We almost feel bad doing this to you all, first thing on a Monday morning. Take some Dramamine, mainline your coffee, and have a gander, kittens:
Christina Aguilera attends the 40th Annual American Music Awards in Los Angeles in a Pamella Roland dress and Jimmy Choo shoes paired with Neil Lane jewelry and a Judith Leiber clutch.
And now… let’s talk about us. Stay with us, we’re going somewhere with this:
In the last year, we made a couple (three, but who’s counting) television appearances, which instantly changes how people perceive you. That is to say, people began perceiving us; people we didn’t know. “Are you Tom & Lorenzo?” coming out of a stranger’s mouth can knock you off your game, when your game is picking up something embarrassing at the drug store. Anyway, when we had to do those three very minor and fleeting TV appearances, we fretted and fussed over how we looked, knowing that, after 6 years of making fun of celebs in million-dollar outfits lent to them and styled by professionals, the claws would be out, even though our clothes don’t cost nearly as much (and we paid for them), and we had no professionals advising us on how to present ourselves. We suppose we did okay, because there was only minor criticism coming from the bitchy public with their extended claws.
Now, you’d think having to submit oneself to the public’s bitchery would make us a little more sympathetic to what the stars go through, but it had the exact opposite effect. If we could primp ourselves into something respectable for the cameras without the kind of help all stars receive on a regular basis, then those bitches needed to demonstrate more in the way of perfection and less in the way of WTFery. Which is a long-winded, self-centered way of saying to Miss Xtina: THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE, GIRL. It’s bad enough you have pornstar hair and a dress more suitable for a slightly slutty 60-year-old, but the fact that you couldn’t even apply your tanner evenly is simply NOT ON. Go home and slap everyone involved in this debacle. We want to hear the whimpering cries of gays who don’t deserve their jobs anymore. We want to read later that the cops had to be called to your house in the middle of the night to find your assistants running from the property shrieking as you ran after them brandishing an axe, your mascara leaving rivers of rage running down your cheeks.
Only then can we begin the healing process.
For Christ’s sake, your eyeshadow matches your dress exactly. Some queen needs to be whipped for that.
[Photo Credit: Andrew Evans, David Gabber/PRPhotos.com]