Gwen Stefani

Wow, I just got really distracted by Gwen Stefani's face:



She kind of looks weirdly like Judith Light to me here -- or, as one of our photo sources labeled her today, "Judy Light," like the editor there went to high school with her or something. I mean, she looks like Judy Light's DAUGHTER or similar, of course, not as though she is Judith Light's current age, although I'd also like to take this moment to note that I think Judith Light looks great for her age and also I love her on Ugly Betty. But -- questions regarding who may or may not be The Boss aside -- Gwen normally doesn't look the way the person in this picture looks. Is it because, without her trademark red lipstick, my brain doesn't recognize her? Like, I have no muscle memory for THIS Gwen Stefani, so I find the whole thing off-putting on a chemical, neurological level? What I'm saying is: I fear this make-up may have gone a wee awry.

But let's look below the chin and check out the rest of her get-up:

I know that whatever a woman wears to take her kids on a hike is her own private business, generally speaking. But... you guys, I just had to make sure I am not hallucinating these pants.


[Photo: PacificCoastNewsOnline.com]

You're seeing tie-dyed harem leggings too, right? Are those even actually TECHNICALLY harem pants? What is the term for pants that are tight on the legs but have enough room in the crotch to hide Gwen's other child? Why do we live in a world where such a noun is necessary? Crotch-slings? Knee bags? Pantaballoons?

Also: Whenever I see anyone in pantaballoons like these, I wonder how they do not drive themselves insane wearing them. They're built to replicate the feeling of having your pants fall off as you're walking. Incidentally, I saw that happen to a guy on Ventura Blvd. He was strolling along with low-rider pants, and with each step they sank lower and lower until they finally fell off his ass and started flopping toward his knees, exposing his boxers. He kept right on going as if nothing had happened. Maybe HE'S the guy who pioneered pantaballoons.

Okay. I want to be clear. I don't DISLIKE this cover. For one thing, I love that they put "The Red Lipstick That Anyone Can Wear" right next to Gwen's head, because...well, you know how she loves her red lipstick. That seems smart. And to be honest with you, this issue of Elle actually has a lot of articles, it seems, that I legitimately want to read and not just because they sound hilariously inept or out of touch. I DO want to make my long hair shine, okay? Is that so wrong? Also: I am relieved that shopping is back. And the line, "SHOPPING'S BACK!" reminds me fondly of my favorite billboard. See, here in Los Angeles, near Fairfax, about five years ago, there was the best billboard ever. All it said was, in sweeping letters, "SYPHILIS IS BACK!" Like it was a hit musical. I giggled every time I saw it. Not because syphilis is funny. Because I am immature. BUT ANYWAY. My issue with this cover is simply that I can not figure out what Gwen is wearing. The top seems....attached to the bottom. But it must just be tucked in, or (horrors) a bodysuit, right? And then....there are pants? And a little...apron-y thing attached to them? Or....is that? I'm....just trying to puzzle that out. It looks like a very chic handwarmer of the sort used by quarterbacks playing in frigid climates and honestly, if anyone were to adopt that as a fashion statement, it MIGHT be Gwen Stefani. But I can't imagine that's what I'm actually....looking at? Is it....? It's....? Are....? Maybe....? I am perplexed.  

What's going on with the not-quite-skirts, y'all? First Marion Cotillard, then Madonna, and now Gwen Stefani:


[Photo: WENN]

Seriously, it's like she stole the thatched roof off someone's tiki hut, dyed it black, and hit up a funeral luau. Has she traded in Harajuku for Hawaii? I'd just appreciate a little warning so I can prepare myself mentally, in the event that she shows up on American Idol in a grass skirt and a coconut bra while a posse of 14 women in leis carry in a pig on a spit.

So, you all know my stance on the formal shorts issue, of course. And I'm pretty sure that if Km Stewart or someone showed up at the Ivy or whatever wearing this, I would snit, "Nice try, Kim Stewart, but you are NO Gwen Stefani," and then I would flounce off the interwebs and off to my room. On the other hand, Gwen Stefani IS Gwen Stefani, and, ergo, I feel like she's kind of working what appears to possibly be formal dolphin running shorts and shortie boots:

I have to admit, I've always had a fondness for Gwen Stefani -- with a brief time out for the Wacky Footless White Tights and Silent Harajuku Girls as Accessories period. That was just weird. Perhaps it's because we share a love of leopard print, I don't know. But it's hard not to give it up for someone who clearly is really creative about what she wears, even if what she wears is totally nutola. And god knows, it's no secret that Gwen cares about what she looks like. In fact, until about ten minutes ago, I misheard the "What You Waiting For" lyric "I can't wait to go back and do Japan/Get me lots of brand new fans/Osaka, Tokyo/You Harajuku girls/Damn, you've got some wicked style,"  as "I can't wait to go back and do Japan/Get me lots of brand new fans/Osaka, Tokyo/Your hair is sure good, girls/Damn, you've got some wicked style," meaning that, you know, she can't wait to go back to Japan because all the girls there are wearing awesome outfits and have really great hair. This did not seem weird to me. Obviously Gwen would notice what everyone was wearing everywhere she went. She thinks about these things. Which is why I am mildly alarmed by this:

 

Photo courtesy of Celebrity Babylon.

Why, yes, those are men's briefs poking out from the top of what I presume are Gavin's old jeans, circa "Machinehead." And in the interest of full disclosure, I am pretty sure that I wore the Boyfriend Jeans, tight polo shirt and Birkenstocks look more than once while I was in college (it was the 90s, dude. I woke up every morning to the guy next door warbling that, despite all his rage, he was still just a rat in a cage).  She looks comfortable and cute, in a ratty kind of way, and it all just takes me back -- what can I say? Howevs: what's with the undies?  Unlike in certain other cases, I have full confidence that when Gwen shows us her delicates, she knows she's doing it.  So, much as we all found ourselves looking for our own silent gang of artfully coiffed and wardrobed individuals of the nationality of our choice two years ago, are we likewise about to enter a period where it's trendy for girls to sport men's underwear? Because that seems too much like high school, when I wore boxers all the time. (Not as underwear. As shorts. My actual underwear is none of your business. Okay, except maybe for you -- you're cute.)

I generally can't sit through the terrible American Idol results shows without the promise of being able to fast-forward through the parts that horrify me (read: 97 percent of it). This is how I ended up stalling for time by watching half of She's All That last night, and debating with my friend which of the supporting cast members has since become the most famous. Disqualifying Lil' Kim for just being there on a lark, we got to: Anna Paquin, Dule Hill, and Gabrielle Union in that order, after much debate about the last two. In case you were wondering. Matthew Lillard was also disqualified, on account of Scooby Doo, because DEAR GOD.

Anyway, once we got going on Idol, my itchy trigger finger had to put down the remote so that it could pick up my camera. Because as usual, Gwen Stefani was delivering a hearty dose of shrink-wrapped crazy:

I had thought Gwen passed Harajuku Fever like a particularly gargantuan kidney stone, but if Kimono, Interrupted up there is any indication, she's still got some residual symptoms.

At first, I couldn't fathom why she would turn her obi into a garish rosette after using it to tie her skirt into what resembles a very roomy, overly formal adult diaper. But then I caught a glimpse of who showed up at the finale on the red carpet,... and I realized Gwen must have just fallen and hit her head on the toilet earlier today, and instead of introducing her to the flux capacitor like it should have, it merely caused her to take style tips from the Miss America organization's official court jester.

I don't really feel like saying any more that I hate high-waisted Grandpa-pouch-inducing formal shorts, self-made vanity-logo bling, and -- increasingly -- wee little girlie neckties. It's been said. A lot. By us. Our faces are turning blue from the effort.

So instead, I'll say this: All of a sudden, I have THE most potent craving for those deliciously cruncy little Bugles corn snacks. I can't imagine why.

At what point did Gwen Stefani decide to become the cheap Halloween-costume version of herself?

Between the outfit that looks stolen straight from Serena Williams' tennis bag of misguided on-court couture to the aggressive Gucci-logo knockoff on the belt to the $4.99 wig from Dr. Boo's Costume Emporium and Terror Barn to the tinted Elvis shades that aren't actually blocking any light (and therefore are only there because she actually decided they look good), I am overall disappointed in Gwen's post-pregnancy return to the red carpet, toned gams notwithstanding.

Her on-stage getup wasn't much better.

Gwen Stefani looked so fantastic throughout her pregnancy; quirky and unusual, but still flattering. And now...well, we've still got "unusual" covered.

I sort of don't know what to say, and I almost always know what to say.  Perhaps as an homage to Claridge's, where it appears this event was held, Gwen decided it would be a good idea to dress as Americans imagine a low-level British royal would have dressed in, like, 1983, back when even Princess Diana thought it was a good idea to wear giant sailor collars and dropped waists.

My distaste for the 80s revival has been well documented here, but I think if anyone could pull it off, it would be Gwen. But let's move more toward, like, kooky Lacroix 80s revival and away from dowdy, gift bag-looking 80s revival, shall we?