Underage fashion (and sexual metaphors) at Katy Perry last night

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By Desiree Prieto

“So, how do I look?” I asked my one-and-only before heading to the Katy Perry concert at the AT&T Center last night. “Like all the other soccer moms who’ll be accompanying their 14-year-old daughters,” he jokingly replied. “Stop,” I began, “her lyrics are way too explicit for kids.” I was certain that not only would the show be an adult concert, but that to fit in with the trannies and drag queens whom happen to follow Kitty Purry (her alter ego in which she actually dresses up as a kitty and looks like a drag queen herself), I’d need to improvise my fashion a bit. I wore a translucent red top with a black lace bra, copper and gold sky-high heels, a pair of gaudy earrings I bought in Portugal, and stonewash jeans that were so tight I couldn’t look down while seated. I felt like one of those pregnant women who can’t see their feet after seven or eight months—except way hotter, obviously.

However—and how does everybody get the memo on these things but me?—I was not savvy enough to wear a bright blue or pink bee-hive wig (as a tribute, I’m assuming) to Perry last night. Upon arrival to the AT&T Center, my girlfriend and I noticed all the wigs running around us; wigs that were finished off with outfits like leopard-print pants, sparkly dresses and candy-cane tops that were so unbelievably fitted they looked painted on. Upon closer inspection, and much to my dismay, we noticed that many of the wigsters were actually 14-year-old girls!

“Candice,” I said to my fabulous friend just featured as NSIDE Magazine’s Style and Substance—shameless plug—“how can parents let their daughters come to a Katy Perry concert? This is Katy Perry, not Britney Spears circa 1999.” She replied, “Wow, I don’t know,” reciting their lyrics, “that one song, I kissed a girl and I liked it? Really, Mom? Maybe their parents just don’t know what the songs say.” As we made our way to our seats, I thought, even though I’d just jammed out to Perry’s Teenage Dreams CD in my car that afternoon, and even though California "Dreams" also happens to be the name of the tour, and would obviously feature such songs from said CD, that perhaps I was overreacting. “Well, maybe they’re not that bad.” I couldn’t quite recall the lyrics anyhow in that particular moment due to drinking a double vodka tonic without eating dinner (FYI: if you want to lose weight for fashion week, vodka tonic has almost no calories).

When the concert started, Perry opened with “Teenage Dream”—a song that wasn’t actually all that bad, if the adult in you could forget the allusion to sex, “I’m a get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight. Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight.” But it was all downhill from there, from her ballad of “I kissed a girl and I liked it, I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it,” to “You’re so gay and you don’t even like boys,” and also, “I want to see your Peacock, cock, cock, your Peacock, cock, cock.” It was in this “cock” moment that I heard Candice state a ghastly, “Oh my God, she’s making a motion like she’s jerking off her microphone!” I, however, disagreed with Candi, how could she think something like this? “Candi, no. She’s giving the microphone a blow job, hello? That swift motion is a pop-culture connotation for blow jobs.”

“God,” she said, “I’d really hate to be here with my daughter right now.” Not that either of us has a daughter, but were glad that we didn’t.

If you could get past the fact that you were sitting next to a bunch of kids last night, and could refrain from trying to cover their eyes (unlike Candi), the concert was actually one of the best ones I’ve been to in a long time. I’d put it up there with Ani Difranco in Rome and Pearl Jam in Chicago. If you’ve always wondered— like I did—whether Perry was one of those Hollywood sell-outs who only sounds good in the recording studio, then wonder no more. She really does have a great set of pipes and not only rocked the house with them but serenaded us on her glittery guitar from a cotton candy-cane cloud above. She’s also a great entertainer with unique fashions and props that set her apart from other acts. I will say one thing though: Perry’s success seems to lie in the fact that, most of her songs are filled with catchy but trite sayings and other over-used and overtly sexual metaphors. It’s very beginning songwriter-ish, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she actually did get help from a 14-year-old daughter while writing them.

 

 

 

 

 


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