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"Best $2k I Ever Spent!" Lady Gaga's Big Stupid Egg + Other Grammy Fashion Nightmares

[Photo via] If you're a connoisseur of middle-of-the-road, ultra-subjective self-congratulatory industry circle jerks, then your spirits were surely soaring at last night's Grammy Awards ceremony. And while we could spend time breaking down the supposed "surprise" wins by Arcade Fire and Esparanza Spalding (who heartlessly thwarted the Biebs), I think we all know that, even by awards show standards, the Grammys are particularly meaningless.

With all due respect to the integrity-laden record industry, are we really expected to care if the same five songs can be all be nominated for "Best Pop Record," "Best Song," "Best Single," and "Best Record," so that everyone can win something? The Grammys are kind of like my 3rd-grade youth soccer league, where I won the Most Improved Defensive Player Award because by the end of the season I could make it through a full game without peeing in my pants. Which is more than we can still say for Fergie.

So, with the pointlessness of the awards themselves at an all-time high, I suppose we should be grateful that Lady GaGa showed up inside of a gigantic egg. Of course, as with all things GaGa, she found a way to make it as pretentious and un-fun as possible by having her creative director (!!) tell the press that she was "incubating," and then performing a lackluster new song that you're not allowed not to like because it's about acceptance. Hey Lady G, David Bowie didn't have a "creative director." He had LSD.

Of course, any gathering of this many celebrities is good for only one reason (or two if Paz De La Huerta has been drinking): they're going to wear some really stupid looking outfits.

Ciara hasn't had a song in a while, and I guess we now know why: she's fighting crime. While we applaud any private citizen's commitment to justice, I think we also now know why there was never a red carpet on American Gladiators: it just doesn't really work. No word yet on whether she showed up in a limo or a Batmobile.

When Natalie Portman turned into the Black Swan, she gained a dangerous edge of sensuality that brought her to the height of artistic expression and the brink of madness. When Anna Nalick turned into the Black Swan, she was accidentally shot at by Tim McGraw's road crew and then assaulted by Bjork at an afterparty.

After leaving the Sean Combs wax statue on the red carpet for an hour of picture time, two interns for the show returned it once the telecast started. Madame Tussaud's only charges half-price if you bring it back before 10 pm.

Although there was near universal praise for Cee-Lo Green's performance with the Muppets, it appears that Big Bird didn't really bring her "A-game" to the red carpet. While we're as excited as anyone for Esperanza Spalding, she can hopefully afford to dry-clean her dress by the time next year's Grammys roll around.

Apparently Ricky Martin is still somehow able to wrangle an invite to these things. After wrangling the Tin Man's size-28 metallic skinny jeans this year, that may no longer be the case.

Rihanna's outfit seems to have divided the Glitterati this year, with many praising her Jean-Paul Gaultier dress as daring and elegant, suitable for a sexily modern wedding gown. Of course, if that doesn't pan out, she could definitely pass as the wedding cake. It's been a while since middle-school science, but I believe these are called Cumulus radiatus clouds, and they are identifiable by their fluffiness and parallel lines.

Drake is terribly sorry that the veal was overcooked, he's not sure how it happened, but he'll talk to the chef right away and sort it out for you. In the meantime, can he get you a refill on that pomegranate martini?

Lenny Kravitz has already picked out his outfit for the post-apocalypse Mad Max-style wasteland. Apparently, the future will still need marginally catchy, obnoxiously upbeat guitar rock.

I was really uncertain if I even wanted to review Nicki Minaj's already infamous live leopard/ice cream cone thing. On the one hand, I kind of want to give Nicki some credit for doing something that's actually, authentically Out There, as opposed to the carefully crafted "outrageous"-ness of hiring six artists to create a gigantic egg, and then hiring six more bodybuilders to carry you around in that egg while you sing about being different. On the other hand, Nicki's outfit is so objectively, irrefutably horrible that her willingness to wear it in public suggests an extremely severe sociopathic personality disorder. Someone who would not hesitate to wear that wig is also someone who would not hesitate to take a human life.