LUPITA NYONG’O vs. ZHANG ZIYI
LUPITA: I, for one, can’t even believe this competition is still going on. How long can it possibly take for me to prove that I’m better than everyone else? This is exhausting.
ZHANG: Right. Like you don’t love every moment that you get to spend competing with someone as fabulous as me.
LUPITA: What do you mean?
ZHANG: Well, I know you’re not the lame type of starlet who only wants to fight battles she knows she can win. I’m the first person to be matched up against you who actually has a chance in hell of beating you. And you LOVE IT.
LUPITA: I do not LOVE IT. I hate you, and the high horse you rode in on.
ZHANG: You love me. You’re just pretending to hate me because you know I can beat you!
LUPITA: NO ONE CAN BEAT ME. This has been the Year of Lupita – mere months ago, nobody knew my name, and now I’m one of the biggest, best-dressed stars on the planet. My rainbow wardrobe is even a meme, for fuck’s sake.
ZHANG: Yes, yes, your wardrobe is very colorful. But less than a year of red carpet experience does NOT a March Fabness champion make.
LUPITA: It does when you’re ME. Now stop sassing me, or you’ll end up with an Oscar in a place where it certainly does not fit.
ZHANG: How dare you threaten me! What, one Fred Leighton headband and suddenly you’re queen of the fucking universe?
LUPITA: Well… yeah, pretty much. I mean, the fact that I’m as beautiful as a goddess and preternaturally talented helps, but the headband did most of the heavy lifting.
ZHANG: But I, too, am other-worldly beautiful and talented and an international fashion icon. So where does that leave us?
LUPITA: I don’t know, Zhang. But I love that your gown has pockets.
ZHANG: I KNOW. Is there a simpler, more exquisite luxury in the world than a gown with pockets?
LUPITA: Well, your crown sure isn’t simple, but it is luxurious, even if you’re just using it in a desperate attempt to distract from how fabulous my headband still is.
ZHANG: Do I need a particular reason to wear a crown? No. I am a diva. This is just what we do.
CATE BLANCHETT vs. ELIZABETH BANKS
CATE: Ugh. Crop tops. Could you be more pedestrian?
ELIZABETH: Oh, really? Fashion advice from a bougie robot? That’s rich. I didn’t know you were programmed to be such a judgmental bitch.
CATE: I am NOT a robot, but aren’t we all programmed to be judgmental bitches? I mean, this is Hollywood, after all. Thin-skinned ladies do not survive.
ELIZABETH: But thick-skinned ladies just get photoshopped until they look like thin-skinned ladies.
CATE: I must say, Elizabeth, you’re altogether too smiley. How are all the basic bitches supposed to know to bow down to you if you look so friendly and approachable?
ELIZABETH: You look so uptight, that abstract branch on your gown might actually be coming right out of your ass.
CATE: I’m just pointing out that a well-placed smirk or grimace would do you well. Especially since YOU’RE WEARING ANOTHER FUCKING CROP TOP!
ELIZABETH: Is it my fault that you’re too stuffy and old to get away with crop tops? No. Now fuck off.
CATE: I’m only four years older than you, Elizabeth. Women in their forties should not be wearing crop tops.
ELIZABETH: Go to hell with your bullshit fashion rules. I am woman, hear me roar, look at my midriff, etc.
CATE: Jesus. Calm down. Don’t get your Spanx in a twist.
ELIZABETH: Well, sadly, we can’t all go Spanx-free under dresses the size and shape of a circus tent.
CATE: At least I appreciate subtlety. Wearing orange and gold to the premiere of a movie with the word “fire” in the title? Don’t you think that’s a bit too on the nose?
ELIZABETH: Nope. Not when your vaguely thematic fashion choices are as brilliant and beautiful as mine.
CATE: Well, only one woman over forty is making it to the Final Four. And it’s going to be the risk-taking fashion maven, not the desperately tacky wannabe.
ELIZABETH: So we’re agreed, then. I’m going to win.