This photo was labeled, “Rita Ora Out And About In London,” and I’m sure that’s just paparazzi code for, “She just hasn’t told us what party she’s going to,”** but I prefer to imagine Rita really did just put this on so she could meander around town. On her way to the British Museum to answer a yen for some Etruscan art, she can wander into Topshop and laugh at how expensive it is, or pop by Liberty for a wallet in a riotous pattern and then duck into Pret-a-Manger for some free WiFi and a ham sandwich. “Can Charlotte come out?” she’d scream over the hedge at Kensington Palace. “I’ve got a question for her about thermodynamics.” Met with resounding silence, she’d console herself with a visit to the London Dungeon and a cheap West End comedy, or grab a half-pint of cider in a pub before sticking a pound in a slot machine, and then hit up W.H. Smith for the trashiest crime novel she can find and a Crunchie bar. You know, the usual stuff a person would do while dressed as a dove whose spell to become human is slowly wearing off.
** EDITED: Her Instagram solved the mystery:
She apparently sang George Michael’s Freedom ’90, and it was on-stage and for a fundraiser, so I WILL ALLOW IT, sort of, but… I mean, I don’t know if a children’s charity needed THAT much boob and thigh? I’ll show my creaky old self out now.