Here’s the Kardashian/Jenner/West clan, looking very Partridge Family and flowy and also like they don’t give a fuck that they’re totally underdressed for church.
Allow me to clarify, though: I don’t just mean in formality—though, that’s definitely a theme here, too (see: Kanye’s ripped T-shirt; Kylie’s jeggings)—as much as I do an apparent lack of clothes that completely cover one’s body parts (see: Kendall’s torso). I mean, who knows? Maybe there’s a clause in their contract with E! that says they can have their own religion, where wearing bra tops to holy celebrations is encouraged. Maybe it was laundry day. Or maybe I’ve turned into a granny who’s used to wearing layers and layers of dumpy wool things thanks to one of the shittiest East Coast winters on record.
Pharrell Williams is 41 today, which means I’ve been a fan girl for approximately 18 years. Dang.
Before he was the guy who cried on Oprah/the rainmaker behind Blurred Lines/the spokesperson who’s trying to make happiness a *thing*, he was (is?) a smooth, panty-dropping operator who did this thing with his neck that makes me melt into a puddle of woman. That’s the Skateboard P I know and love. [MTV]