We should probably just be content with the fact that Jay Manuel is not as orange as a cheddar omelet, nor clad in enough pleather to render costuming The Matrix IV: Mo’ Matrix, Mo’ Problems nigh on impossible.

But you guys know by now that we’re never truly content, right?

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Wicked leopard moccasins, Jay, but no matter how hard you try, the post-party won’t get moved to the heyday of Studio 54 — the design for the flux capacitor got lost forever when Dr. Emmett Brown disappeared on that flying Wild West-era train with Mary Steenburgen in tow. [Oh, God, we wish we could erase that movie from our minds, but every so often it burps itself back up in our brains like chunky, rancid mind vomit.]

Maybe in these flared, leisure-suited times of distress, we can turn to Tyra Banks for a sweet dose of sanity — don’t know if you’ve heard, but apparently she’s deemed herself the voice of a few generations of women, so I personally am dying to hear what it is that we’re all trying to say. Take it away, Tyra.

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Huh. Apparently, our generation is trying to convey that  today’s variety of satin bathrobe/kimono hybrids need only a hearty dose of 1980s Demi Moore in order to be party-ready.

Thank God we have Tyra to show us the way.