In the glittering whirlwind of the National Television Awards (NTAs) held on September 10, 2025, at London’s O2 Arena, the red carpet was a dazzling parade of celebrity glamour, where stars traded subtlety for spectacle under the relentless flash of paparazzi lights. Among the throng of A-listers, few commanded attention quite like Elizabeth Hurley, the timeless 60-year-old siren whose career has spanned sultry screen roles and ageless allure. Accompanied by her new flame, the ever-charismatic country crooner Billy Ray Cyrus, Hurley swept onto the scene in a gown that wasn’t so much worn as it was wielded—like a weapon of mass distraction. The dress, a shimmering silver stunner from her own eponymous line, featured a plunging neckline that plunged perilously close to plunging off the map, paired with a thigh-high slit that whispered promises of scandal and a sheer fabric that left just enough to the imagination to fuel endless tabloid fodder. It was the kind of outfit that screams “I’ve still got it—and then some,” turning heads, dropping jaws, and, apparently, leaving one ITV host grasping for her pearls.

The NTAs, that annual bacchanal of British telly triumphs, had already buzzed with electric energy. Winners like the powerhouse duo of This Morning snagging the Daytime Award after a two-year drought, and heartfelt speeches from the likes of Ant and Dec, kept the evening humming. But it was Hurley’s entrance that hijacked the narrative. Flanked by Cyrus, whose mullet and mustache combo evoked a retro rock ‘n’ roll vibe that perfectly offset her high-gloss elegance, the pair exuded the sort of effortless chemistry that tabloids devour. Later, Hurley took the stage to present an award alongside Rob Rinder, the sharp-witted barrister-turned-TV-star from the fresh legal drama The Split. Rinder, ever the charmer, couldn’t resist a cheeky nod during his speech, quipping about Hurley’s ability to “defy gravity” in that gravity-defying ensemble. Social media erupted in real-time: tweets flew thick and fast, with one user slyly observing, “Rob Rinder having a good look there #NTAs,” while another cheekily declared, “Liz Hurley even had Rob Rinder questioning his own sexuality!!” The internet, as it does, amplified the moment into meme-worthy gold, with GIFs of wide-eyed stares and slow-motion struts circulating faster than the award show’s highlight reel.

Yet, for all the pre-event hype and post-red-carpet dissection, it was the morning after that truly detonated the drama. Enter Lorraine Kelly, the Scottish powerhouse of daytime television, whose eponymous ITV show has long been a sanctuary for unfiltered chit-chat and cheeky commentary. Kelly, 65 and radiant in her own right, had graced the NTAs the night before in a floor-length red Solace London gown—off-the-shoulder with ruffled sleeves, accessorized with gold Monica Vinader earrings, an ASOS clutch, and metallic Next heels—that evoked a regal “mother-of-the-bride” vibe she proudly championed. But come Thursday morning, September 11, as the nation nursed its hangovers with tea and toast, Kelly pivoted from poised attendee to playful provocateur. During her show’s fashion segment, flanked by style gurus Vogue Williams and Mark Heyes, the panel dissected the night’s sartorial hits and misses with the precision of a post-mortem autopsy.

The mood was light, the laughs flowing freely—until a photo of Hurley’s gown flashed across the screen. Kelly’s eyes widened like saucers, her hand instinctively flying to her chest in mock horror. “Those bazookas! Good grief! The woman is 60 years old. For me, it was a wee bit too much!” she blurted, her Glaswegian lilt infusing the words with a mix of maternal scolding and irrepressible glee. The studio dissolved into chaos: Williams, 39 and ever the diplomat, burst into laughter, retorting, “Lorraine, you’re going to wear that to the next thing—the BAFTAs!” while Heyes deadpanned that the look was “basically a swimsuit.” Kelly, undeterred and doubling down on the delight, pressed on: “Do you know what?”—trailing off into giggles that left her co-hosts in stitches. The “bazookas” barb—a nod to the dress’s audacious décolletage—landed like a comedic grenade, blending British bluntness with affectionate exaggeration. It was vintage Kelly: no malice, just the sort of straight-talking humor that has endeared her to millions for over four decades on air.

The backlash—or rather, the bemused uproar—was instantaneous. As clips of the moment ricocheted across social platforms, viewers tuned into Lorraine found themselves mid-sip, only to erupt in sprays of coffee and tea, just as the viral prompt predicted. Hashtags like #BazookasAt60 and #LorraineVsLiz trended nationwide, spawning a deluge of reactions that swung from supportive snickers to faux-feminist feigned fury. “Lorraine spilling the tea hotter than Liz’s dress!” one fan posted, while another lamented, “Iconic shade or ageist slip? Either way, I’m here for the chaos.” Even Rick Astley, the 80s heartthrob guesting on the show moments later, couldn’t resist joining the fray. Nearing his own milestone birthday, he quipped, “I don’t look like Liz Hurley,” prompting Kelly to gasp, “I’m still in shock, frankly!” The exchange cemented the segment as accidental gold, transforming a routine recap into a masterclass in unscripted television magic.

But beneath the hilarity lurked a deeper cultural ripple. Hurley’s bold choice wasn’t just fashion; it was a statement. At 60, the Austin Powers alum and Estée Lauder veteran has long defied the industry’s youth-obsessed script, launching her own beachwear line in 2005 and embracing roles that celebrate rather than conceal maturity. Her NTA appearance, complete with Cyrus—whose own career revival via Achy Breaky Heart reboots and Disney dad fame adds a layer of unlikely romance—underscored a narrative of reinvention. Kelly’s comment, while zinging with wit, inadvertently spotlighted the eternal tug-of-war between empowerment and excess in celebrity style. Was it “too much,” as Kelly posited, or precisely the right amount of unapologetic flair? Fans leaned toward the latter, flooding Hurley’s Instagram with fire emojis and affirmations: “Slaying at 60 and beyond!”

As the dust settled on this red-carpet ripple, one truth emerged from the froth: British telly thrives on these unfiltered moments. Kelly’s quip didn’t just shock; it humanized the glamour, reminding us that even icons spill the tea—and sometimes, it tastes like victory. With the NTAs fading into highlight reels and Hurley no doubt plotting her next gravity-defying move, the real winner? Us, the audience, left clutching our sides and craving more. In a world of polished perfection, a splash of cheeky candor is the ultimate accessory.