In Which I Give In To Lady Gaga

I think that Lady Gaga is my new favorite celebrity, and not just because Sasha Frere-Jones came out as a fan in the latest New Yorker.  It isn't about the music for me-- sorry, Sasha, but "Poker Face" is not in fact a sweeping melody with clever wordplay! --but the fact that she is a fucking performance art alien who's somehow made it to the big time.  This is all a colossal joke on Z100, and the world has fallen for it!  What clinched it for me was her whirlwind tour of Europe.  Here she is performing in Britain: 

Don't worry-- the bib and fitted ladies' diaper aren't the coup de grace.  This is a crazy outfit and all, but she mostly just looks like Christina Aguilera with a larger hat.  God is in the details, my friends.  Details like carrying your own teacup and saucer around London.

If you were an extraterrestrial whose knowledge of the UK existed only from repeat viewings of The Great Muppet Caper, wouldn't you dress like this?  You totally would.  This woman is a twisted genius.  And also, she's 23, which is old enough to conceivably know that this is all a farce and not have to cry, cry, cry in her lonely heart at the end of the day because she's 16 and doesn't know who she is except for a famous fake virgin with awesome tits (what I'm saying here is that Lady Gaga offers guilt-free amusement.  Unlike certain other pop stars who are trainwrecks of our own creation).

But I know what you're thinking: how would this otherworldly character treat Paris?  Let's find out!

Heels as high as the Eiffel Tower and a bubble skirt that is presumably, from the front, shaped like a map of France.  I can't wait until she gets to Monte Carlo.