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October 22, 2004

VMAs Latin America: Back to the Fug

Not to put too fine a point on it: what the hell is going on here?

Did she hitch a ride with Marty McFly on some less-publicized jaunt in the De Lorean, this one from 1985 to 2004? [I'm sure she was disappointed by our lack of flying cars.] In fact, I suspect that's McFly's demin jacket tied around her waist.

Coming directly from the past to the VMAs: Latin America Remix is the only thing that would explain:

a) The legwarmers. Seriously, are you an extra in Center Stage II: Left of Center? Then can the leg warmers, because they didn't look good on you in 1985, they didn't look good on you during their mercifully brief revival sixteen months ago and they don't look good on you now.

b) The polka dot Minnie Mouse skirt.

c) the dirty Chuck Taylors. Which, you know, I like Converse too, but there's a time and a place and the time and the place is usually Saturday, 11:15am, Starbucks and not AN AWARDS SHOW.

d) Did I mention the jeans jacket, in a wash and a cut not seen since back before we knew George Michael was gay?

The only thing missing is a puffy red vest.

Poor Natalia Lafourcade. Apparently, fug is her density. I mean, destiny.

Posted by Jessica at 10:21 AM in VMAs | Permalink | Comments (0)

October 21, 2004

Fugstore Fugboy

Heather Graham is so confused:

Pants? Or macrame dress? Pants? Or macrame dress? Macrame dress with nipples showing, or marcrame dress with tank top? And what if none of it matches?

I guess, in long run, we ought to be grateful that she decided to wear everything instead of nothing at all. Even if "everything" includes a dress that she made during arts and crafts that one summer at Camp Kitchiwatchi. Because I think there was a real, real possibility at one point in her event preparation process when she thought about just wearing the dress and the dress alone.

We dodged a bullet, people.

Posted by Jessica at 04:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Fug the Vote

What's fuglier than Courtney Peldon on a red carpet?

A) Maggie Gyllenhaal
B) Chloe Sevigny
C) Britney's entire life right now, including the husband.
D) Not voting
E) All of the above.

This one's pretty easy, really: E.

Sadly, the first three are really beyond any of our immediate control, so we suggest making yourself a really strong martini and drinking yourself into whatever blurry stupor they are clearly in whenever they leave the house.

But, if you'll pardon us getting political for a quick second, item D is most definitely fixable; for women, too, taking advantage of the hard-won 19th Amendment can counterfug even the most Peldon of outfits.

If you want a funky way to encourage somebody to go to the polls on Nov. 2, check out the eCards on hipster cards, made by fashion designers and sponsored by the non-partisan folks at 1000 Flowers and November 2. They're a cute and cool way to remind people that they have a voice that needs to be heard. [We particularly like the card with the 'Diet Vote' can.]

Because politics can get ugly, but nothing's fuglier than apathy.

H & J

Posted by Heather at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

October 20, 2004

Random Fug: Just Say No To Leggings

In the past, we here at Go Fug Yourself have been accused of not appreciating "risk-taking" fashion. Which is absolutely true if the risk-taking in question involves, say, leggings. Check out designer Mara Hoffman, at the After Party For Lower Eastside Girls Club.

Here's the thing. Leggings under a dress are never good. Cold legs? Meet tights. Or pants. Or, my personal choice, suffering.

It's not that I don't appreciate, you know, High Fashion. I have a subscription to W, for goodness sake. I just don't think that "edgy" absolutely has to equal "ugly."

I mean....leggings, people. Leggings. We can not go back to a time when it is okay to wear leggings out of the house. I don't even want to go back to time when it is okay to wear leggings inside the house. We decide that leggings under a dress is okay, and it's just one small, slippery step toward leggings on their own, and then leggings paired with a giant tee shirt. A giant tee shirt emblazoned with an iron-on of the Nelson twins. And then, the next thing you know, we're all in alegbra class again, and no one wants that.

Fight the leggings, hipsters. Fight them. I know they are comfortable. I know that. But so are tights. And tights don't make you look like you've just escaped from the wardrobe wagon of Just One of the Guys. Please. Stay strong. Stay leggings free.

Posted by Jessica at 01:44 PM in Random Fug | Permalink | Comments (0)

October 19, 2004

Fug Hunter

It's for her role as a bounty hunter, but... I am not loving Keira Knightley's new haircut.

Granted, I've been perplexed by her wide-ranging appeal, but I at least think that the dark hair in a longer cut would have flattered the dress and possibly de-emphasized the lack of pasta in her life. [Ravioli is a friend, Keira. Let it love you.] The short 'do just sort of weirds up her features. (And is she wearing... a scarf? Would she like some fabric for those shoulders?)

Mary Stuart Masterson did this look, but we probably only need one Mary Stuart Masterson -- unless Domino the Bounty Hunter has a thing for floppy-haired red-headed guys with a diamond-stud fetish.

You know what? On behalf of bounty hunters everywhere, I object. Sure, this Domino person is real, but that's what fictionalization is all about, Anonymous Hairdresser. Creative license is a beautiful thing when it can circumvent a fug. Where is it written that bounty hunters have to have bad butch haircuts, anyway? Why can't she hunt people down and deliver the smack with something a little more flattering on her noggin? What about long hair? Or couldn't she get a good short haircut?

Snap to it, people. Make shit up. This is Hollywood.

Posted by Heather at 04:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Nine Fug

For months now, I have had a shoe nemesis, an enemy in the ranks of otherwise loyal and lovely footwear. It befouled displays and yet completely eluded me whenever I embarked upon a quest to locate its picture, for use in this space. It was as if the shoes were taunting me.

I became feverish in my quest. I Googled the style name. I would seek them out at department stores and boutiques, specifically to stand there and fume at their simple fuggery. And I would show people whenever I could, so they would know that the enemy has a toe strap and a 2 1/4-inch heel. In short, it became personal. Inexplicably personal.

Then suddenly, miraculously, the sandals appeared on the Nine West Web site. My nemesis has been digitally captured, for display all around the world. And so I present to you one of the ugliest pairs of shoes, in my very subjective opinion, that I've seen in a long time:

Do not let this innocent photograph fool you: In person, they are much scarier. The pink is not this bright and summery, but has a dull, stale lavender hue to it. When I first saw them at Bloomingdale's, I stopped and studied them. I tugged at the stretchy fabric. I frowned and pursed my lips, unsure exactly what Nine West was trying to do. So I called my roommate over to get a second opinion.

She recoiled a little. "Maybe they look better on," she coughed uneasily.

And so I put the lilac monster on my foot, and lo, they look worse on a foot than they do on a table.

Also, do not let the sale price tempt you: These shoes will fug up the feet of you and everyone that you care about, if you just give them a chance. Stay away. Far away.

Posted by Heather at 03:52 PM in High Fugshion | Permalink | Comments (4)

Untamed Fug

People really do need to understand that the reckless use of ruffles must cease in order to prevent an epidemic. The angle of the flaring bottom makes Marisa Tomei look like... I don't know, a human chess piece. And the white shoes with the black ensemble? Why, Marisa? What of Labor Day? Did all those laborers... um... labor... in vain?

Maybe this is a cry for help. Maybe she IS a chess piece: A pawn in some stylist's wicked game of revenge against the red carpet. Save yourself, Marisa. Take back the night -- or the knight, if you like -- and put this dress in checkmate.

And for a bonus, this photo of her profile randomly makes me laugh:

Image Hosted by ImageShack.us

Something about this fug-in-motion startles me. Ms. Tomei looks like she's prancing or something.

Posted by Heather at 01:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My Best Fug's Wedding

There's "aging badly," and then there's Rupert Everett:

Ouch. And you used to be so dashing, Rupe -- can I call you Rupe? What happened? Brow lift? Face lift? Scalp lift? Why don't you try letting something fall for a little while, and see how you like it.


Posted by Jessica at 01:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

October 18, 2004

Legends of the Fug

Julia Ormond thanks you all for your support of her acting career, but her decision is final: She will pursue her dream of becoming a synchronized swimmer, and there's nothing anyone can say that will deter her from the goal.

Posted by Heather at 02:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A Fug Of One's Own

Vanessa Paradis looks like a homeless Virginia Woolf at the premiere of Neverland.

The shapeless, sack-y dress. The pale, drowned face, complete with frozen purple lips. The haphazard, straggly bun. The bedraggled, misshapen fur -- are those rocks in her pockets, or does she just keep this coat crumpled up in a ball in the corner of her closet? And, of course, the crowning glory: the white shoes. I firmly believe that unless you are a bride, a nurse, or Nancy Sinatra, you should not be wearing white shoes. And you really should not be wearing them in October. And you really, really should not be wearing them with black tights. Clearly a sign of mental instability. (And yes, I know that contrasting tights and shoes are chic this year, but I cling to the notion that when Vogue advocates such a look, Vogue means, say, black tights and burgundy shoes. Or even brown tights and pink shoes. But not the tragic black tights and horrifying white shoes. Because, Anna Wintour, that is a path down which I will not follow you. I'm sorry. No. No, I just can't. Stop bothering me. No. Seriously. And while we're at it, the high-waisted pants? Not going to happen. And tell Kim France at Lucky that I'm not buying them from her either, next time you see her in the caf at Conde Nast.)

I'd like to point out the real star of this snap, however. Note the woman behind Paradis. She's making the quintessential "Oh, honey, no" face. Bless her. She's one of us.

Posted by Jessica at 10:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)


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