What Did Jeff Goldblum Lose In His Recent Hawaii Locker Theft?
Please, God, not the short-shorts.
Jeff Goldblum speaks onstage at the screening of 'Nashville' at the 2019 TCM 10th Annual Classic Film Festival on April 13, 2019 in Hollywood, California. (Photo by Charley Gallay/Getty Images for TCM)
One might be tempted to believe that our noble king of 'fits, Jeff Goldblum, lives a completely charmed existence, but into every life a little rain must fall, even on the sandy shores of Waikiki: Goldblum filed a police report in Hawaii over the weekend after "personal items" were stolen from a locker at the Outrigger Canoe Club.
Goldblum is in Hawaii to play gigs in Oahu with his jazz band (yes, this absolute zad of zads is in a jazz band, are you really surprised?), but now, presumably, his vacation is now more of an investigation. In commiseration with his plight, we've rounded up the Goldblumtastic items that we pray weren't in the plundered locker.
The sparkly turtleneck

The glittery turtleneck Jeff Goldblum wore to the 2019 Vanity Fair Oscar Party has made an appearance on at least one other occasion (unless it has a doppleganger?). Let's pray Jeff is buying these babies in bulk.
The Prada short-shorts.
Goldblum appeared in Dazed's "The Meaning of Cult" issue wearing itty-bitty white shorts with an inseam of 1.6 inches, and I think I speak for Jeff-heads across the land when I say that if these shorts disappeared, my hopes and dreams went with them. Check out that thigh action! A-ooo-ga!
The pink aviators.

Don't be tempted to dismiss Goldblum's chic as a recent development; he's looked so good for so long, dating back to his 2001 days palling around with fellow actor Hector Elizondo in a pair of bright pink aviators. Carrie Bradshaw could literally never in her entire fucking life.
The Sundance sweater.

I'm pounding my clipboard! Did Online Ceramics make this for him? Will they make it again for me?
The teal YSL velvet suit.

Good luck pawning this one on the DarkWeb, Hawaii thieves — this suit is so instantly recognizable as a Goldblumian indulgence, a pop of buttery aqua flair in a sea of drab navy (no offense, Henry Golding), that it might as well come with a serial number.