In ancient times, they’d call this a glorified loincloth.
Today, someone out there is probably calling it a triumph of wicker-inspired accents, and that someone is probably employed at Pier 1 Imports. I prefer to call it a hideous deluge of nefarious netting worn like a compromised pair of panty-hose, brought to you by the letter WHY and the number NEIN.
And, yes, she turned around:
And yes, it was just as bad from behind. Her haircut is about the only good cheer to be wrung from this mess.