It’s Not That Hard to Dress Like Lady Gaga

Hope you have a vat of ketchup handy.

03.28.17

I want to personally thank the mad scientist who created Lady Gaga in a test tube and sent her down to Earth under the name Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta on March 28th, 1986. Of all the extraterrestrial experiments to grace this planet, she is far and above the most fascinating from a sartorial standpoint. There is no material too weird, no structure too cumbersome and no hair height too insurmountable for her to conquer. I’m pretty sure she was fashion clickbait before clickbait existed, and the fact that she hasn’t injured herself or others with a wayward hip check is a miracle unto itself.

You could click through hundreds of photos of her outfits over the years without identifying a rhyme or a reason, but upon close inspection there is one whipstitch that stands out: her total and complete fearlessness. It’s almost like she doesn’t even register what it might mean to be afraid or to worry about what people might think — which incidentally supports my theory that she might be an alien or at the very least a Glenda the Good Witch’s edgy cousin. Can you imagine what that must feel like? Not being related to Glenda (although that’s cool, too), but living and dressing according to your very own internal mood ring, unfettered by any sense of decorum or precedent? I imagine it would induce an adrenaline rush similar to the likes of backflipping into a foam pit whilst simultaneously trying to balance a vanilla milkshake of the perfect thickness upon your left big-toe knuckle, but that’s just my best guess. There’s really only one way to find out for sure, and that’s by committing Lady Gaga’s style rules (or non-rules, in her case) to heart and unfettering yourself accordingly:

1. Take a disco ball — from the closest SoulCycle or karaoke bar — and remove the mirrored squares with a freshly washed butter knife. Reapply said squares to your most decrepit pair of granny panties and wear whenever someone tries to tell you that full-coverage underwear isn’t a veritable beacon of sexual promise.

2. Donate your head to a local papier mache club.

3. Like a Shonda Rhimes medical drama or a TMI monologue from your great aunt Jill, get comfy with the term “asymmetrical growth.” Options include stalactite crystals and/or hair in all the right-wrong places.

4. Don’t wait until Halloween to wear the following costumes: Downton Abbey’s Resident Mad Hatter, Airplane Neck-Pillow Sorceress, Obstetrician at the Birth of Christ, Skeleton in Spanx, Miss Havisham Goes to Disneyland, Space Deer, Porcelain Vase Going Into Battle, Little Red Riding Hood at Gymnastics Practice.

5. Tell your butt cheeks, “You are smart. You are kind. You are important.”

6. Unlock your bulletproof-glass stuffed-animal display case and start sewing the animals together with whatever dental floss or string is handy. After 40 days and 40 nights or however long it takes to get them all attached, sew yourself inside. You are the last animal. Namaste.

7. Thrust your arm shoulder-deep into a vat of ketchup, pull it out and smear the residue on the sexy angel outfit you purchased from Victoria’s Secret. Stow away for future seductions.

8. Wear hot pink sock boots and relish the opportunity to be a literal walking advertisement for Pepto-Bismol.

9. Swing by your local butcher shop before your next dinner party and place an order for 10 pounds of premium T-bone steak. Instead of cooking it, wear it raw upon your person. Avoid dogs for 24 hours.

10. Set your nipples on fire. Come onnnnnn, don’t be a wuss.

Photos via Getty Images.

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