Malice in Wonderland

Joan Rivers, Bohemia, and the Oscars

In this climate it takes a real revolutionary to break out the feathers and carry an egg purse. But go ahead—dress like a cat or a carnival barker, wear a cummerbund with bedroom slippers and a boa if it makes you feel good. It'll give hope to all those pink-haired Raggedy Ann types stuck in towns where everyone else looks like Britney Spears. The tragedy of poor Sela Ward is that you really have no idea what her intention was: Behind those Kewpie doll bows was there an Isabelle Blow screaming to get out? It is our fond hope that someone will show up on the red carpet next Sunday in a flannel shirt, or a tutu, or a bearskin suit, look the TV camera straight in the eye and shout, "Hey, Joan! Yo, Melissa! You ladies are greatly mistaken. This is not fizzin'. This is sizzlin'. "

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