Ever since Papa Joe allowed her to re-blonde herself, Ashlee's just gotten worse and worse:
Honestly, I don't hate the shirt; it's not my style, but with jeans and boots and a slightly different approach to handling the transparency, it could be cute. And I don't think I hate the boots. But I vehemently hate them both with the capris.
Worst of all, though -- and further dragging down the entire outfit -- is her fried, bleached-out hair and heavy black eyeliner. She looks like a ghost of herself, a fact she is apparently trying and failing to cure with self-tanner; you can see a Lohan-esque band of pale skin by her hairline, but sadly, whatever color is there doesn't make her look any less washed-out.
I hope this battle with hair bleach isn't a slow, subtle, self-destructive way of lashing out at her life; that never seems to end well. I don't want her to end up knocked up by a bearded greasepole, living out her days as a puffy, vaguely dirty, walking grisly train wreck we can't stop staring at in case we spot something that we will then wish we'd never seen. Sound familiar?
