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With this year's Golden Globes orgy replaced instead by a red-faced, naked Billy Bush apologizing sheepishly from beneath the covers, a disappointed America reassuring him not to worry about it, it happens to all awards shows from time to time, all hopes now turn to the SAGgies to satisfy our burning awards show needs. Traditionally a second-tier ceremony where Hollywood thespians felt safe to deliver 17-minute acceptance speeches on the pursuit of craft, the WGA-sanctioned ceremony is now looking like the only sure thing this anemic awards show season, delivering on our inalienable right to sit at home and watch some major fucking stars pick up some goddamned awards. Christ. MSNBC wonders how the ongoing labor strife will affect the fashion bottom line:

"This town is eager to show up. This town is eager to dress up, and they're going to," Hal Rubenstein, fashion director for InStyle magazine, told Reuters. "It's got to matter more because there's been nothing to look at." [...]

"Hollywood gets to export fantasy but usually Hollywood isn't in distress," [vintage boutique owner Cameron] Silver said. "Appropriate glamour will always look great—this is probably not the moment for 'costume couture."'

Regardless of how the style-trends skew (we're going to go out on a limb and predict tuxes for the guys, and Golden Era glamour for the women), the ceremony, this Sunday on TNT, promises at the very least some famous faces—even Lions For Lambs star Tom Cruise is among its confirmed list of presenters. With enough alcohol and squinting, its naked little green men might even start looking like shiny bald gold ones, and we'll all be just one awkward choir appearance and an underwhelming Ellen monologue away from feeling as if we're witnessing a legitimate Hollywood trophy ceremony!