American Music Awards Fug Carpet: Alicia Keys

There's a lot I don't understand about Alicia Keys. Like, say, why I am so sick of all her songs, or why she's on the cover of Entertainment Weekly and I still can't muster up the energy to read anything more than the headline on her story before I flip ahead to the big ol' dishy piece on Gossip Girl (although I'll grant that last one probably says a lot more about me than it does about Alicia, and parenthetically, if that show would just give in already and hire Joan Collins to be some kind of grande dame of English society trying to infiltrate the Upper East -- possibly as man-whore Chuck's unexpectedly British grandmother -- I would die happy).

Chiefly, though, I don't understand why Alicia would decide to change out of this:

[Photo: Splash News]

To this:

Nothing about Alicia Keys' music screams "jazz hands" to me -- or even jazz hands' awkward prepubescent cousin, spirit fingers. But I really don't get why she's decided that her "most personal album YET," or whatever tedious, desperate sales-speak she's using, demands slinky flared jumpsuits that might've even gotten her laughed out of Studio 54. Is Alicia Keys' soul addicted to one-piece outfits? Is it curled up in footie pajamas at night and cavorting in rompers by day, begging for external recognition of its proclivities? Is she just completely freaking crazy? Or did she sell her soul to Satan in exchange for better eye makeup and a few good hair days?

Not that I want to imply anything -- personally, I suspect the answer lies somewhere in option C -- but there might be some evidence lending credence to the latter theory.

See? A cloven hoof. Maybe it IS the work of the devil.