Gwen Stefani

Look, I'm happy that Gwen is getting to have her own baby after Gavin's Secret Mystery Lovechild Who Looks Just Like Him So How Much Of A Mystery Could Her Paternity Have Been? bombshell.

And yet she herself is not looking like much of bombshell lately:

There are some outfits that are so complex in their fug that they defy words and require math. This is one of them.  And I think we can all agree that Derelicte + harajuku x hormones + Gavin's manpris = CRAZY.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a supposed style icon:

Who would wear this anywhere? Why, Gwen Stefani, of course. I feel more and more like her benchmark is, "Would sane people consider this utterly ridiculous? Will it make people wonder why anyone pays me to design clothing? THEN I SHALL WEAR IT."

I'll give you that it's definitely brave to sport a crown of flowers over unflatteringly slicked and parted hair, all with a flimsy wrap that makes it look like she's a synchronized swimmer just out of the pool and ready for a night on the town in shoes for which her toes are too long. But is it attractive? I don't think so. For sure, the dress -- which isn't terrible on its own -- never had a chance once she went all Rose Parade on her head. It should sue for irreconcilable differences.

Perhaps she's just trying to distract people from her belly. Certainly a woman as notoriously enamored of her own abs as Gwen is would be wearing something that flaunts them -- unless they are doughy these days. Doughy like, say, a bun. An oven-bun, if you get what I'm saying, and I think you do.

Gwen Stefani reveals the trend she's adopting for fall,  Extreme Referee Chic:

See, it's LIKE a referree's uniform, except ALL THE WAY DOWN YOUR BODY. Also, with bigger stripes! And a bare midriff! Like you'd see in, say, maybe, Extreme Arena Football, if there were such a thing and if anyone actually watched arena football other than the parents of the arena football players and sometimes not even them.

I wonder if anyone's mentioned to her that her face is turning into Madonna's. Maybe the stripes are merely a distractionary tactic.

"Okay, I give. I do. I admit it -- I don't know what the hell I'm doing any more. I thought maybe taking off the do-rag I wore on the red carpet, and replacing it with this kicky Air Force Marching Band cap might tie it all together, but... y'all, that shit's bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S. It's time to be honest. We both know I couldn't tie anything together if I had a diagram, D-I-A-G-R-A-M. I almost want to yell at you guys for believing that I have any clue what I'm wearing on a given day. What is wrong with you? I have actually shown up somewhere in a shirt I savaged with some scissors, S-C-I-S-S-O-R... S. I've lost it. Poof. Gone. There ain't no hollaback."

I love it when people wear their skirts in such a way that there is little or no real estate between the waist and the armpits:

Does she just have the worst static-cling imaginable, or did Gwen Stefani just come from making out with the school rebel underneath the bleachers? Those are some third-base wrinkles on that skirt...

... And, Gwen, way to sneak in those infamous leggings. Don't think we didn't notice, lady. You're not that fair-skinned.

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Okay, Gwen. Let's talk for a sec.

This isn't the first time you've pulled this one out of the trunk in your attic, but it should be the last. Now, I don't hate the blazer. I don't hate the shoes. And I might have been able to overlook how tiny that swatch of cowhide covering your crotch is, or the strange, clashing pattern of the oddly chosen ascot around your neck, were it not for the leggings.

The leggings, Gwen. The LEGGINGS. Please fight them. It seems like you're battling through the Harajuku obsession; please don't give up now. It's too important. We, the people, need your strength now more than ever.

I think La Stefani needs her own category, don't you?

She looks like a deranged showgirl, sneaking out the stage door after her performance in the widely panned Evita: The Hot Pants Years.

I'm having conflicting emotions:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb]

Am I overcome with relief about the fact that Gwen has finally, apparently, jettisoned her posse of silent Japanese schoolgirls? Or am I deeply disturbed that she's apparently decided that her new look is Toga Party Chic? Does this mean that she's going to trade the schoolgirls in for for a bunch of drunk frat boys, draped in old Star Wars bed sheets, doing beer bongs and keg stands on the red carpet? And what does it say about me that I'd sort of prefer that? And that by "sort of," I mean, "totally"?

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?

I think Gwen Stefani has maybe lost her mind a little bit:

She doesn't look like she's cleverly interpreting Japanese baby-doll fashion, which I believe was her intent. Yes, she's performing on-stage, but... where are the three rings? Where's the Big Top? Where's the ringmaster? She looks like she belongs on a tightrope, or standing on the back of a white horse with a feather sticking out of the crown atop her head -- or pinned to a target while a man in tights and a handlebar mustache hurls knives at her giggling body.

What is it, Gwen? Why the weird? Is it the stress of your solo album? The heady drunk power of having your own fashion line? The strange, all-consuming curiosity about your real-life quasi-"Billie Jean" scenario, and whether your husband knew that the kid was his daughter, and just didn't tell you?

Whatever it is, we hope you pull through it. Go get a massage or something. Get a facial. Then return to your closet and put a little sanity back into the clothes. This Minnie Mouse-meets-"Alice In Wonderland"-meets-Hooker Circus thing isn't really working.