Grammys Fug or Fab Carpet: Justin Bieber

It is true that I am not totally on the Justin Bieber train. I sometimes get Night Fever, or the kind of fever that can only be cured by more cowbell, but I have avoided the fevers Typhoid, Rheumatic, Yellow, and Bieber. So I can’t really be relied upon to judge this outfit on its merits, because to me, Justin Bieber is only tangentially a person. He’s more of a cartoon character in a strip called Queen Bieb, or something, which has all the earnest flatness of Rex Morgan, M.D., mixed with Foxtrot hair and very possibly the bit of Calvin and Hobbes where the stuffed tiger comes to life. This is where you come in — you’re keeping me honest here, Fug Nation.

I just... I appreciate him for trying something, I guess? And when you're parading around on a boat deck kissing Selena Gomez, I suppose it is sort of amusing to turn around and show up at the Grammys in virginal white. Or rather, virginal off-white. Because those shoes? The giant high-tops? THOSE are white. Those are the shoes of astronauts, and the suit is the tux of clammy-palmed Prom dates who went shopping at the last second and are paying off the suit by doing a couple shifts at the punch bowl.
Then the Bieb got serious. He broke it down for us, y'all. He UNPLUGGED. And a bunch of teenagers wept and dreamed of the day they would be wed, and then Usher came out and cocked HIS finger-guns and was all, "Dude, you are The Chosen One," and then they danced.
And oh, how they danced. Usher's all, "TAKE ME TO YOUR BIEBER." And the Bieb is all, "I am fly. I am so fly."
And then I was all, "Child, you are not so fly that your hand should move any closer to your fly." If that inches south even a little, I will be forced to behead myself in order to preserve my innocence.