The morning after the Super Bowl, we were inundated with requests to fug the hell out of Carrie Underwood’s National Anthem performance outfit.
The weird thing is, I had zero feelings about this one way or the other. Nil. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Do I like white jeans? No, not really. Ditto white shoes. Do I love the chains on the jacket? Eh, they’re not my thing, but they don’t anger me, either, in this instance. One e-mail called it an “astronaut tribute to Michael Jackson,” but I keep looking at this photo and going, “Huh. Maybe? I’m bored.” Which in a way is exactly what it should be: The star of the show ought to be The Star Spangled Banner, and not a pair of pants made of cheese, or a four-foot tall weave, or blood spurting from all major orifaces in an attempt to create performance art about the fight for independence. But I also would never wear this if I were singing the National Anthem, because a) I would need theatrics to distract from my singing voice and notable lack of range (I suspect I am a baritone), and b) I would exit stage right and immediately spill beer, pretzel mustard, and hot dog crease all over my lap. (Side note: I thought Carrie did a nice, classy, restrained job, RIGHT up until that bad note at the end — I think holding the correct note on “free,” which hardly anyone does because it’s so hard and which I thus think was awesome of her, wrecked her throat and so she blew the very last note. Still, I’ll take it. Thank you for not rewriting the song’s score to be more about you, Carrie. Seriously. I hate when people do that. It’s the National Anthem, not a song on your record, fools.)
And with those charming, super helpful thoughts out there to guide you, I put this to you: