*Photo from Crazy Days and Nights.

Bethenny Frankel–occupation: fame whore, location: New York City–is carried out of her “secret” wedding in full view of the dozens of paparazzi who were clued in to the ceremony’s “secret” location by her publicist.  If you don’t know who Ms. Frankel is consider yourself among the lucky few who have neither been gifted her cookbook (cook is a term I use loosely as possible), nor seen her on Bravo’s the Real Housewives of NYC where she bickers with former nurse, former gold digger, current embarrassment to titled nobility everywhere, Countess Luann de Lesseps about which one of them is the bigger blight upon humanity.  

Yes, this is the trash that passes for quality television when you have 1,365 channels and nothing to watch.  But I digress…

The real topic of this post is not my seething disdain for the Real Housewives franchise, heretofore referred to as the collapse of modern civilization (I’m looking at you Salahi), but the post-nuptial outfit that Ms. Frankel is wearing to celebrate her newly wedded bliss.

First off, a white Juicy Couture sweat suit?  Is this chick serious?  Did I fall into a hot tub time machine and wake up in 2004 at the Spears/Federline wedding?  

I didn’t realize that people continued to wear Juicy Couture to their wedding after the Pimps and Maids debacle made velour sweat suits for the bridal party the dictionary definition of trashy chic.  Obviously, there are some people who still think that white velour track pants with “Bride” written on the ass are the height of fashion.  After all, her derriere is decorated with the finest Swarovski crystals, so that makes it high class.

Secondly, what in the name of all things holy is she wearing on her feet?  Are those a Chuck Taylor/high-heel/wedge hybrid?  Because those things are ridiculous.  They look like the training shoes that Kramer wore in the Seinfeld episode where everyone thinks he’s disabled.

My Lord, those things are awful.  They’re even worse than Uggs.  That’s right, I said it.  They are worse than Uggs.  Way worse.  Like steal-them-off-of-your-feet-and-leave-you-barefoot-in-the-middle-of-Madison-Avenue-for-your-own-good worse.

And finally, I know weddings are the third rail for this blog, but how could you possibly defend this?  Especially considering that her newly-minted husband is still wearing his tuxedo. 

Perhaps that’s why she kept her veil on, to make the look a touch more formal.  Especially considering that without the veil and the word “Bride” written on her tush, you’d think he was carrying her home from the senior prom after she had had one too many wine coolers. 

P.S. I could forgive the look if Frankel was intoxicated, because we’ve all made poor fashion choices while drunk, but she’s pregnant, so I’m guessing she’s sober.