Chic! Olivia Wilde Rocks Paris Fashion Week: Get the Look

Well, let me tell ya ’bout this Olivia gal and her fancy clothes in Paris. They call it “Paris Fashion Week,” sounds mighty highfalutin, don’t it?

I saw some pictures, and lemme tell ya, this gal, Olivia, she’s somethin’ else. She wears these clothes, ya know, the kind you wouldn’t wear to slop the hogs. But I guess that’s what them city folks do.

One time, they say she wore this white fuzzy jacket, looked like a sheepdog almost. And underneath, she had on this loose top thingy tucked into some black shiny pants, looked like they was made of that pleather stuff. Said she looked “effortlessly cool.” Well, I guess so. If you ain’t gotta worry about gettin’ mud on your clothes, I reckon you can look cool in anything.

Fuzzy jacket? Sounds itchy to me.
Shiny pants? Wouldn’t last a day on the farm.
Loose top thingy? Probably catches on everything.

Then there was this other time, they say she glued somethin’ to her head! A blouse, they called it. Glued it right to her head with “powerful glue,” they said. Can you imagine? Gettin’ all gussied up just to glue your clothes to your head. Makes no sense to me, but what do I know? I’m just an old woman.

And the suits! Oh, them suits. They say she wears ’em doubled up, whatever that means. Two jackets maybe? Sounds hot and uncomfortable to me. But I guess they’re tryin’ to be all stylish and what not. They call it “French-girl style.” French girls must be awful cold, if you ask me.

One night, she went out to dinner in Paris, lookin’ all stunning, they said. I bet she was. All them fancy clothes and makeup. Probably cost more than my whole house, that outfit did. But hey, if she’s got the money, I guess she can spend it how she wants. It ain’t my place to judge.

This Karla Welch woman, she’s the one who picks out all these clothes for Olivia. A “stylist,” they call her. Imagine gettin’ paid just to pick out clothes for somebody else. Must be nice work if you can get it.

I seen some pictures on the internet – my grandbaby showed me – of Olivia in Paris. She’s always smilin’ and posin’ for the cameras. Seems like she’s havin’ a good time. And that’s all that matters, I reckon. Even if her clothes don’t make no sense to an old woman like me.

But I gotta say, some of them clothes, they do look kinda pretty. The shiny ones, the sparkly ones. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that ’round here. We mostly wear overalls and work boots. But it’s a different world, I guess. They got their fancy clothes, and we got our practical ones. And that’s just fine by me.

And this Paris Fashion Week thing, it goes on for days. Day after day of fancy clothes and parties and whatnot. Must be exhausting. I’d rather be home milkin’ the cows, myself. But to each their own, I always say.

So, that’s the story of Olivia Wilde and her Paris Fashion Week adventure, as best as I can tell it. A bunch of fancy clothes, a lot of fuss, and a whole lotta money spent. But hey, if it makes her happy, then who am I to complain?