Shhh. Shhhhh. Don’t speak. You don’t have to explain yourself. I know what you’re doing here. It’s what we’re all doing here. You want to replicate Christina Aguilera‘s look from the finale of The Voice last night, but you’re afraid you won’t get it quite right. And you’re right to worry. After all, there’s a lot to think about: the pairing of luxurious, expensive-looking fabrics…the body-conscious subtlety of the silhouette…the modest sparkle of the studded underoos.
She got it all right, and that gives you a lot to think about. And frankly? Your instincts are usually wrong, okay? …I know what you’re thinking: I know how to dress myself! I have wonderful instincts that result in my looking trend-conscious and fashion-forward at every juncture. WRONG. That’s wrong, you’re wrong, stop being so wrong. Forget everything you think you know. Resist the urge to allow your intelligence to at all influence your dressing decisions. Instead, just listen blindly to this aggressive Crushable-sourced version of your fashion conscience. Think of it as a less-kindly, less-grasshopper-y version of Jiminy Cricket.
And finally, this advice is not for pansies, okay? You’ve been coddled your whole life, and look where it got you. (Not famous, not on The Voice, not Christina Aguilera, etc.) So let us break it down for you into the most common mistakes that people (people who aren’t Christina, obvs) make, and how to avoid them to more accurately re-create her look.
And this is serious business, so get ready for some salty talk.
Setting: THE DAY OF ‘THE VOICE FINALE’, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
Step 1: Your stylist calls you to remind you that you’re appearing on a nationally televised finale tonight.
Hang up on that bitch. You have an outfit to plan.
Step 2: Go to your closet and run your hands over all your beautiful dresses.
Are you high? This is national television. You better put hands on that tuxedo jacket before I put hands on your face.
Step 3: Pick the classically tailored blazer.
Oh bitch I know I did not just catch you putting on a blazer without one damn dirty sequin on it. Get the shiny one, slamhog.
Step 4: Pick out a nice white button-down shirt low-cut enough to show some skin, but in a classy way.
WRONG. It better have a vicar-collar or I’m turning this car around.
Step 5: Great. Top half handled. Now select the pants.
Pants? Are you kidding me, bro?
Step 6: …skirt?
Try again, trick. You better get ‘dem panties on.
Step 7: Pick the studded ones. You’re figuring out how this works.
Guess again. Those ones make your ass-wagon look fantastic — nobody wants to see that. Go get the diaper-y ones that make your rumpus room look like a ciabatta loaf, you fucking amateur, and get to Bedazzling.
Step 8: Return with panties and support-hose.
So help me god, if you tuck in one millimeter of that rump chub, I will set myself on fire.
Step 9: Now skip the Spanx, throw on some tights, and then slip on…some understated heels?
…I’m gonna give you to the count of ten to get into these stripper boots, you dirty pirate hooker.
Step 10: You’re ready! You did it! Now just practice dancing in front of the mirror to maximize unattractive jiggling and awkward white girl dance moves.
I think I just shed a tear of pride, you pile of human waste.
And that’s how it’s done! Using those ten simple guidelines, you are now fully capable of dressing yourself appropriately for a singing competition finale, a bridal shower, or a children’s birthday party.
You’re welcome in advance for all the compliments.