?)




This innovative and sleek design has brought class and a quiet elegance to the 2014 Brownlow red carpet….ha, I’m sorry.  I can’t even make it all the way through that sentence.  SERIOUSLY GABI.  I can’t even.  You’re cool and whacky, we geddit.  Stop assaulting our eyes with these monstrosities and for the love of lycra, use some of G-Edds millions to hire yourself a stylist.  No, not yourself.  An actual real one.  In the meantime, boot off to a Halloween party or something, alright?




Let’s face it.  I only popped her above to make sure y’all were paying attention, yunno?




I don’t actually get it.  Why are all the bloggers losing their instagram-shit over Emma?  Is it just because she was one of the first down the carpet that no-one wanted to get their claws out just yet?  Or are we just so relieved to spot a lass who’s not got boobs and thigh out, so she wins by default?  Clearly, she’s hired Sandra Sully as her hairstylist.  Also, Em?  Meryl Streep, circa 1982 called.  She wants to remind you to get the dress dry cleaned before you return it…




Australia Against Bad Public Display Of Boobs; 3 votes, Georgiea Jamison.
There’s one way to tell a 2nd or 3rd timer on the Brownie Red Carpet.  And that’s with boobs.  All the boobs.  Boobs with a side of boobs and boob sauce.  The excitement of actually scoring a ticket has worn off, the novelty’s gone, and they graduate from ‘I’m heading to my school formal’ to ‘I’m gonna get the ladies out because that’ll get me in the pic spread in tomorrow’s Confidential’.  Because, media whore.  Bonus bogan points for the sequins too, G-Jam.




Dear Gary Ablett Jnr.  That’s a long, long way to fall.  I mean, a few years ago, you and L-Fizzl were rocking the red carpet as the Official* Darlings of the Brownlow, and now, uh….this is happening.  Orright, shall we start at the top, Jords?  Try and keep up, oakies?  So, that’s an alarmingly high pony tail.  Especially when you add a choker.  Whoever told you that worked, please remove them from your friendship circle.  I’m pretty sure they were taking bets to see how long it would take before you noticed that they were completely, absolutely bs-ing you…
Next…what’s with the arm, uh, thingos?  Do they have a name?  Is there any particular reason why you thought they were a good idea?  Did you have a plan beyond fodder for sassy fashion bloggers?  Did you lose a bet?
And finally, why is your wedding veil being dragged along behind you on the floor?




Ladies and gees, I shall further more dub this ‘When Fake Tan and Bad Fashion Team Up To Destroy The Universe As We Know It’.  Nads, I can see where you were headed.  And yep, totes agree with you.  Crisp white does look spectacular against a golden tan.  But this, my dear, is so far from spectacular, I’m not sure we could beat the SYD>LAX flight before you could get there.
Stop injecting shit into your face.  And you probably could have skipped the twice a day spray tan habit.  And smile, for the love of champagne, SMILE.  But this isn’t about your body, it’s about your fashion.  Or the lack there of.  Take a look at B-Judd.  That’s how you do ‘white with classy interest’.  Not with bondage straps.  Though I’m sure Jimmy’s not complaining…


Lemme know who takes ol’ Charlie home, alright??

Share this article

No Comments Yet.

Your thoughts

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.