Beyoncé’s new record 4 came out this week and it isn’t very impressive or interesting. The mainstream media blows rose petals up B’s ass all day long, but is she really all that? The highly overrated Beyoncé has got issues, and here’s just 4.
Some might argue that despite the success of Dangerously in Love and B’Day, Beyoncé has yet to release a seminal work. In this download-the-single world, some may not see the importance of a well-constructed, complete album, but releasing an album with 2 hit singles and 10-12 tracks of filler illustrates the difference between a greedy paper chaser (Forbes top-earner 2009) and artistic integrity. When Beyoncé is on, she’s really, really, sublime, see – Ring the Alarm, Me, Myself & I, but her filler is so offensive it makes you question her overall standards.
Beyoncé’s fucking boring. Next to Gaga’s theatrics and Rihanna’s edgier sexuality, Beyoncé’s show looks like a cotillion. Respectful, well-behaved, and lady-like, Beyoncé’s biggest rebellion is wearing a heavily-enforced diaper on stage and setting her wind-machine to high. Hanging out with Gwyneth fucking Paltrow isn’t doing much for her swagger either. These days, stepping out with Beyoncé is more akin to visiting with your proper aunt than raging with a rockstar.
Beyoncé’s stuck in a rut. The lyrically uninspired 4 sounds like it could have come out three years ago. Tired and unoriginal, Beyoncé vacillates between deferential obedience and put-him-in-his place neck-rolls, all very well-tread ground for the artist. What’s new here? Nada.
It takes more than a mythical range and amazing vocal control to make a hit record – just ask Christina Aguilera. Beyoncé works in all the grunts, runs, and big-note belting she can, but we’ve seen all these tricks before, and they do nothing to bring the snoozy 4 to life.
With all of Beyoncé’s access and resources, there really isn’t an excuse for this mediocre offering. You won’t hear the truth elsewhere because Tina Knowles scares the shit out of everyone.
Michelle Williams put a bird on it. 
Daphne Guinness and SJP in McQueen.
A disastrous Blake and shimmery Anna in Chanel (psst, saw it here first Feb 3rd). 
Newd hued for the youngsters.
This is not the couples portion of the pageant B. 
Madonna and that other Guy. 
Marc Jacobs and Robert Duffy send a nod of the knee to McQueen’s heritage. Tux on top, tartan down low.
The Christinas. Ricci>Hendricks
Kristen Stewart sliced through the party in Proenza Schouler.
Paltrow repped Stella McCartney.
More beige-y neutrality from Zellweger and Hayek (also in McQueen), but Salma’s just-fucked hair was the best of the night. 
JLO served severity and overkill. Bleeding Armadillo. 
An unexceptional showing from the supermodels: Gisele, Naomi, Carolyn, and Miranda. 
Hey Kayne.
Also Calvin Klein-clad was Gwyneth Paltrow. Many went crazy for this look, but the severe middle parted hair with the long narrow plunging neck evoked butt crack. GOOP wins for most over-rated, and that doesn’t just apply to her fashion choices.
Two old ladies in Dior Couture: Nicole Kidman and Sharon Stone. Sharon served a little high-end Cruella DeVille with a good dress and bad hair. 
Marchesa’s minions, Halle and Hailee. This gown’s a little too young and try-hard on Halle. Hailee finally succumbed to the princess pressure after several chic and tailored moments this awards season. This awkward length doesn’t flatter her. 
Celine Dion and Reese Witherspoon werked Armani Privé, two of the strongest looks of the night. Anyone else suspicious why Reese looked a little too proud of herself all night. 
We all knew the Rodarte was coming. Portman loves Kate and Laura Mulleavy. After all the built-up expectation, this plum number was just okay. Some of that train should have been repurposed to fill out the front hemline. Also repping purple, Scarjo in Dolce & Gabbana taking the baton from Michelle Williams to finish the defiantly unattractive relay. 
Mila chose lilac Elie Saab and looked absolutely fantastic. She managed to balance sweet and sexy – arguably the best, except for that awful makeup.
Another best dressed contender, the always impeccable and fashion-forward Cate Blanchett in Givenchy Couture. 
Hilary Swank also ventured into slightly new territory in Gucci. Swank’s softly sculpted eye makeup was undoubtedly some of the best cosmetic artistry of the night. Michelle Williams gave good glam with stunningly perfect hair and makeup. 
Three ladies arrived in gowns previously featured on Demeter Clarc: Amy Adams in L’Wren Scott, Giuliana Rancic in Christian Siriano, and Mandy Moore in Monique L’huillier. Remember, you saw it here first.
Penelope, Jennifer Hudson (Versace), Anne Hathaway (archival Valentino), and Sandra Bullock (Vera Wang) opted for a range of carmine hues. The rosebuds were neither particularly interesting nor especially fug. These four surfed the crimson sea of mediocrity.
Worst without needed elaboration: Marisa Tomei in vintage Charles James and Melissa Leo in Marc Bouwer. 
Rachel Zoe rolled out her self-titled collection this season. Some of you may be familiar with the little copycat scandal served up à la Teen Vogue. In Rachel’s defense, every non-designer with a label does this – mines their own closet for inspiration (including Kate Moss). Zoe’s rookie mistake was particularly conspicuous because she didn’t even bother to tweak her version. 
Truthfully, the entire collection looked eerily familiar. Here’s a summary of Zoe’s take on suiting.
This red suit was one of the stronger looks, but we’ve seen Valentino do this better. What is Zoe bringing to the table that is new and fresh? Really, we need another version of a white suit? Master tailors offered up a hundred versions of the white suit over the past five seasons. We’ve seen the white suit done better Rach, but thanks for playing. 
Rachel hopped on the one-shoulder, sequin train a few seasons too late. This look is so tired, and for the most part so are the rest of her cocktail offerings.
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This cape is pretty cute, but I don’t die for the color. Her coat looks a lot like the one Gwen Stefani modeled during Zoe’s visit to the L.A.M.B. showroom last season. 
Can we let the fucking shorts go? And Gwyneth, I’m talking to your ass too. Grown-ass women have no business in shorts outside the gym or the beach, maybe even ever. Please stop trying to make fashion shorts happen. Enjoy Rachel Zoe’s take on the unwearable trend. 
Having thoroughly considered the collection, all in all, I say Rachel No. 
I know ya’ll covetous bitches have been staring longingly at Real Housewife of Beverly Hills Kyle Richards‘ mega-mane. A common salon-chair complaint is that women can’t get vibrant, thick, luxurious hair to grow below the bra line. After hair reaches this length it fizzles out into stringy insubstantial wisps. Some think extensions are the answer. Get Britney’s busted weave to cosign on that shit. 
Let’s try another angle. Fekkai Protein Rx PM Repair Strengthener is an overnight conditioning treatment aimed at fortifying hair while you sleep. 
No doubt Rx PM Repair Strengthener is an extravagance at $65 for 4 oz. Justify the price by recognizing that you will easily get another month or more out of your haircut. Furthermore, consider that shampoo and conditioner only stay on the hair for 1-5 minutes. There are limits to what even the most luxurious product can do in this scant time. 
Fekkai’s light-weight cream rebuilds and revitalizes over several hours. Upon waking and washing, hair is left silken, shiny, and weightlessly soft. This is the secret to taking your tresses from mid-length to full-length. 
It’s worth emphasizing that Rx PM Repair does not weigh hair down or leave build-up. It penetrates strands quickly and won’t stain your pillow. The scent is pleasant and unobtrusive. 
Nothing is ever perfect. The cheap dispenser is inconsistent with the quality of the product inside. Upgrade your bottles Fekkai. J’annoyed with the weak-ass pump. Also, sad to say this isn’t vegan. Milk protein is involved.
It takes mayjah results for me to get all aflutter over a conditioner, but I have a diamond-hard wang for Fekkai Protein Rx PM Repair Strengthener. Often the differences between the high end and low end are indiscernible, but in this case the results after one use are not only noticeable, they border on miraculous. 
Anybody else fast forward through three tedious hours of country award show purgatory to watch Gwyneth get her twang on? I don’t give a fuck how many “critics” acclaim her performance; that shit was knock-kneed, boring, disingenuous, and uncomfortable. 
After forcing myself to watch it three times, each time disgust welling in the back of my throat, I can truly say I hate this song. I hated this perfauxmance, and I really resent all this pandering to the heartland for a Grammy nod. Ick to Cuntry Gwyneth. 
Because the public is generally repulsive, these days it takes quite a bit of motivation to get my ass to the movies. The buzz on Easy A lured me to the theater, and for once, I didn’t regret the decision.
Emma Stone as Olive wins you over in the first ten minutes; her lip-synching montage to Pocket Full of Sunshine hits a particularly funny note. A resurrected Amanda Bynes pops up as an intense bible-thumping promise-ring nemesis praying for Olive’s purity and redemption. Surprising performances from Stanley Tucci (Dill) and Patricia Clarkson (Rosemary) as Olive’s kooky parents add fun and a tad of gravitas to the breezy film. Note to casting, Penn Badgley has the sex appeal of expired dairy. Stop trying to make Penn Badgley happen.
The story, inspired by The Scarlet Letter, preaches the new gospel of high school sex politics in the digital age. The obvious take away is a watered down “Our Body, Ourselves” message for the Hannah Montana set. Underneath, the best advice to extract from the story is to wait to have sex until you get out of high school. Not because of Jesus, but because every fucking gossipy bitch in your class will have your biznass on Facebook.
Wait until college to have sex. Everyone is a slut in college, so unless you do something legendarily slutty, your reputation is probably safe. Another bonus: it guarantees you will not end up on the next season of 16 and Pregnant.
On a somewhat unrelated note, a trailer for Gwyneth Paltrow’s upcoming release Country Strong rolled before the feature presentation. Despite the studio’s confidence in positioning it for awards season, it looks like fucking fromage. While stifling laughter at her unconvincing turn as a washed-up country singer, I couldn’t help but wonder if GOOP has a good recipe for organic humble pie.
Like Rapunzel, hair must look beautiful and glide through the hand like silk. Others must be compelled to reach out and touch it.
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Similar products abound, but a hefty 8.5 oz bottle of Anti-Snap can easily last a year, making it the best value.
My only criticism: it looks like jizz.