Leighton Meester wore a lavender Carolina Herrera strapless gown with Chopard earrings to the 2026 Critics Choice Awards.
Leighton Meester is standing on the Barker Hangar carpet. It’s January 4, 2026. She is wearing Carolina Herrera , a strapless column of embellished tulle that looks like it was constructed by a particularly meticulous pastry chef. The color is lavender. Not a vague purple, but a definitive, sugar-coated lavender. It is a look that insists on its own sweetness.
In a celebrity style landscape currently obsessed with dystopia and armor, this feels like a defiant retreat to the country club. It evokes the socialite uniforms of the late 2000s, polished until the surface offers no friction whatsoever. It suggests a refusal to be “edgy,” opting instead for a kind of radical pleasantness.
The dress itself is technically the Carolina Herrera Embellished Tulle Strapless Gown , and it fits with the rigidity of an appliance. The bodice cuts a straight line across the chest, flattening the silhouette into a perfect rectangle. The texture—a grid of tiny, knotted embellishments—gives it a fuzzy, tactile quality, like expensive upholstery. She pairs it with Chopard Earrings , small drops of light that get somewhat lost in the polished waves of her hair. Somewhere beneath the floor-grazing hem are Jimmy Choo Minny Sandals , doing the structural work invisibly. It is a pristine, hermetically sealed image. A bit static, perhaps. It asks nothing of the viewer but to acknowledge that it is lovely, in a very quiet, very disciplined way.
Arden Cho wore a lilac Vivienne Westwood gown with silver Jimmy Choo platform sandals to the 2026 Critics Choice Awards.
Arden Cho is on the carpet at Barker Hangar. It is January 4, 2026, the occasion of the 31st Annual Critics Choice Awards. She wears a Vivienne Westwood Gown in a shade of purple so faint it might just be a trick of the light. Lilac, maybe wisteria. It’s the brand’s signature architecture—the corset, the scoop, the drape—but softened until the punk edge is entirely gone. This is the romantic Westwood, the one that leans heavily into historical reenactment.
The silhouette is familiar to anyone who follows celebrity red carpet cycles. The bodice features that distinct, off-the-shoulder cowl that serves to frame the décolletage with a kind of nonchalant grandeur. It’s draped, swathed, and pulled tight at the waist before releasing into a skirt that splits aggressively at the thigh. It exposes Jimmy Choo Claressa Platform Sandals in metallic silver, chunky anchors for such a floaty dress. Around her neck sits the Shiphra Circle Necklace , a delicate loop of diamonds that looks almost fragile against the expanse of skin.
There is a tension here between the structure and the wearer. Westwood corsetry is demanding; it usually requires a certain physical resistance to look right. Here, the bodice feels a little roomy, the “swag” of the neckline drooping perhaps a millimeter too low, hovering on the edge of a wardrobe malfunction. It lacks that snap-tight precision. The fabric—a lustrous satin—crumples at the hip in a way that feels more accidental than sculptural. It is undoubtedly pretty, a vision of pastel femininity, but it feels like she is wearing the dress carefully, rather than inhabiting it fully. A beautiful, slightly precarious balancing act.
Emily Mortimer wore a dark brown velvet gown with sheer lace cuffs and gold heels to the 2026 Critics Choice Awards.
Emily Mortimer arrives at the Barker Hangar in Santa Monica. It is January 4, 2026, for the 31st Annual Critics Choice Awards. She opts for weight. While others drift by in tulle or barely-there mesh, she is encased in dark, chocolate velvet. The gown is a column of shadow, featuring a ruffled high neck and puffed sleeves that collapse into black sheer lace cuffs at the elbow. It is a distinct pivot in celebrity style , rejecting the pervasive demand for skin exposure in favor of something historical, almost hermetic.
This look feels like it wandered out of a moody period drama and got lost on the way to the library. In a cultural moment obsessed with the “clean girl” aesthetic and sleek futurism, this is dusty, romantic defiance. It evokes the wardrobe of a Victorian governess who has secretly come into money. There is a coziness to it, a refusal to participate in the athletic rigors of standard red carpet dressing. It suggests a desire for protection, for fabric that acts as a barrier rather than a window.
Technically, it is a risk. Velvet under the harsh scrutiny of red carpet lighting can often look flattened or muddy, but here the deep brown holds its richness. The silhouette is forgiving, perhaps too much so—it hangs rather than clings. The sleeve detail, with that sudden transition from heavy velvet to flimsy black lace, borders on costume. It’s a bit theatrical, melodramatic even. A flash of a metallic gold shoe at the hem provides the only sharp edge in a look that is otherwise entirely soft focus. It is not cool. It is not trying to be. It is a quiet, comfortable rebellion against the tyranny of the body-con.
