Any Beyhive member will tell you that last night’s Country Music Awards was really The Beyonce Country Time Jamboree Extravaganza (featuring some other tricks and awards, I guess, I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention)! But to us Dollies, last night’s Country Music Awards was really The Dolly Tribute Spectacular (featuring some other tricks and awards, I guess, I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention)!
Tonight’s Met(h) Gala theme is “Fashion in an Age of Technology,” so brace yourselves for messes showing up looking like C-3PO’s side trick C-3PHO or like the worst dressed at a Tron-themed prom. That’s why I’m guessing that Carrie Underwood’s stylist got their events mixed up, because at last night’s 2016 American Country Countdown Awards (which I’m glad exists because 34,588 country music award shows aren’t enough) in L.A., she showed up wearing the underthings of a robot’s wedding dress. That dress looks like what would be born if the Tin Man and Glinda the Good Witch’s ball gown were able to fuck and make babies.
Carrie’s stylist must’ve thought that the best way to ~edgy~ her up is to dress her like Katy Perry performing in Disneyland’s Tomorrowland. Because besides that cyborg cotillion shit above, she also performed in a dress that made her look like a cocktail waitress at a bar/casino owned by a hardcore Star Wars nerd. I am all for tricks changing up their look, but Carrie Underwood needs to put her stylist on probation, because she just can’t pull off wearing robot wings as chichi covers.
Pics: Getty, Wenn.com
Oh, don’t mind Russell Wilson; he’s just been trying so hard not to stare into Ciara’s front no no hole that he’s fallen into some kind of catatonic state. I’m sure he’s fine.
If there’s one night of the year when a famous type can throw out everything they know about class, taste, style, common sense, and Spanx, it’s the Grammys. I’m pretty sure if you look on your invitation, the dress code is simply a picture of Toni Braxton from the 43rd Grammy Awards. Unfortunately, only a handful of people observed the dress code and came barely-draped in their tacky finest. The most elegant of which was Ciara, who showed up in a table runner held together with a bunch of ribbons and damn near flashed everyone her panty goodies.
I’m not sure why Ciara and Russell Wilson were at the Grammys, since she hasn’t been nominated for one in six years and he doesn’t sing, but I’m really glad they did. Otherwise, we might have missed out on Ciara’s gorgeously trampy formal nightgown thing. Ciara looks like a slutty Miami dancer (I’ll let you decide what kind of dancer) named Porquoi? who works for diamonds and really really wants to fuck Scarface, and I’m into it.
With that being said, if this is how Ciara dresses now, I can’t wait to see what kind of high-end classiness $15 million lawsuit winner Ciara shows up in next year.
Of course, there were a few close seconds in terms of pure class and elegance, like Joy Villa and the always stunning Z LaLa (who came dressed like an IKEA As-Is section version of Cher). On the other end of the spectrum was Dancia, who said “Fuck it” to sexy and covered herself in whatever she could grab from Nicki Minaj’s storage locker from 2010 and glue to her pink onesie.
I’m surprised there’s not a fat billow of steam rising up off of them. Isn’t that what happens when an extra hot human flat iron touches an ice cube?
Last night, something that happens every single night happened: awards were handed out to country stars. All of the oxygen on this planet will be sucked out into the universe and vengeance will come if a day goes by where a country music star doesn’t thank the lord for the trophy in their hand. So last night, the CMT Music Awards went down at the Bridgestone Arena in Nashville. Since they’re at every country music awards show, the frozen porcelain vase and the fresh-outta-the-kiln ceramic pot in a Suze Orman wig were at the CMT Music Awards last night.
Nicole Kidman looked stunning in matador pants, a rich old lady’s lunchin’ shoes, a face by DuPont and a fur-trimmed top that was a gaudy toddler dress in a past life. I don’t know if it’s the makeup or lighting or what (“It’s the ‘what.'” – you), but the Botox Baroness looks like she strolled into her plastic surgeon’s office and pondered between the Madame brand cheek cutlets and the Phoebe Price brand cheek cutlets before going with the latter. But on a more important note, I need to know which brand of SPF: Infinity And Beyond Nicole uses, because I burn easily and it’s amazing that she doesn’t get even a little bit tan while standing next to that humanized UV ray.
Here’s more pictures from the CMT Music Awards including a couple of Billy Ray Cyrus outdoing Keith Urban in the flat iron game.
After what felt like a 16-month pregnancy, Carrie Underwood has finally given birth to the baby put inside her by her Canadian hockey husband Mike Fisher. Carrie announced the news that she gave birth to a baby boy on Instagram by posting a picture of a tiny baby hand with the caption: “Tiny hands and tiny feet…God has blessed us with an amazing gift! Isaiah Michael Fisher – born on February 27. Welcome to the world, sweet angel!”
I’m guessing she’s saving a real picture of her baby for whatever magazine cover she lands on proclaiming MY BABY JOY or MEET MY MIRACLE as her baby makes a confused “what is happening?” face.
Carrie is both a famous type and a country girl, and Mike is a famous type hockey dude, so I even though I didn’t really care one way or another, I just assumed they’d name their baby something like Waylon Windchimes Gordie. But they went with Isaiah Michael, which is surprisingly normal and boring for two famous types. Eh, good for them – I suppose not every baby that falls out of a famous vagina has to be a Sporaticus Alphonsé or a Parsley Williamsburg Turntable.
The Ghost of Lady Cassandra Future Nicole Kidman and her gorgeous middle-aged soccer mom-looking husband Keith Urban went to the CMAs last night, and for some reason this happened. No, I don’t know the circumstances surrounding Nicole trying to mount Keith from the back like a horny fawn-colored greyhound, and quite frankly – I don’t want to know. Instead, let’s assume she’s not actually trying to hump on her husband, but hiding behind him from the ghost of the haunted antique doll she stole that dress off of. Haunted attic-dwelling dolls don’t like it when you jack their shit, Nicole!
I know she’s going for some Little House on the Prairie Rachel Brown getting married shit, but it ends up looking more like stand-offish Oscar-winning Hollywood actress wearing a $2,000 nightgown. It’s like when I put on a blazer; I think I’m all business bitch chic, but everyone around me is like “Bitch you look like Cathy, yes from the comic strip“. Same goes for Nicole; I mean, lord love her, she’s trying, and it could always be worse; at least she’s not wearing a busted straw cowboy hat, right?
Unfortunately, Nicole didn’t get the memo that nobody else was doing county curtain couture this year. It was all head-to-toe David’s Bridal: Longer! Shinier! More Satin-y! Where’s the rhinestone-studded belt buckle worn as a choker? Where’s all the bedazzled crotch cut-offs? Come on guys, I thought you were country! Here’s more of Nicole and everyone else at the CMAs, including the usual, like Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, a knocked-up Carried Underwood, and my personal lord and savior Tami Taylor (HEY Y’ALL!):