I appreciate Christina's sartorial departure from Hollywood Blvd. chic, but the retro-squeaky-clean approach has gotten a little out of hand:
With the golden-green sparkly sheen, it looks like she's making herself into a doll. [Albeit perhaps a doll who'd been up all night nauseated by a hangover and is trying to cover it.] If she'd back off a bit from looking like a plastic Marilyn impersonator, she'd be in decent shape -- if Madame Tussaud's doesn't think she's a runaway waxwork and nail her down next to her fire-crotched alter-ego for an exhibit entitled, "From Fug To Femme: The Cleansing of Christina."
I'm almost grateful for the flash of cleavage, because it proves she hasn't completely abandoned her... abandon. But I feel like she's a dye job away from reinventing herself on Broadway as Little Orphan Annie, and then what? She's already bet her bottom dollar, and mark my words, there was no sun.
booby veins. mmm.