Ugghhh. Christina, why are you making it so hard to defend you?
At one point in time (and still today, but only by thin, taut strings), Christina was the epitome of a diva superstar for me. I love her music, love her look and truly appreciate her attitude. I even love the fact that she gained a little weight and embraced it.
Even though she starred in a Coyote Ugly copycat movie, her vocal performance and wardrobe eye candy made me a fan.
She has soul. She sings heavy, even though she may have weighed all of 100 pounds in her prime.
Now, as a coach on The Voice (best musical show, ever), I wait to see what outfit she can color-coordinate to her hair extensions and covet the execution of her eye make-up. I mean, guys, I love her.
And maybe it’s because she is so not what I would ever be. I could never wear make-up like that. I will never go platinum, or dye my hair any racy color that would attract the same level of attention. I could never bring myself to wear booty-shorts in my “fat phase.” But she does. She rocks it. I envy it. And good LORD, she can sing.
But you know… in the last year… as that make-up started to hinge on tranny, as the “fat phase” turned into an admission that maybe her clothes are just too tight and then this.
It might have worked. Might have. If her boobs didn’t look like bowling balls and her gown wasn’t flown in from 2001. Ombre is big, but her body is bigger and the harshness of those bangs just kills any sight of the usual softness a pattern fade might bring.
And to top it all off, she throws on the chunkiest peep-toe pumps imaginable, making her legs absolutely unmistakable replicas of tanned tree trunks. Can I get a strappy sandal anywhere? Anything delicate whatsoever?
Her bracelet bunch completely chops off her already chunky arm and the fact that the other chunky arm is trying desperately to hold up her train just doesn’t even make sense.
It’s like Svedka Girls goes to the prom..and eats too much.
Okay, whew. Had to get that out. And I am sorry, boo. I do still love you.
But, I am having a harder and harder time trying to convince fellow fans of why you’re my favorite. Of why you continue to deserve my unconditional admiration and awe.
I haven’t jumped the fence yet, no. And I try to breeze through your questionable wardrobe choices and awkward stage make-up. But gosh, C, can we just steer this style bus back towards pop idol and less towards a comic book version of Billy Idol?