Jessie J’s expression here seems to say it all.

She’s like, “I know, right? Congratulations to me, I’m the nakedest, blah blah blah.” It’s like very major event is Minaj vs. Gaga vs. Perry vs. Jessie J vs. Rihanna vs. whoever else gets the nudity bee in her bonnet. Doesn’t it ever get exhausting? I think that about Gaga all the time — she’s created this persona and now she can’t even run out for a Diet Coke or a bagel without having to put on something that’s part garment, part contraption, part window. Nicki Minaj is the same. She can’t just throw on a hat and go to the store; she probably has to put on a ten-ton wig first, or else people will talk. Wouldn’t they rather there’s a separation of Church and state, so to speak? When do any of these people find the time to be themselves? They probably can’t do it and get fresh air at the same time. It’s a therapist’s dream.

Let’s see the rest of it, for the sake of being a completist.

Yep, it’s ends exactly as it began. I mean, it’s not a catsuit, which means she’s taking a break from every other event she’s ever attended. But what gets me here is that I didn’t even recognize her by her face. It took a second. It’s never good when you figure, “Well, if my head looks totally different, at least people might recognize my underboob.”

Contrast this to the Grammys:

It’s a departure from her usual bob, but not so far away that I didn’t know immediately it was Jessie J. The dress looks like she followed the Yellow Brick Road to another town paved with carcasses of the Tin Man’s old relatives, thrown into a cut that’s not terribly original nor fun. THAT is a bummer. But it’s not spandex and I can’t see her belly button, and so my surprise here was at least more pleasant than with the above red thing, which is basically nipple pasties with a whole bunch of tulle stuck to it. Only three percent of that sucker is opaque. Bad ratio.