Michelle Randolph wore a structured white corset top with a contrasting black skirt to the 2026 Critics Choice Awards.
Michelle Randolph turns up at the Barker Hangar in Santa Monica. It is January 4, 2026. The event is the 31st Annual Critics Choice Awards. She wears a floor-length ensemble defined by high contrast. The upper half is a white corset, structured with visible cups and wide straps, executed in a fabric with a low sheen. It cuts off at the hip, giving way to a black skirt that flares gently as it hits the floor. It is a textbook example of celebrity red carpet styling—clean, legible, and designed for the flashbulb.
This aesthetic feels like a deliberate pause. In a landscape often cluttered with method dressing and viral stunts, this choice leans into quietude. It evokes the minimalism of the mid-90s, where the garment was a frame for the face rather than a prop for a skit. It suggests a shift toward wardrobe staples elevated to couture status, a rejection of the temporary high of a “loud” dress.
The success here lies in the tailoring. The corset bodice fits with a rigidity that feels almost architectural, holding its shape against the body rather than just clinging to it. The stark division between the white top and the black skirt creates a visual break that lengthens the torso, though it risks looking a bit like separates rather than a cohesive gown. The choice of a single sapphire-toned pendant on a delicate chain is smart; it provides a necessary focal point against the expanse of white skin and fabric. It’s not an adventurous look, certainly not avant-garde. It’s polite. The styling relies on the tension between the lingerie-inspired bodice and the formal skirt. A refined, if somewhat safe, execution of modern eveningwear.
Kristen Bell wore a black lace-paneled Elie Saab Halter Neck Dress to the 2026 Critics Choice Awards ceremony.
Kristen Bell stands on the dark carpet in Santa Monica. It is January 4, 2026, the night of the 31st Annual Critics Choice Awards. She has chosen an Elie Saab Halter Neck Dress . It is black, stark, and unrelentingly vertical. The gown features a high halter neckline that slices inward at the shoulders, anchored by a sheer bodice overlaid with black lace. This isn’t delicate, bridal lace; it’s graphic, almost web-like. Solid fabric creates a column down the center front and skirt, flanked by these shadowy, transparent panels. It is a familiar rhythm in celebrity red carpet history—using negative space to make a black dress feel less like a uniform.
This feels like a correction. A step back from the performative whimsy that often dominates her public image. There is no bright color here, no playful volume. Just severity. It aligns with a broader fatigue in Hollywood fashion, where stars seem to be retreating into the safety of “serious” clothes. It suggests a mood that is less about entertaining the gallery and more about simply surviving the flashbulbs with dignity intact.
The verdict? It is precise. The lace bodice fits with a tension that prevents it from looking sloppy, a common risk with sheer inserts. The geometry of the lace—forming a chevron shape at the waist—attempts to engineer an hourglass figure, though the transition between the sheer top and the solid skirt feels a bit abrupt. A harsh line. The skirt itself pools slightly, heavy and matte. Her styling is minimal, almost an afterthought. Loose tendrils of hair escape an updo, softening the architectural harshness of the halter neck. It’s not an outfit that screams for attention; it waits for it. A calculated use of darkness to clear the noise.
Kylie Jenner attended the 31st Annual Critics Choice Awards in Santa Monica wearing a plunging black chainmail gown from the Atelier Versace Fall 1996 collection.
The Barker Hangar has this habit of swallowing people whole. It is an industrial cave, gray and echoing, but Kylie Jenner managed to slice right through that gloom. She showed up in a gown that felt less like fabric and more like liquid shadow. It is a piece of haute couture history: Atelier Versace, Fall 1996. The black chainmail has a heavy, metallic drape that creates a kind of frozen grit whenever the cameras flash. It is a best dressed move that depends entirely on the weight of the past.
The silhouette is pure 90s—thin spaghetti straps and a neckline that is melodramatic even for a red carpet . It plunges deep, anchored by these delicate, almost frantic lace insets at the sides that break up the obsidian shine of the metal. It is a celebrity look that thrives on contrast. One moment it looks like armor; the next, it is just a lavish mess of sheer lace and shadow. There is a foolish glamour in wearing archival Versace to a hangar in Santa Monica, but nothing is stupider than playing it safe when you are there to support a Best Actor nominee.
Her hair was down, falling in soft, unpolished waves that felt remarkably human against the high-octane designer outfit . No over-engineered updos here. She looked lived-in, even as the couture dress clung to every curve. It was a fashion moment that felt intentional, a sharp pivot from the “Marty Supreme” orange she had been sporting lately. The way the hem hit the floor was blunt, hiding her heels and making her look like a shimmering, dark pillar. It was an iconic appearance that didn’t need a cape or a train to feel heavy.
