LMNOP

I'm lacking the time to put together a proper recap today, but I just can't miss the opportunity to praise some of the delightfully tacky outfits from last night's Grammy red carpet.

The past few rounds of Oscars, Globes, and Emmys have had plenty of looks both beautiful and bad, but tacky is its own, specific breed. Tacky isn't so much about wearing a bad outfit--it's about wearing a jubilantly inappropriate one. Like everyone else knew it was an awards show and you thought it was a Dress Like a Human My Little Pony Contest.

Looking at you, Kate Pierson of the B-a52s. Loooooking at you.

Tacky is never lazy. Tacky takes work. Tacky means spending hours lovingly dying a Rapunzel hair extension in Kool Aid while you wait for your chainmail.com order to arrive. Tacky takes effort.

Tacky is elusive. It reminds you of something, but offers its own spin. Tacky is John Mayer channeling Willy Wonka channeling John Mayer back again.

Tacky is knowing everyone has heard your voice over and over again all year and giving them miles of sheerness and tulle and saying, "HERE'S EVEN MORE ME. YOU'RE WELCOME."

Tacky is whatever this is on whoever this is.

Tacky is the leg slit on the shapeless dress that doesn't even look good with the hair that even looks worse, making it clear that you chose this look not because you liked the designer, but because you like your own bod more than anything that can be made out of mere fabric.

Ain't nothin' wrong with that.

Tacky is sophisticated 70s Mother Nature realness served with a side of This Face, All Night, Because You're Damn Right I'm Serious.

Tacky is Taylor. You know I'm right.

Tacky is great. I miss tacky. Tacky will outlast the careers of all of these people. Tacky is timeless. And you can never go wrong with a classic.

P.S. Tacky is a blog post that uses the T-word 25 times. Sorry I'm not sorry.