Fugger: Madonna

You guys, I’m having a moment. Remember that time — it was probably not that long ago — when you woke up and looked at Us Weekly or whatever and were like, “Oh my GOD. GEORGE CLOONEY IS OLD.” And it wasn’t because he looked hideous, or anything, but rather that he’d just suddenly stepped over that line of agelessness where suddenly it was impossible not to see him and be reminded that Dr. Doug Ross suddenly is, in the words of Molly Shannon, FIFTY. FIFTY YEARS OLD.

I am having that same thing with Madonna now. It’s not a bad thing; it’s really more that I always thought Madonna would be this ageless, timeless creature who always looked about 42 and dressed like she was 24. And let’s be frank: It’s way less to do with her than it is with my own advancing mortality, since I am old enough to remember what it was like when my birthday twin Madge was ACTUALLY 24. And then yesterday I saw this photo and I was like, “No, dammit, Madonna is FIFTY THREE. FIFTY THREE YEARS OLD.”

Please understand, I’m not trying to say Madonna looks like an old crone. Rather, that she has crossed that age line where she finally seems to look the age she’s meant to look, as opposed to the age she wants to pretend she is. It’s all good. It’s fine. I just need to get used to it. In thirty years I’ll be having the same denial blackout about Gaga ,and I’ll run around telling my grandchildren all about how she never wore pants, and they’ll be like, “Grandma, YOU never wear pants either, although it’s because you are a senile old coot,” and I’ll be like, “HERE’S YOUR PANTS,” and chase after them with a pair of pleated-front slacks from Talbots.

Anyway, none of that has to do with Madonna’s outfit. Let’s turn the discussion to that, shall we?

WE SHALL