[Photos: INF, Getty]
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[Photos: INF, Getty]
This outfit reads like a bad date.
Let’s talk about Nelly Furtado.
First of all, am I the only person who thinks Nelly looks like Courteney Cox? Not exactly, but as though they could be related — like Nelly is Courteney’s cousin, or something. Angle for a gig on Cougar Town, Nelly. I hear it’s funny. Second, this outfit: I feel like it’s SO CLOSE to being awesome, and yet something about it has pushed it off the Awesome Highway and into the gutters of Almostville. I fear I must lay the blame at her hose and shoes. They’re sort of dragging your eye down, like an anchor. And the last thing you want your legs compared to is an anchor, am I right?
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.
Listen, Nelly. You can wear all the bling in the world — you can be a bling farm, you can move into the House of Bling, you can be the empress of Blingtenstein — but it still won’t hide the fact that you’re not wearing a SHIRT. A BRA IS NOT A SHIRT. Not even if it’s a Victoria’s Secret Second Skin Satin ladysling fortified with smelted C-3PO. She looks like a facialist and waxer at the Death Star Bliss Retreat and Spa (“Be An Emperor For A Day!”) for keeping Storm Troopers’ skin blackhead-free.