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As I walked through L.A.’s Staples Center for Britney Spears’ Femme Fatale tour last night, the lack of parochial-school uniforms, blonde wigs, and spandex jumpsuits—the sartorial choices of Britney fans of concerts past—had me worried.

The packs of twenty-something females—with some gay men and dutiful boyfriends mixed in—here to see Britney looked to be dressed for a night out in Vegas; certainly a far cry from Gaga’s wig-happy Little Monsters and the diehard Britney fans of yore.(Eleven years ago, some babysitting money, combined with an impassioned plea to my mother, earned this former teenybopper a ticket to her unforgettable “Oops!… I Did It Again” tour.)

Mere minutes after the the singer’s first sultry utterance of “It’s Britney, bitch,” it was obvious that my first instincts were very, very wrong. She opened with a sexed-up rendition of  her single “Hold It Against Me”; singing from a Game of Thrones-esque iron chair while a gaggle of beefed up “hot cops” grinded against her.

Britney’s back, alright.  And with her slim waist, her dangerously toned legs, and most importantly her engaged, wide-eyed smile, she looked happy to be there with us—the crucial element that has been missing from so many Britney shows of late. READ FULL STORY »