Grammys

Rihanna is fascinating to me. Style-wise, she is all over the map -- tight satin, lace bodysuits, short skirts, leather, and more -- and while there's nothing wrong with that, it means that Rihanna is also a bit of a roller-coaster. She's under a huge fashion umbrella-ella-ella, is what I'm saying (because you all know I can't resist the hacky joke when it's there, and even sometimes when it's not).

As proof, check out her array of Grammy outfits. First, the ones I more-or-less liked:

Some of the details on this are nice; others are overly fussy. Mostly, the skirt just makes me wonder if it's a tribute to Sam The Eagle, or perhaps what one would wear if she was the Bride of Grover. Still, on the whole, it works. And she IS young, after all. That's the time to play around with ruffles, both of the fabric AND potato-chip variety.

This one, for me, turned out pretty cute also. The longer I look at it, the more I think the ruffles work -- at first I feared they looked like she poked her arms through two giant Fancy-Dress Scrunchies, but actually they're an interesting way to spice up the classic little black dress. Unfortunately, though, when I factor in the hair, I can't get over thinking she looks like some kind of exotic bird.

But maybe that's just because I had already seen her in this ode to A Creature:

Apparently, our favorite demi-nudist Bai Ling was arrested for shoplifting -- and not, in fact, skirtlifting, which is how I first read the news, and which prompted me to sigh, "Oh, come on, people, that's just WHAT SHE DOES. LET HER LIVE, DAMMIT!"

Let's enjoy her in happier times.

This is our girl as nature intended: smiling, finding creative ways to circumvent a top that appears designed not to show any boob, and overall looking like she leapt out of the pages of a Dr. Seuss book. We wouldn't be at all shocked if her first call from inside the pokey went to her ex-boyfriend The Lorax. And, yes, those ARE Band-Aids with writing on them that she is using as shin jewelry -- one is in Chinese and the other says "Happy" and... something that look like "New York," maybe, and... Well, see for yourself:

I feel like taking a tour through Natasha Bedingfield's closet would be a really interesting way to spend an afternoon. She veers from cute dresses to crazy '80s wear as fast as most people blink, plus I am always fascinated to see what kind of stuff people keep in there, buried under shoe boxes or stacks of sweaters -- or, in my case, the paint-splattered jeans and shirts I keep around for the inevitable day when I finally say, "No, seriously, THIS TIME I really AM going to paint the bathroom."

As for Natasha, I like to think that outside her closet hangs a giant blindfold she ties on before picking her clothes for the day. It helps explain the roller-coaster between this:

And what she changed into after the Grammys ended:

As ever, I with Nelly Furtado would stop making that face on the red carpet like she just downed an entire roll of SweeTarts that had been marinating in lemon juice. But I will try and set that aside, as it might take a lifetime to deprogram that instinct from her and I have far too many seasons of The Wire to get through; instead, let's focus on the rest of it.

I've never liked the blonde hair on her. Especially here -- it looks like she dipped a comb in some peroxide and ran it through once before leaving. As for the gown, I think it's a perfect example of how all the romantic draping can backfire on a girl -- instead of making her look floaty, it pulls around her hips, gets all bunchy, and essentially makes you stare at her midsection trying to figure out what's her and what is courtesy of all those folds. She's looked better, is what I'm saying.

And she can't even stand comfortably in it without creating some weird, unflattering angles. Learn your angles, Nelly! Did Tyra Banks create magical, magical television for NOTHING? DO NOT MAKE TYRA'S LABOR IN VAIN.

I do, however, love the color.

It's like she came so close to a victory, but in the end,  has to settle for Miss Congeniality. Although in this case, it's Miss Biting The Insides Of Her Cheeks Because She Kind Of Wants To Cut That Bitch Who Won The Crown But Instead She Needs To Keep Smiling And Just Think About World Peace. So I'm throwing it open to the masses to see if the hue saved her or if nothing could -- or, if the world thinks she's a beacon of deliciousness and I should just let my tiny ship crash on the rocks and reveal my secret cargo of hot pants.  One thing's for sure, though: Based on that last sentence, I should not fug before I've had breakfast. Strange things happen.

I have a confession about Ziyi Zhang (AKA Zhang Ziyi: I've seen her name listed both ways, and I'm not sure which she prefers, or which she's using more officially in the United States. Maybe I will just call her Z?). I have a tremendous girl crush on her. I just think she is SO PRETTY. Even when she's wearing this:

Yes, she looks a bit like a bejeweled puff pastry of some sort and if Lindsay Lohan showed up in this, I would be all, "Oh, GIRL."  But in this case, you could say to me, "Jessica, she looks like a bejeweled puff pastry of some sort,"  and I would just say, "I KNOW. But....she's so pretty!"

Okay, okay. Fair enough. There's something about it that looks just like a pop over. But I love pop overs! And...fine. You're right.  YOU'RE RIGHT.

I was all set to make this post a "Fug or Fab," and then I really looked at it:

No. I don't even think I need to put this to a vote. She looks like a traffic cone wrapped in tissue paper and topped with a hastily made flower, like the world's most inappropriate last-minute baby shower gift grabbed on the way to the party as the gift-giver realized when driving past a construction site she forgot to buy anything.

And I'm sure there's an "unwrapping" joke in there somewhere, but I'll let you write it yourself.

I have some love for Kimberly Williams-Paisley.  Have you SEEN her on According to Jim? HILARIOUS.

Not really.

Okay, maybe. In the interest of fairness, I must admit I've never seen According to Jim. She might be awesome on it. But my love dates from Father of the Bride, part of which was filmed close enough to my parents' house that the generator was parked outside my bedroom window for a month. Being a young teen at the time, this was basically the COOLEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED and it helped that the crew was incredibly nice to all the neighborhood kids. We got to watch them film scenes and stunts, and they answered all our questions and let us act like little PAs and did I mention that we had the run of craft services? It was a fascinating and exciting experience for a kid, and so I have deep fondness for everyone involved with that movie.

Not so much for this outfit, though, Kimmie:

It's not terrible. It just recalls nothing so much as the love child of goth bordello curtains and a pale, weak homage to Gwyneth Paltrow's most universally reviled Oscars look. A reminder:

I have a lot of love saved up for Whitney Houston, whose entire first and second albums I used to love belting out in my room when I was, like, eight -- despite the fact that there's no way I should've been singing about spending all night shagging my married lover, and how it was emotionally hard when he was with his family but all worth it when he dropped by my place again for Naughty Time. I even had the piano music for that one; my parents must have been relieved I never whipped either of those performances out in public.

Naturally, then, her descent into becoming the scary-bony woman who told Diane Sawyer she made way too much money to bother doing crack and demanded to see receipts proving allegations she spent $500,000 on cocaine -- because drug dealers are renowned for making sure you have receipts for each purchase -- considerably saddened me. Thrillingly, though, Whitney looks like she's getting back on track.

Pretty! Classy! No bones poking out through her skin! And she's totally fixed up the hair!

My one beef: I am pretty sure those are panty-hose (which I totally wrote as "hos" by accident the first time and had to fix; perhaps this is my subconscious' way of telling me that, deep down, I believe nude panty-hose are the trashy cousins of a good pair of tights). And I hate that with open-toed shoes, especially ones with bling attached that draw your eye right down to the feet, making sure you notice the telltale webbing on her toes.

But other than that, well done, Whitney. One step at a time, right? We have time to deal with this whole panty-hose problem -- something that, not too long ago, I might not've been able to write without secretly worrying Bobby Brown would be the death of you before we got there. But now we've got you looking radiant again, so let's call this one a victory. Dare I suggest she's rekindled the greatest love of all? Oh, I dare, I DARE.

BEYONCE: Hi, Mommy! Thanks! Thanks for the dress!

SOLANGE: Yeah. That's good. Rub it in.

BEYONCE: Whatever do you mean?

SOLANGE: Oh, nothing. Just that, once again, Mom lets you wear some giant ball gown, and I get to wear a glorified freaking shirt with shoes that look like a five-year old made them. Awesome.

BEYONCE: You're so cranky.

SOLANGE: Wouldn't you be? It's like a funeral tent. Although I don't even like your dress that much. It looks a bit like wet sand at the beach got all over it. HA!

BEYONCE: That's real nice, there, Solange. Real mature. I think I look pretty.

SOLANGE: And your highlights look like refried Tina Turner from this angle.

BEYONCE: It was an homage! For our performance!

SOLANGE: Uh-huh. Right. Mom lets you do all that to yourself, and doesn't let me wear pants.

BEYONCE: Silly child. You have to EARN pants.

SOLANGE: Oh, is that so? Like you did on stage tonight?

Good for Gavin DeGraw for -- as he croons every week during the main titles of One Tree Hill -- not wanting to be anything other than what he's been trying to be lately.

Which, these days, is apparently the best-dressed goddamn paper boy in the Los Angeles Times circulation area. Who are you? NOBODY.

I saw Fantasia with this hair earlier in the week, but I have to admit that part of me thought I dreamed it:

I am...not sure why she thought that was a good idea. The longer I look at this picture, the more I realize that Fantasia has gorgeous eyes, so maybe this kooky look is an attempt to highlight one of her best features, the way ladies magazines are all, "Got a great nose? Draw attention to it by using SUPER BRIGHT BLUSH! Make sure you make CONCENTRIC CIRCLES using a standard-issue paint brush!"  And just as effective, really, in that I HAVE noticed her lovely eyes, but only as a way-station toward noticing that this isn't exactlyt the best hair she's ever had.

But let's take a look at the full-body 'do, shall we?

At first, we resisted the idea of fugging Imogen Heap. After all, looking insane is kind of her thing -- the Grammys weren't the first time, nor will they be the last. It's just sort of what she does. There are always big skirts and flowers and the fear that something might come wandering out of her head, only to discover the hard way that it no longer lives in an idyllic pasture. She's a British Bjork, but without that endearing Icelandic elfin quality that always makes Bjork seem a bit confused by all the regular-looking goings-on around her.

However, we've had a change of heart.

What caused us to relent? Well, it would be one thing if, like Bjork, Imogen Heap quietly and unassumingly owned her look and walked up the red carpet and did her interviews and that was that. But, in fact, we hear she paraded up and down and up and down that thing with relentless persistence for the entire two hours before the telecast began, just in case the staff photographer from Grandma Sally's Hicksville Gazette and Crop Report somehow missed her the first forty times she did a lap. That's not somebody who is inherently kooky and doesn't care what people think of it -- that's, "Oh, did you look at me? Are you sure? Maybe you should look at me again. Because, I mean, LOOK at me! Are you going to feature me on your show? Or on your site? Are you? Did you catch the stuffed frog I'm holding? What about the grass? It's real grass! And check the parasol! I look like a deranged and possibly drunk woodland Mary Poppins! Anyone want a spoonful of my sugar, baby? HAHAHAHAHAHA! I'm awesome! Look at me! ME!"

And that sealed the deal. Quirky for the sake of quirky isn't a natural personal style; it's just a big ol' calculated mess.

We would, however, recommend to the organizers that the next time the Queen of the Shrubberies is invited to any kind of ceremony, don't seat anyone behind her. It's sort of hard to see past her cranial topiaries, and on the offchance some creature does wander out from betwixt the reeds and become angry that it's been displaced from the forest, it's best not to run the risk that it'll take out that wrath on, like, James Blunt, or else we'll have to hear his new single "You're Rabieful" approximately 45 times an hour until the end of time.

As I think we've mentioned in this space before, I love Mandy Moore. I think she's extremely cute, and I love all her recent statements about how she's not going to turn into a toothpick (and I hope she's telling the truth - I think she is). But I loved her long before recent pro-eating statements. I loved her in the under-rated Saved! and as the bitchy mean girl in The Princess Diaries. I loved her in Chasing Liberty (in which she gets kind of naked!). I loved her in How to Deal, which is a terrible movie confabulation of two very good YA books by Sarah Dessen (Someone Like You and That Summer, respectively, which are awesome). I couldn't blame Mands for the bad adaptation. It's not her fault! Besides, I had residual love for her thanks to A Walk to Remember, in which she tragically dies. I might watch that every time it's on cable, and I might also cry at the end. But beyond all that, I love her for recording one of the best Pop Songs With A Spoken Interlude In the Middle ever: "Candy." Now, of course, the very BEST PSWASIITM is arguably "Oops, I Did It Again," but it's hard to not be charmed by the words, "You know who you are/Your love's as sweet as candy/I'll be forever yours/Love always, Mandy," especially during this run up to Valentine's Day.  So it always really pains me to tell Mandy that her look sort of didn't work. Although, judging from her face, it sort of looks like she already knows:

Mands looked totally uncomfortable throughout the Grammys, and while maybe her belt is just pinching her, I think she's suddenly become aware of the fact that her dress is made of fabric most recently seen covering throw pillows at a Days Inn.

You know what, John Legend?

I'm probably supposed to think it's charming to show up with the bow tie undone, hanging languidly against your popped-open shirt which reveals just enough of what looks like a freshly waxed and/or lubed-up chest; I'm sure you expect me to think it's all just effortlessly cool, suave, and macho. But here's the thing: I don't. I find it pretentious, John Legend.

That's right. I said it. You're trying very hard not to try, and it shows. Your paradox bores and annoys me. I feel like you're standing there quietly urging me to think you delicious and sex-on-legs because you couldn't be bothered to do up the tie, and yet, all I can think of is how smarmy you were in your red-carpet interview and how much thought I suspect you put into this, and how many man-hours you spent staring at yourself in the mirror cocking your finger guns at your own reflection before you decided that leaving your second-storey barn door halfway open (with the deadbolt undone to boot) was really tantalizing.

But, the thing is, I don't want to lay you down; I want to pin you against the wall long enough to do up your buttons and make a bow-tie out of those lazy flaps. And I further suspect I am not the only one who feels this way. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for deviating from the classic cool of a tuxedo, but not by simply failing to put it on completely. On purpose. Because you thought it looked really bitchin'. That feels way more like a greasy old nugget from Jeremy Piven's bag of tricks than the kind of stunt you would pull, John Legend. Reload and fire those finger guns again, sir. Be smooth, not stupid.

Carrie Underwood has a habit of showing up at award shows looking like a million bucks on the red carpet and then changing into something that makes her look more like five bucks. Behold:

Red Carpet:

"What a cute girl," you might say. "I love things that are sparkly. She looks sexy and age-appropriate!"

And then:

We should probably just be content with the fact that Jay Manuel is not as orange as a cheddar omelet, nor clad in enough pleather to render costuming The Matrix IV: Mo' Matrix, Mo' Problems nigh on impossible.

But you guys know by now that we're never truly content, right?

Wicked leopard moccasins, Jay, but no matter how hard you try, the post-party won't get moved to the heyday of Studio 54 -- the design for the flux capacitor got lost forever when Dr. Emmett Brown disappeared on that flying Wild West-era train with Mary Steenburgen in tow. [Oh, God, we wish we could erase that movie from our minds, but every so often it burps itself back up in our brains like chunky, rancid mind vomit.]

Maybe in these flared, leisure-suited times of distress, we can turn to Tyra Banks for a sweet dose of sanity -- don't know if you've heard, but apparently she's deemed herself the voice of a few generations of women, so I personally am dying to hear what it is that we're all trying to say. Take it away, Tyra.

"Hey guys!

What's up? I'm totally running late. My ice dancing recital ran WAY over because I couldn't find my left boot and all this other drama happened behind the scenes, like, you have no idea how crazy it is on the ice-dancing circuit, man, and I totally didn't have time to change out of my outfit so I'm here at the Grammys in a costume designed to convey the drama and glamour of  Swan Lake if it happened at Xanadu, because that's what our routine is -- my partner Fabrizo made the most awesome mash-up called Xanadu Lake and I play a duck that's also a Muse and I die at the end, it's totally touching, and we would have won if I actually knew how to skate, which I don't, as it turns out -- and, anyway, I really hope no one realizes that I was actually supposed to be here in a totally different outfit. Also, I might have gotten my bangs caught between the blades of Fabrizo's skates one of the times I fell down. Do you think they have any alcohol inside?"

The Go Fug Yourself Celebrity Terror Watch squad is commencing a Sternum Watch for Sheryl Crow:

It doesn't help that this dress is enforcing a high waistline on her that gives her lower half a bizarre dumpyness, but that torso is a frightening thing. Dating a professional and highly competitive cyclist probably sent her over the fitness edge; now we're worried that breaking up with said professional cyclist might have driven her away from the fridge. That's not cleavage -- that's a cutting board.

We consider this a high alert situation that needs to be monitored and, as quickly as possible, repaired. Somebody please make her some fried chicken, or take her to Jack In The Box for some meat and cheese between slices of butter-soaked sourdough. Britney? Where are you, dear? You're needed. Sheryl can hold Sean Preston on her lap (if she has the strength) while you take her through the drive-thru.

I thought India.Arie looked lovely at the Grammy's, and here within the snug, safe confines of Freaky Fug Friday -- where a girl's cold heart can warm up a tad without fear of it being permanent -- I'm not afraid to admit it.

Apparently, her mother made this dress, and not long before the event. What a wonderful job she did for her daughter -- hopefully she'll get some business out of it, if she wants it, because certainly she could do a great service to other starlets and musicians who don't know the half of how to dress themselves.

I mean, look at her: She glows. The dress hugs her bust and gently cuddles her curves without pinching anything, exaggerating things to bizarre proportions, and the detailing is both interesting and graceful without being over the top. The neckline flatters her and doesn't look like -- or look like it feels like -- a harness. She matched it with low-key earrings, a gold bracelet, and that's all she needed.

[Okay, so there are colorful bangles and two odd, massive slab rings, too, and they don't look like they go with this outfit -- but I'm willing to overlook that because your eyes still go to the dress long before they go to either of those things -- indeed, if you can tear them off her face and body in the first place.]

In all: bravo, Mama.Arie, for enhancing your daughter's lovely, healthy body, and proving that women who look like women -- and not like they just snapped off a tree trunk -- are the real idols.

That's a cute shirt Tera Patrick is wearing.

"Shirt" being the operative word in that sentence.

You're at the Grammy Awards, honey, not the gynecologist. Put your peaches back in the can, stand up straight, and stop visually begging people to use their trophies as a speculum.

INT. NICOLE KIDMAN'S HOUSE. DAY

KEITH: Nicole, what do you think about this outfit I picked out for the Grammys?

NICOLE:  You look brilliant, Keith! Simply brilliant! What shirt are you planning on wearing? Something from Thomas Pink? Ooh! You can wear those vintage Cartier cufflinks I got you! I'm so excited for you! I hope you win tonight! Winning is so divine!

KEITH: A shirt?

NICOLE: [puzzled look] Um...yes?

KEITH: I don't know about that.

NICOLE: [gale of charming Australian laughter] Oh, Keith! You are so funny!  I just love your sense of humor. God, Tom had no sense of humor at all! At all! One day I had Russell Crowe call him and pretend to be L. Ron Hubbard calling from the great beyond and when Tom found out it was just Russell,  he almost drove over there and punched Russell in the face! Of course, he would have had to have stood on a box to do it, and Russell would have grilled him up in a cheese sandwich and eaten him for lunch but...well, anyway! I love how playful you are! I love it! Oh, come here, you! You delicious man! I'm so happy!

KEITH: Nic. Seriously. I mean it. I was thinking the best shirt for this was just...waxed chest.

NICOLE: ...waxed chest? Really?

KEITH: Waxed chest is so rock and rock!

NICOLE: Hmm.

KEITH: Right? Isn't that a great idea? It's so ROCK STAR. It's like totally Michael Hutchence, right?

NICOLE:  Would you look at the time? I'm late for a Botox party!

KEITH: You're not coming with me to the awards tonight? The waxed chest and I need your support!

NICOLE: Oh.... No. No, you'll be fine. Don't you think it's best that you walk the red carpet, just you and your chest? You and your waxed chest? Because...it's like....you're....um. A loner! An, um, rocking loner! You don't need ME to be there! No, no. No, I can't be seen there with you and your waxed chest.

KEITH: I guess you're right.

NICOLE: Oh, I know I am! All righty, then! I really must dash! No, no, don't get up! No! No, you don't need to kiss me good-bye! Nope! Well, well! Yes! Good luck! Good luck, and good night!

KEITH: Thanks, honey. You're so supportive.

THE END

The more Madonna tries to yoga off all her body fat and dress like she's in her 20s, the more she ends up looking like a cartoon character.

I know Madonna is and always will be an icon, but come on: That face is beginning to look crazy.

As for the getup: The boots-leggings are more Posh Spice territory than Madge's, and that top is more Duff, Lohan, or Clarkson than Aging Queen of Pop Who, Although She's Still Got It, Really Needs To Stop Kidding Herself And Cease Pretending It's Not Creepy That She Is Trying To Pass As Britney's Contemporary -- Although We Are Grateful She Changed Out Of The Tights She Wore On-Stage, As We Are Very Weary Of Her Crotch Right About Now.

Teri Hatcher proves that she woefully, tragically misinterpreted all that "What's in the hatch?" talk that buzzed around ABC last summer.

Love her or hate her, you have to respect Mary Hart -- the original holder of the syrupy "Ms. Perky" title Katie Couric has since usurped -- because she's been around forever and she's still kicking. There are lots of interchangeable blond field reporters of varying ages, like Dayna Devon and Jann Carl and Nancy O'Dell and God knows who else, who could have booted her out of the anchor's seat by now. But no one has.

However, that doesn't mean Mary Hart can pull the wool over our eyes:

You may be going for that timeless, ageless Dick Clarkbot thing, and that's all well and good, but don't forget that we all do know better. This is a dress you'd expect an American Idol winner to wear to her first event, or maybe Amy Lee from Evanescence to pair with some really massive Doc Marten boots and an ill-advised, slightly depressing tutu. But you are... how can I say this? ... well past that life phase, Mary. This is not the dress for you.

The scrolldown fug strikes again, and this time it's attacked model/actress/ruffle-lover Kimberly Elise:

Although, really, you barely have to scroll down before her Ruffled Longline Bib of Fug smacks you across the face like a particularly frilly insult.

I don't know who Ashley Altman is.

But I'm pretty sure SHE thinks she's Barbie.

Okay, we know Sally Kirkland is nuts. She always looks nuts. I saw her at Forever 21 at the Beverly Center and actually thought to myself, "who is that crazy woman? Oh. Sally Kirkland."

But this is like a new height of nutsiness:

She looks like the star of an Ice Capades production of The California Raisins Story: The Geriatric Years.

Lately, Gwen Stefani has been scaring the hell out of me with her Harajuku obsession, and her insistence on styling her hair as if a vulture attacked from above and briefly became ensnared in her coif.

But I still trusted her not to ruin some things. Specifically, pirates. Everyone loves a pirate. And yet somehow, it never occured to me that Ms. Love Angel Music Fugly might want to pay tribute to them by making an unholy marriage of The Crazy and pirate chic... but, here she is on stage at the Grammys performing alongside Eve:

Eve, I believe, symbolizes the pirate's booty, even if she appears to have dieted her booty into oblivion. But she looks fine, if a little bit overeager for somebody to use her birth canal as a periscope (I hear if you look up it, you actually end up seeing things through her eyes).

And Gwen, singing her wretchedly bastardized "If I Were A Rich Man" cover, is apparently the pillaging swashbuckler -- except she looks like she's George Washington, rolling in after a night on the moonshine and drunkenly wondering where he left his pantaloons.

If only this photo showcased the effect when Gwen turned around and shook her ass -- which was, she looked like she was wearing a cloth diaper. And not a clean one. She seems happy about joining Sheryl Crow in the new "I'm A Twiggy, Muscular Shadow Of My Former Already-Thin Self" trend, but... does she have to shimmy around on-stage like a crocodile just coughed her up whole?

Strip away everything but the corset and the skirt, and there might be an outfit lurking here somewhere:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

But as it is, Renee Olstead decided to spruce up her ensemble with one of her favorite linen napkins, and a brocade suit jacket her mother wore on her Honeymoon thirty years ago -- a blazer she of course passed through a pair of scissors before she donned it.

Fraulein Maria might have sculpted something like this from the Von Trapp guest bedroom, had she suffered a head injury first.

Nikka Costa didn't get the memo about Formal Shorts:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb]

Namely, that such a creature does not exist. Short are for gardening. For running to Home Depot. For going to the beach. For barbeques, or an outing on your boat. For jogging. For practicing your dance routine with Patrick Swayze. Not for any event at which the press may be present. Not ever.

Clearly we need to write a book entitled, How To Get Dressed Without Really Trying:

The fugculus of this dress: Black mesh + black silly string - makeup and accessories * view of her birth organs. Want to know if she's ovulating? Just look.

I know she's standing strangely, but even if she weren't, this dress wouldn't flatter Mandy Moore:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

That hits her in the wrong part of her hips, giving the whole thing a frumpy look that's only enhanced by the crazy mix of silver purse and gold-hued jewelry. She looks like a young cocktail waitress turned lounge singer at the Naples Yacht Club, who borrowed a gown and some fixins from the local costume shop before her big performance of "Almost Like Being In Love" for the 5 p.m. night-owl crowd on Buffet Thursday.

"Hey guys, if I could just present this award real fast, because I have to pee?

Also, I know you're all wondering why I'm dressed like a walking banana with a big old bite taken out of it, but I can't tell you that, because, frankly, I have no idea what I was thinking when I decided I should borrow this dress from my neighbor, who was a showgirl at the Tropicana in 1974.  I guess I thought it would be festive. But everyone's going to slam me for it, aren't they? I should have known when Lance said, 'THAT is MY favorite mistake' when I came out of the bathroom. I thought he meant me, in general, but now I know he means my outfit, specifically. So, yes, I know, I look like a cross-dressing, jaundice-afflicted Iggy Pop, but I'm here to present an award, so let's just get it over with so I can get back to the line for the ladies room. I really don't trust Kelly Osbourne to hold my spot for very much longer."

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

How to make your own Grammy dress, courtesy of Blu Cantrell:

1) Find your grandmother's old shawl -- you know, the one she used to wear when she rocked you to sleep as a baby, and which was left to you in her will.

2) Cut that shit UP. If a garment doesn't look like a feral cat mauled you on the way to the party, then it's no good.

3) Grab that tablecloth you've always loved and wrap it around your ass. Hope fervently that it doesn't quite make it all the way around -- the better to flash some thigh, my dear.

4) Keep the tablecloth there by wrapping a swath of gold lame around your waist and safety-pinning it.

5) Sneak over to Crazy Cat Lady's house and skin twelve of her pets; stitch them into a coat/shawl type thing as carelessly as possible. It'll be fine -- she's got ten other cats, and besides, wouldn't these beasts prefer photographic immortality to a life in her stuffy old apartment, watching soap operas on the magic noise-making box and eating Friskies? So what if this coat's going to get stepped on by Kanye West and then probably sexed-on by Usher and his regular posse of eighteen, before being stuffed into the back of the closet along with all your old shirts that don't expose any of your stomach. So WHAT? It will look GREAT hanging from your arm -- kind of like you're a modern-day cavewoman.

6) Voila! Pair with aggressive earrings, and you're ready to spend the entire night tugging at various parts of your ensemble to ensure they're in place. It's every girl's dream.

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Is somebody out there in pre-production on a hipped-up remake of The Wizard of Oz? Because I could swear Janet Jackson is trying to redeem herself by going all-out to win the part of Glinda The Good Witch.

Which won't work at all, because I'd like nothing more than to drop a house on Janet, and unfortunately Glinda's saccharine ass doesn't meet with that fate. Unless this is a really good remake.

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Aaron Carter was pissed. Because he showed up at the party looking like an auto mechanic, he spent the whole night forced into changing the tire on Kanye West's limo and getting grease on his designer work boots.

I would suggest that this would teach him to show up for an awards pre-party looking like he just rolled in from filling some potholes, but I know better than to expect a teenage boy with delusions of talent to start pulling up his damn pants and take off his trucker hat.

Oh, Kelly. I hate to say it because you look happy, but... it's not funny:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

What are you doing? That wig makes you look like an extra in Hairspray, and not in a good way.

And, I've heard of matching one's shoes to one's dress, or even one's handbag or assorted accessories. But I've never heard of matching one's dress to one's teeth. In addition to investigating some industrial-strength anti-perspirant, Ms. Osbourne might want to pick up a pack of White Strips.

Flashback courtesy of The Sarah Jessica Diaries: 2004:

"Yeeeeeah, I'm sorry. I'm realizing right now that the sandbox-chic shorts and the sleeves just sort of make me look delusional, like I think I'm a kid again. But... I am really whimsical! Younger than my years! And Matthew told me I looked tomboyish in this, which means I'm super hot, because for some reason, he gets really turned on when I downplay my feminine side. It's just how he is. We're simple! Playful! Why, just the other day, I came home and he and some extra from The Producers were wrestling on the floor! We love being playful!

"And besides, I was Annie when I was a kid -- this is just adult moppet-wear, kind of like the blue knickers-based outfit Aileen Quinn wore in the movie version when she accidentally kicked Albert Finney in the knee and then told him to screw off with his adoption and his Tiffany locket because she wanted her real parents. So really, if you think about it, I look awesome and awesomely youthful in these evening shorts. And when I get home and put my hair into a ponytail, I know Matthew's going to get so hot that he insists we play a rousing (arousing?) game of Robespierre/Young French Revolutionary. I've tried to tell him that most revolutionaries were guys, but... I don't know, I think he's just progressive with his fantasies, you know?"

A while back, Jennifer Love Hewitt spent a lot of time trying to convince people she was a rock star. We weren't fooled, nor were we interested. It didn't work.

Indeed, in the days thereafter and continuing through the present, the only press thrown J.Lo.Hew's way came/comes when she says something self-deprecating about her boob size. Which she started doing a lot.

You can whiff a bit of that desperation in her Grammy ensemble from 2004:

Her chest is very half-heartedly propped up by the peekaboo top, her thigh is presented to us like a Thanksgiving Day drumstick, and the whole thing looks a little bit like it was originally designed as a hybrid bikini/lounging dress for Kelly Taylor on Beverly Hills, 90210: The Beach Seasons. Indeed, if the Peach Pit After Dark ever opened a beach outpost, this is how the cocktail waitresses would dress.

Which is a shame for Ms. Lo.Hew, because as the number of stalled careers she's had begins to mount, it's probably best not to remind the world how well she'd do at the Grammys in 2005... as an after-party drinks server.