Misc. Awards Shows

I'm learning that I must really not be a fan of Katy Perry. Thanks to my fondness for high camp, most crazy costumey outfits end up becoming so-crazy-they're-amazing, a la Posh or Grace Jones or Bjork. I mean, if you'd asked me in the moment, I'd have told you Bjork's swan dress was pure avian insanity, but now I look back upon it fondly and kind of miss it (and almost went as that for Halloween this year, before deciding it's stuck in a relevance netherworld: too recent not to seem passe, but not old enough to be a cunning throwback).

So, my point is, I usually love unabashed weirdness. And yet any time I see Katy Perry in one of her farcical confections, I just roll my eyes and mutter, "Oh, great. AGAIN? WHATEVER."

Let's start with this one:

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Are her boobs SUPPOSED to look like giant, evil green eyes glaring back at me from her torso? Is she TRYING to make a play on that old chestnut where a guy stares at a girl's cleavage and she coos, "My eyes are UP HERE"? Or is it just an ugly dress that looks like someone sewed the bodice out of old shoulder pads? I don't know. But I do know that when the skirt if both wrinkled and a size too tight, it's probably not a very well constructed garment.

And this was the normal thing she wore. Behold the on-stage alternative:

Listen, I know playing around with a roll of Reynolds Wrap probably seems super fun -- but when Estelle tried this on, I'm not exactly sure which part of it she thought fit her.

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The bottom is all shapeless and baggy, and the top is cutting off the circulation to her boobs. She's going to be super bummed when they go numb in about half an hour. I almost want to start a donation jar, but frankly, Estelle will make plenty of money when she becomes the Beautiful Young Face Of Comatose Mammary Syndrome.

Natalie Bassingthwaighte here is the host of So You Think You Can Dance Australia, which I really wish was punctuated differently. Say, So You Think You Can Dance: Australia, or So You Think You Can Dance, Australia? This way, it seems like "Australia" IS the kind of dance you apparently think you can do, like the polka or the hokey-pokey.

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She also apparently appeared on Neighbours, where it seems her character had all kinds of problems, including one which required her to put someone in a coma to shut them up. Who hasn't wanted to do that, though? And here, she is wearing what can only be called EXTREME GLADIATORS. They would be awesome if I wasn't so scared of them. I mean, those shoes are going to awaken in the night and come after you. They are going to run over your patent leather pumps with no regard for the blood they've spilt in their quest for dominance of your closet. These shoes will take over your LIFE. These shoes are RUTHLESS.
So, after it turned out that Eva Longoria had to cut her hair for her role on Desperate Housewives, I figured sooner or later we'd see her doing something a bit more stylish with it.



In fact, I rather like it now. And this dress isn't bad, either -- I think that's actually a necklace laying over it, which in a weird way kind of works, especially because it's way less Fun Ship Cruise than most of what Eva wears. Seriously, if she worked at Friday's, she'd totally be that girl who not only managed to fit a thousand pieces of flair onto her uniform, but has a completely different batch for every weekday.

At the ALMA Awards, though, things went downhill from here. Jessica and I were just talking about how stupid this tradition is of having your awards-show host swap clothes every two seconds. The first big one I remember is when Sarah Jessica Parker hosted the MTV Movie Awards in 2000 and they made a huge deal out of the fact she wore 15 different things, and now, it's just not a party if there aren't double-digit costume changes. And since Eva L-P not only hosted the ALMA Awards but also served as the executive producer, you'd think she'd at least procure herself a rack of AWESOME clothes to change into -- but you'd be wrong.
We have featured Christina deRosa before, and I couldn't figure out who she was then, much less why she'd be invited to the ALMA Awards now. Apparently she's been in Playboy? I feel like that can't be it. Maybe it was because the event organizers were like, "let's see. We really need someone who will show up looking like Princess Leia if Han Solo broke up with her and her friends dragged her out to meet someone new and forced her to wear the hooker shoes that came with her gold bikini but she previously deemed 'too much.'"

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Bingo!
When American Idol isn't on the air, I kind of miss Paula Abdul's nonsensical natterings about how whichever poor slob is up to bat really made the song her own and truly spoke to the soul of the unicorns who live in her swimming pool and is a sparkling jewel in the firmament of paradise but was a little off-key. I also miss her tendency to show up wearing, like, a choker as a bra and a pair of jeans on her head. Which is why this pleases me:

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Remember this look, ladies, because you're going to see it again come fall. Or, technically, come January 1st, because I am pretty sure it's the prototype for one of the Rose Parade's floats this year.

Well, I've gone back and forth and around in circles on this Fergie outfit. I am just about ready to pull out all my hair and move to Alaska, where Geo Beach can do a whole episode of his show on how blogging there is way harder than anywhere else because -- oh, I don't know, my fingers will be too cold to type, or something.

So I'm going to turn it over to the professionals and let you be the jury.

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The prosecution is ready, having been gagging over the giant dried-out-looking braid for about three hours now, noting that they haven't seen a rope that unappealing since the one their seventh-grade gym teacher made them climb in class. Since the defense momentarily passes out from the potency of its rope-burn flashbacks and subsequent lifelong inadequacy issues, the prosecution charges forth with the suggestion that this is not Fergie at all -- that the Fergie WE know would never stick a disco belt over a clashing caftan and call it genius, which therefore forces them to conclude that Fergie skipped this event entirely in favor of making lasagna with Josh Duhamel, and sent her waxwork in her place.

The defense stands up and congratulates Fergie on that choice, because really, given the choice, we would all rather spend the evening making lasagna with Josh Duhamel; the prosecution objects, claiming the defense is simply trying to woo the jury by tweaking its hormones. Forced to make an actual statement, the defense decides to point out that the red parts of the fabric are really pretty; that the hot pink, while maybe a little overly bold, does at least add some drama;, and that it's all light-years better than when Fergie wore cropped ties and shirts tucked up into her bra. Confident in a victory, the prosecution shotguns a case of Diet Coke and breaks into a rousing rendition of "My Humps," until the defense -- misinterpreting "a rousing" as "arousing," hops on You Tube to look for some of Duhamel's greatest hits from his days on All My Children, forcing the judge to send the jury out to deliberate.

Could someone explain to me how and why Phoebe Price got invited to the Teen Choice Awards? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE? She is far from being a teen, and surely is not the choice of any teen. Was she asked to attend as a cautionary tale? Be ye not a fame whore, my children, or this shall be thy fate?

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Because that actually kind of makes sense.
Oh, LC. I don't even know. I suspect you may have belted a polyester bedspread from Goodwill:

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Now that he's a hit as Chuck Bass on TV, I suppose Ed Westwick is probably sniffing around looking for a massive movie role for when he's on hiatus.

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Unfortunately, they've already cast the role of the controlling, obsessive, moody, tired-looking, clammy, creepy, mentally intrusive, decades-old, stalker-ish "romantic" vampire Edward in the Twilight movie. Better luck next time, Ed!

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