Everyone is happy happy joy joy over this PBS Masterpiece show, Downton Abbey. Like, this week alone, my dad, my maid, my dad’s driver, and all of my doctors have asked me if I’m watching Downton FUCKING Abbey. And the answer is yes, OKAY?!!! Get off me. But I only watch it because I am LIVING for their sartorial choices, namely the gowns. Whoever is dressing the thinny little minnies on this show deserves a blow-job. Now. The attention to detail makes my skin crawl in a good way. The color palettes from lapel to stocking are so harmoniously robust, it makes me sick to look at anything contemporary–like, Versace’s been giving me dry-heaves. And I do not normally give a shit about pride, and little women, and prejudices, and sensibilities, and that whole world, and whatever. Old Britain reminds me of wrinkles.
Beyond DA’s sky high levels of chic, I think the show is boring as fuck. But I kind of love boring shows because they give me more time to text, check Facebook, email, tweet, text, and post on my blog. In fact I’m watching it right now while texting and doing emails.
So, I guess watch it if you’re bored…or boring. You’ll wish you never bought that hideous, neon PS1.