I should have known I was tempting fate when I thought, “Demi Lovato has hit trousorial rock bottom here.” Because it turns out there was a basement. There is ALWAYS a basement. And a cellar underneath the basement that you only discovered because something died down there and it started to smell. This might actually be a heretofore undiscovered crawl space underneath the cellar beneath the basement. I’m not even sure this outfit can be described with words that currently exist; it demands made-up adjectives like “swazigent” and “trugdilacious” and “spackalently extrinchiful.” Someone once told me that The Daily Mail (I KNOW) treats every article as if it’s being read aloud to a blind person, which explains why every outfit you see is broken down in excruciating detail despite the fact that it’s right there in the pictures. I’m going to try that here, to see if we can make sense of it: “The brunette singer let her hair cascade down onto the shoulders of her open jean jacket, which she wore over a black leotard with crotch lace and thick, shiny beige tights. She also added the waist of a pair of jeans, worn high and cut to the size and shape of a fanny pack, which she affixed to her stomach. From two rings on the bottom of that patch, she used matching strands to suspend two button-up leg tubes that look like long denim skirts in a child’s size 4T, which remain unbuttoned at the bottom, allowing a glimpse of very trendy pointy white boots. Her silver hoop earrings are the size of dinner plates. She wore no pockets.”
That’s not even a word salad. That’s a fallen prose souffle.