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Style shrinks: Our experts analyse Lady Gaga's glittering post-show look

 

Gemma Hayward,Hugh Montgomery
Sunday 13 November 2011 01:00 GMT
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All that glitters: Only Lady Gaga could get away with such beauty statements on the red carpet
All that glitters: Only Lady Gaga could get away with such beauty statements on the red carpet (Rex Features)

The make-up

Gemma Hayward: I'm a huge fan of Lady Gaga's individualism, but blue lipstick makes her lips looks frostbitten. The sparkly green eyebrows, on the other hand, suit her experimental style – only she can get away with such beauty statements on the red carpet.

Hugh Montgomery: OK, I'm back on board here – back on board the Starlight Express, that is. Suitably garish and glittery, her flamboyant facial medley benefits from the extra dash of irreverence provided by that intra-eyebrow, silver-painted crucifix.

The underwear

Gemma: I'm not stunned to see her knickers on show – I'm just surprised she opted for black! Surely flesh-tone would have given that "going commando" effect, the best red-carpet shock tactic of them all...

Hugh: I tend to agree with my esteemed colleague: for someone who has always positioned themselves at the cutting edge of knicker-flashing, these black undies are disappointingly FHM.

The hair

Gemma: The mental hair does go with her extreme outfit, but the tiered ponytail extensions look far too yellow, giving it a rather cheap-looking, brassy appearance.

Hugh: Here's one occasion where the Queen of Charts should definitely have deferred to her mad hatter Philip Treacy. The pony, nay stallion, tail should be so formidable, yet the dodgy layering and that scrunchie-like knot make it (whisper it) all a little bit Mickey Mouse Club.

The dress

Gemma: This Paco Rabanne dress is made with a digital body scan to ensure each python square follows the contour of the body. And it certainly is figure-hugging, she looks like a silver statue in this pose.

Hugh: Postmodern you may be, Gaga, but dressing like a Gaga impersonator circa 2009 won't cut it. The chain-mail gown is all well and glam, but where's the shock? The awe? The edible bits? Continue this prosaic eccentricity and you'll have Kitty Brucknell breathing down your neck.

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