Thanks to the efforts of stylists in an age that has no serious room for camp, kitsch or cleavage, the worst-dressed lists (so long a staple of entertainment journalism) can barely be distinguished from the best. It’s a good thing that Mr Blackwell, the father of the worst-dressed form, did not live to see this decade of decency. Then he would never have said, as he once did of Martha Stewart, "She dresses like the centerfold for The Farmer's Almanac".
Razer’s Class Warfare: have the Emmys presaged an end to delightful bad taste?
Bourgeois pretensions to the Good Taste of an imagined ruling class have all but erased chicken tikka spray tans and Gabi Grecko bustiers. You could argue that's a good thing. Except it definitely isn't.