I see that Carmen Electra just had a birthday, and I have to admit that she’s not bad for a 50-year-old broad:
However, no amount of sexiness, hotness or other such descriptors can overcome the heritage of once having been Mrs. Dennis Rodman:
Hard pass.
…about clothing, and the appropriate wearing thereof. First, the plaudits.
I have always had an old-man crush on Anya Taylor-Joy, the chick from that chess movie, and her latest appearance did nothing to end that for me:
Best legs I’ve seen in quite a while, so why shouldn’t she show them off?
Her boyfriend, despite looking a little like a taller Frodo Baggins, was at least appropriately attired:
The same stylish and appropriate attire did not extend to some of the rest of the male(?) attendees. The Skarsgård boy (Anya’s co-star in the movie) wore a tee shirt:
…while the editor of British Vogue looked like a morning Tube commuter:
…and the whole thing went rapidly downhill from there:
This post has been brewing for a while, because a couple weeks ago at some other movie premiere / red carpet thing, we were treated to this horrifying nonsense:
Seriously? At a formal evening event?
Compare the above with the 1940 Academy Awards banquet:
‘Nuff said.
I see with some regret that the exquisite Veronica Carlson, star in many a drive-in horror movie of my youth, passed away last week at, it should be said, a respectable age, of natural causes.
Who she? you ask. Let the camera do the talking:
She was unusual among actresses of her time, in that she steadfastly refused to appear naked in her movies — “often nude, always covered” as one critic wrote of her.
I don’t think she needed nudity to be sexy: 
I’ve made passing mention of Brit TV personality Claire Sweeney before now (on her 50th birthday), but I thought it may be time for a refresher (all pics taken since her birthday):
I have to admit: for some reason I have the serious hots for this semi-centenarian chick.
It’s Britishland; what did you expect? Decent weather?
And the Royals, of course:
Fraffly well done, chaps.
…and by “fun”, I mean for us fans of Train Smash Women and their regrettable decisions, as we turn our gaze towards the Cheltenham Festival in Gloucestershire, Britishland:
…not to mention the ever-debonair Richard Hammond:
And the couples looked fine, too, with nary an exposed boob or garish tattoo:
All well and good, but…
Roll on Aintree, I say.