I love Carrie Fisher. She’s self-deprecating and hilarious and smart and super candid about relevant, weird stuff. So I don’t mind her Tony getup. In fact, I love it. The whole idea of it.
What’s the point of hating people when they wear bad outfits? They’re the ones who have to live with it, not us. They’re the ones who have to decide later, “Do I dry clean the pit stains out of this or do I just use Woolite so my drycleaner doesn’t find out that I a) sweat down to my elbows and b) wore something that looks like and IS this thing that I’m now about to shove in the trashcan on the corner of 55th and 7th Avenue?”
The only exceptions I can think of to this rule would be boxers made from a North Korean flag and Swastika pasties.