Grace Van Patten wore a black leather coat, striped sweater and matching trousers while walking with Tell Me Lies cast in 2026.
A bright Midtown afternoon, coffee carts hissing, taxis grumbling. Grace Van Patten cuts through it all in a long black leather trench that swings like a curtain behind her. Under the coat: a rust-and-rose striped crew-neck knit, tucked just enough into slick leather trousers that shine more than they slouch. Open-toe heels–also black, also glossy–click against the sidewalk like punctuation marks. A compact box clutch dangles from one hand; gold zipper, no fuss. Her hair hangs straight, center-parted, breezy but not messy, the kind of blonde that catches every shard of winter sun.
She’s flanked by Tell Me Lies castmates–denim jacket here, chunky gray overcoat there–yet she owns the frame. One swipe through the celebrity street style feed and you’d tag the look “rock-polished”: leather head-to-toe but softened by the almost childlike stripes. Sharp insight: when leather pairs with kindergarten colors, it stops posturing and starts storytelling–tough on the outside, playful underneath.
Quick critique. The trousers pool slightly over the peep-toe fronts, risking a wet-hem vibe if the weather turns. A crisper hem would keep the silhouette razor straight. Still, the outfit strides, not tiptoes. Mixing kindergarten stripes with biker slickness proves duality sells better than any logo.
Do the wide stripes energize the leather, or would you swap them for a monochrome knit to lean full noir?
Grace Van Patten wore a matte jersey top and glossy vinyl midi skirt at the Tell Me Lies Season 3 screening in 2026.
Mid-January in Manhattan. Low murmur of publicists, quick shuffle of photographers, and there she stands: Grace Van Patten, gloss meeting matte. A draped black jersey top–loose at the shoulders, neat at the neck–tucks into a high-waisted vinyl pencil skirt so shiny it steals the flash before it hits the backdrop. The skirt clings, then drops to mid-calf, splitting slightly at the back for movement. Sheer black tights, pointed pumps, one silver ring. That’s it. No necklace, no bag, not even earrings fighting for airtime. It’s the kind of celebrity red carpet restraint that makes silence feel loud.
The look banks on texture contrast rather than color fireworks. Soft fabric up top, almost liquid plastic below–two halves of the same noir story. 2026’s red-carpet drift toward “quiet kink” (think latex-lite, board-meeting silhouettes) lands neatly here. One sleeve slouches, hair spills in loose, beach-quake waves, but the vinyl keeps everything disciplined. When softness and shine share a single shade, the eye starts listening for nuance it usually skips.
Constructive quibble: the jersey’s relaxed cut risks bunching at the waistband, blurring that razor-sharp waist the skirt wants to frame. A subtle tuck or hidden snap could lock the proportions. Minor gripe though; the overall vibe is sleek, modern, unbothered.
Would a patent stiletto have amplified the vinyl’s edge, or does the current pump keep the balance just right?
Elle Fanning wore a black thigh-slit column dress and Dakota Fanning chose a blush ruffled gown at a Golden Globes afterparty in 2026.
The Chateau Marmont courtyard hums with leftover award-show adrenaline when the Fanning sisters slip through the crowd, two very different moods moving in tandem. Elle leads, a streamlined arrow in inky black–deep V neckline, sharp side slit, nothing else shouting. She keeps one hand on a small clutch, black lacquer meeting candlelight. Behind her, Dakota drifts more than walks, wrapped in a cloud-pink gown layered with feathery ruffles, bodice ruched tight, skirt exploding in soft chaos. Sisters, yes, but tonight they’re a study in chiaroscuro. One line. One blur. The contrast instantly earns a slot on every celebrity red carpet reel that hunts for the perfect event appearance pair.
