9 1/2 Fugs

I present to you Mr Mickey Rourke, who is currently working a style I like to call Intoxicated Lucifier, because I'm pretty sure he'd steal your soul if he weren't so wasted. To wit:

The hair? The Van Dyke? Those glasses? That ascot? He's fully in thrall to the Dark Lord. And he'd TOTALLY take your soul in exchange for like, you know, something, if he wasn't so fully THRASHED, dude. And, yeah, he's got shit to stir and babies to eat and brimstone to boil, but that can all wait, because first he's got to paaaaaar-tay!

But watch out. Because when he rolls over and wakes up in the gutter, just before the dawn, and he has to scamper back to his lair before the harsh light of day exposes his Mark of the Beast to the trash guys, he'll probably swing by your house, ostensibly to ask if he can shower before he heads into the office because you live so much closer to his work than he does and man ALIVE did he get hammered last night, and he'd really appreciate it, you are a PEACH, just know that he is probably actually there to suck your eternal soul out through your nostrils and use it to prolong his unholy Reign of Terror here on earth. So if Mickey Rourke comes knocking at your door, gentle readers, especially if he happens to be wearing what looks like a velvet smoking jacket, take heed. Take heed, take heart, and lock your door.

The Fughome Companion

Look, people, Lindsay Lohan is totally into PEACE.

Peace, and also stealing the tablecloth from her local hole-in-the-wall tequila pit, cinching it, and pretending it's a dress rather than something that can be wiped clean with a damp cloth.

VMAs: Eva Longoria

Okay, I realize this was part of the whole "anything can happen" theme of the evening, but...

It was only seven years ago that Eva was Miss Corpus Christi. Ergo, her strutting onstage in a complex, confusing bathing suit looking every inch like a pageant princess -- not to mention the fact that she'll do anything for attention, and seriously, WHAT is going on with her hair? -- is not, in fact, terribly surprising. More shocking would have been her showing up in pants and a sweater, without makeup, while loudly declaring herself celibate. Now there's a jaw-dropper.

Semi-Unfugging: Fergie

Trust me, this hurts me as much as it hurts you.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Let's be clear: I don't like the dress -- mostly, the colors and the bodice. Oh, and the sash. Basically, the whole thing isn't really my cup of tea. She looks like a limon. Juice her and some Sprite would come out.

But... this is Fergie we're talking about here. Fergie. The Urinator. The Whizzing Bandit. The Wet Spot. The Leaky Bladder.  The Trouser Golden Shower. The Ninety Year-Old Urethra. We know this woman's history. We are lucky she didn't show up in a urine-stained pair of formal shorts with a waistline somewhere near her armpits. We are fortunate she left her knee socks and legwarmers at home. The Sweet Baby Jesus is to be exalted for the fact that she doesn't look like Pippi Longstocking on a paper route. In fact, we should consider ourselves downright blessed that she appears to have showered and styled her hair.

So in sum: Dress? No thank you. Lack of suspicious stains and the appearance of an effort having been made? We'll take it, and we'll give credit where credit is due.

I'm sure it's only a momentary lapse of all-out fug.

VMA Fug Carpet: Jessica Simpson

I JUST CAN'T TAKE HER ANYMORE:

I mean seriously. ENOUGH ALREADY. ENOUGH! ENOUGH! I am officially, 100 percent, totally and completely, utterly and deeply over Jessica "Is This Tuna or Chicken?" "Buffalos Don't Have Wings!" "Aw, look at my little sister, isn't she -- NO, LOOK AT ME AGAIN!" "I Slept With Johnny Knoxville OH NO I DIDN'T HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT?" "I filed for divorce. NO, I DIDN'T. Or DID I? No. I didn't." "My dad is totally normal, I SWEAR!" "Listen, my marriage is totally awesome, REALLY." "Hey, check out my boobs!" "My ass, my ass, now let's talk about my ass!" "You too can have my Daisy Dukes body...just buy my exercise DVD! And my perfume! And my body glitter! And my line of jeans! And my SOUL!" "Hey, Star Magazine just did an entire two-page article on MY ASS, complete with EXPERT OPINIONS because everyone is JUST THAT INTERESTED IN THE RELATIVE BOOTYLICIOUSNESS OR LACK THEREOF OF MY BEHIND." Simpson.

Therefore, I decline to comment on her VMAs outfit, even though I could say that she looks like the top of half of a pirate bride paired with the bottom half of, oh, I don't know, SOME IDIOT WHO JUMPED ON THE FORMAL SHORTS BANDWAGON, but I won't, because Jessica Simpson won't go away until we all start ignoring her. Therefore, as far as I am concerned, she was never at the VMAs, she has never been to the VMAs, she has never HEARD of the VMAs, she has never had a hand in either V, or M, and she certainly doesn't deserve an A.

So let's all just go about our business and pretend this never happened.

VMA Fug Carpet: Coco

And speaking of people who needn't have bothered with the flimsy formality of fabric... it seems the repellantly self-obsessed host Sean John P. Diddy Stay-Puft Daddy Combs wasn't the only thing at the VMAs full of hot air:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Somebody inflated the balloons before taking off the protective netting.

Good rule of thumb: Don't dress like you charge by the hour just because your date (Ice-T) notoriously used to be a pimp. When the entire community of legal hookers in Las Vegas probably looked at you and said, "Girl, you are cheaper than top ramen," you have erred.

But if you won't be deterred, at least make sure your nipples-the-size-of-beer-cans aren't pointing in different directions. That's unsettling -- plus, nobody wants the nickname Nips Akimbo.

VMA Fug Carpet: Brooke Hogan

Brooke Hogan was in the middle of the time-honored wedding shower game Dress The Bride In A Toilet Paper Gown when she realized she was running late for the VMAs!

So she threw on her hooker shoes and ran right out to the show!

VMA Fug Carpet: Kirsten Dunst

Kirsten Dunst, everyone's favorite M.D. of The Sag, danced onto the red... er, black carpet... wearing a very familiar speckled, sparkling sack-wrap:

You might remember that little number from such debacles as, "Mischa Barton Embraces Leggings; Gets Swallowed By Oversized Glittering Drapery."

One thing for which I will give La Dunst credit: She looks way better in this thing than Mischa did. For one thing, it actually appears to fit her, and doesn't look like it weighs 50 pounds as it presses aggressively down on her twiggy frame. However, it's still a droopy disaster of a gown that's one part smoking jacket, two parts bathrobe, three parts Great Aunt Betina at her 88th birthday extravapalooza, and eighty parts exactly what the doctor ordered -- if indeed that doctor is the famed Dr. Sunkentits, and the treatment in question is an antidote to overly perky breasts.

VMA Fug Carpet: Paulina Rubio

Some people think sexiness is about leaving things to the imagination. Paulina Rubio, however, not only seems to disagree with this theory, but appears to believe that imagination doesn't actually exist and cannot be trusted to fill in our mental blanks:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

At this point, why even get dressed at all?

Perhaps I'm being unfair -- maybe the hurricane winds blew away her dress liner.

Fug On... Anonymity

Nothing is more mentally taxing than a celebrity who has taken great and clever pains to avoid being recognized:

I mean... Now I have no idea... Who is this? Who could it be? Gosh, I SIMPLY CAN'T IMAGINE. I'm trying to add it up... the "I'm a Roman Hooker" shoes, the dress that looks like a disco ball caught in a fishing net... it's all adding up to something... Gosh, if only we knew someone who is of the habit of showing up places both hammered and dressed in glittering rags that look tailored by an axe-murderer. And if only this crafty siren weren't wearing a baseball cap!

Just who IS this pussycat? Who on EARTH would go out looking so "tara"ble? I'll buy one piping hot slice of American pie to anyone who cracks this DEVIOUS and PERPLEXING MYSTERY. Damn you, Hat of Great Cunning, for being the perfect disguise! A pox on you and your impenetrable shadow!  Obstruction of Fugstice is a crime! One punishable by... more mockery! And poxes! I CURSE YOUR AND YOUR DEMON BRIM FOR BESTING ME.

I am just stumped. That hat was a stroke of genius. Well played, Totally Unrecognizable Mysterious Boozehound Lush. Well played indeed.

Celebrities Who Think They're Musical: Part Insanity Infinity

I love Jem and the Holograms as much as the next person, but I don't think we need a live-action replica:

Why is it that trousers are always the first thing to go? Does no one respect the pants?

Shannyn Fuggamon

I had thought, apparently too optimistically, that we were done with Shannyn Sossamon. I never understood her brief tenure as an "It Girl," and she never seemed capable of acting her way out of a paper bag -- not even one with a massive escape hatch torn in the side. Given her abrupt appearance and short string of uncharismatic performances (A Knight's Tale, 40 Days and 40 Nights), it seemed somehow right that she just as suddenly disappeared from the public eye shortly after popping out a sprog and naming it Audioscience. I would have fled, too.

And yet, she is apparently back and starring in a movie called Undiscovered that also features Miss Ashlee Simpson.

And, she has reappeared smack in the middle of a bad fad-crosspollination -- a boho/pants-under-dress hybrid.

Blonde On The Left, I am not crazy about your Bob's Bridal Discounters dress with what look like pre-molded spots for your chest that you are not quite filling out; Ashlee, I'm going to leave you alone, because we've had some harsh words lately and you look much better than you did then. But Shannyn... you look a wee bit like a Goth farm girl. I appreciate that your jeans are at least the right length -- congratulations on being the only person in Hollywood to achieve this -- but please, dump the petticoat.

Fugly Dukes

Okay, first of all, I am so over Jessica Simpson. Has no one noticed that, over the course of the past two years, she has morphed into an actual WAX FIGURINE?

And now she seems to think she's, like, the waxen love child of Sienna Miller and the jockey manchild Tobey McGuire played in Seabisuit:

What? Unless Nick slept with some nanny-type Simpson employee [like, say, Ashlee, who, to me, sort of looks like the girl down the street who babysits your little sister and who you kind of like hanging out with although you can never ask her for fashion advice and you certainly can't borrow her clothes, but because she's sort of amusing and her life is always a total mess and makes you feel better about yourself because, although things might be bad, at least you aren't chasing Wilmer Valdermananananana all over town], Jessica really has no call to adopt this kind of Homeless-British-Wan and Terribly Cold-But-Can't-Bother-to-Find-a Coat-Hell-This-Blanket-Will-Do-Knicker-Sporting chic.

Can't she just go away for ten minutes? Just ten. Just give me a second to catch my breath.

Random Fug

Dude! I had NO IDEA that Mattel was making adult-sized versions of Barbie clothes!

I am totally going to get myself pink velour suit that conveniently reverses into a kicky cocktail dress, in that case.

Celebrity Skeeve Watch: Thomas Jane

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Thomas Jane didn't realize he'd morphed into a creepy, bloated, overtired lounge-lizard type until somebody asked which one he was -- Nolte or Busey.

We're at threat level yellow here, people (see the Appendix below).

I realize things could be worse, but the Fugland Security color coding system is all about keeping you informed and working together to nip these things in the bud. We don't want an Orange Alert, or God forbid, a red one, which rhymes with "K-Fed" for a reason. So before things get that far, somebody please reach out a helping hand to Mr. Patricia Arquette -- or at least, reach out and button up his shirt a bit higher.

Appendix: SKEEVE WATCH TERROR LEVEL CHART

SEVERE: Kevin Federline

HIGH: Brandon Davis

ELEVATED: Michael Madsen

GUARDED: Wilmer Valderrama

Low: Jake Gyllenhaal

The Fugcameron

Mischa Barton, having finally popped the festering zit that was her relationship with the walking oil slick Brandon Davis, has been out and about quite a bit lately -- and in a series of unfortunate outfits.

It's unclear to me what this is. It certainly looks like a negligee tucked into a fug festival of a skirt -- one that's part artist's rendering of a Disney forest scene and part fashion Rorschach test, where your psyche is evaluated based on whether you see Frosty the Snowman down on that hem, or if you see an antelope skull, or a baseball, or all three -- but I suppose it could also be one of those suits where she's supposed to have a matching jacket on over the shell. God, can you imagine MORE of that skirt print? She is a paintball game at the Los Angeles County Carnival of Fug.

And yet, while she's suffering from shirtus interruptus up above there, in the next photo she has the opposite problem:

That thing is a misshapen, dumpy sheath that goes on way longer than it ever should. Also, those shoulders... this was made for a cross-dressing linebacker, not a waif starlet in the sweaty and unnecessary throes of Legging Fever. It's a KNEE-LENGTH SPARKLY GUNNY SACK, Mischa. Why leggings? WHY? Why any of it? Did you leave your mind in Italy? Did Hayden Christensen pack it in his suitcase by mistake? You're wearing something that even Krystle Carrington herself would've looked at and said, "You know what, that's really ugly, shapeless, and designed for a broad-shouldered man. Now bring me my satin nightdress -- I have to wait on the bearskin rug for Blake so we can kiss chastely." And if it's too drapey and outmoded for Linda Evans, well, then it belongs in your Goodwill pile.

Fuglee Simpson

Ever since Papa Joe allowed her to re-blonde herself, Ashlee's just gotten worse and worse:

Honestly, I don't hate the shirt; it's not my style, but with jeans and boots and a slightly different approach to handling the transparency, it could be cute. And I don't think I hate the boots. But I vehemently hate them both with the capris.

Worst of all, though -- and further dragging down the entire outfit -- is her fried, bleached-out hair and heavy black eyeliner. She looks like a ghost of herself, a fact she is apparently trying and failing to cure with self-tanner; you can see a Lohan-esque band of pale skin by her hairline, but sadly, whatever color is there doesn't make her look any less washed-out.

I hope this battle with hair bleach isn't a slow, subtle, self-destructive way of lashing out at her life; that never seems to end well. I don't want her to end up knocked up by a bearded greasepole, living out her days as a puffy, vaguely dirty, walking grisly train wreck we can't stop staring at in case we spot something that we will then wish we'd never seen. Sound familiar?

Bobby Fugly

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Yes, that's right -- flee the scene, sad clown. Go back to the Dangerous Li-gay-sons musical revue you clearly just left, and come back when you're ready to give up on tulle and ruffled shirts.

Fug Michael Murray

I love the look of a man in a suit. However...

I'm not going to ding young "heartthrob" Chad Michael Murray for looking sloppy -- I'm assuming he wore this suit properly most of the night, and is dishevelled after a night of drinking away the pain of listening to Fergie's performance at the Teen Choice Awards. And I appreciate his creative color choice. It's actually a very nice look for him.

Except... white sneakers? With a suit? REALLY? Not to be all Peggy Post about it, but  junky, clunky shoes ruin the suavitude of a suit. Can't you afford dress shoes, Triple-Barrel? If you're feeling a bit skint, just auction off one of your three names or something -- you don't need them all, surely, and the proceeds could help fund a wee Florsheim spree.

I understand the temptation to wear running shoes at an event from which one probably wants to flee as fast as possible... I get that, truly. But why bother with a suit, then? Pull a Fallon and show up in something you'd as likely wear to the laundromat. Don't drag your nice dress duds into it.

Fugtory Girl

Sienna, Sienna, Sienna:

Are those even clothes you're wearing, or is it just a mildewed, rat-gnawed tarp you yanked out of a dumpster? Have you been rooting around through Jude's garbage, scrambling for further evidence of just how popular his wang has been?

Oh, don't give me that look -- if you own a mirror, you had to know this was coming. Sienna, I'm going to level with you: It's important that you stop looking moth-eaten. While that should go without saying, you are sort of a special circumstance, because you seem to enjoy dressing like a rich girl who's pretending to be homeless so that she can Keep It Real. But Sienna, you have to understand: For the first time in your career people actually seem to care about you, as something other than Jude Law's arm candy -- specifically, you are now She Who Has Been Wronged, and that's potent (see also: Kidman, Nicole; Aniston, Jennifer). Your wee little broken heart is going to be glued back together by the public outpouring of love, by a vault up the celeb list that will get you a lot more roles offered, and possibly, by Oprah; if ever there were an upside to a messy public breakup, that's it. So wipe the shocked look off your face, brush your hair out a little, and put on a dress that's actually... a dress.

Rilo Fugly

I love Rilo Kiley's music, and on-stage, the quirky style of lead singer Jenny Lewis is generally okay for her -- she favors little babydoll dresses, incongruous  knee socks, and old-school T-strap shoes, all of which rarely coordinate in any kind of sensible way,  and yet she somehow works them to an unexpectedly great effect.

But this variation, sadly, appears to working her:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

I'm pleased for her that she's so happy with her legs, and she certainly deserves to be, but... that's not really so much a dress as it is a tunic. Most people would wear something that length with pants or a skirt; she wears it with a grin and a prayer. Indeed, I've often wondered if people in the front row at her shows can see straight up Lovers Lane into Fallopian City -- in that sense she's the indie rock version of 'Lil Kim.

What's more, her whole trouser-sock/shoe motif is an unnecessary tribute to Boring Beige, and the coat looks like it's left over from her days as That Cute Little Red-Headed Girl on Brooklyn Bridge fourteen years ago. I don't even want to talk about the massive waist-tie, or those horizontal stripes, but... ladies, that horizontal stripes thing is not a myth.

So pull it together, Jenny! More Adventurous is fantastic. It deserves better than this.

The Fug Team

I really, really hope these two are romantically involved:

Look, I pity the fool who would fug Mr. T, so I'm not even gonna go there. For one thing, there's nothing to fug. T's doing his thing, in his tee and his bling and, frankly, I would be disappointed if he weren't. How would I know he was T, if he wasn't rocking the rocks? So, carry on, T. I am thrilled to see you out and about.

But, oh, Ms. Neuwirth. Bebe, Bebe, Bebe. Here's the thing: you are divine. A triple threat! A master of the American stage, etc, etc, etc, blah blah blah. But listen, dollface, from one pale girl to another: that get-up makes you look like you stumbled out of a consumptive coma and swooned your way up 5th Avenue to get to this soiree.  You're beyond "washed out" and into, like, "recently reanimated corpse." Let's not even talk about how the weird cut of the dress muffles what I know is a very impressive dancer's body, or how it manages to say both "3rd grader's Easter dress" and "mother of the bride" at the exact same time. Let's just get you into some color and pretend this never happened, okay? Mr. T and I will never tell.

Good Fug Hunting.

Oh, Minnie Driver. I know you're trying to reinvent yourself as a singer, but honestly.

This hippy-dippy, tie-dyed, rainbow-loving, granola-eating, unicorn-riding, flitting through the arugula garden look is just not working for you.

Teen Choice Fug: Hilary Duff

Hilary Duff, in one swoop, is becoming the unwitting master of the scrolldown fug. During her hosting gig at the Teen Choice awards, she seemed to have significant trouble finishing what she started -- by which I mean, her dresses all look like relatively normal, fluffy, girly confections, until you scan her whole body and realize the outfits have whipped themselves into a fugly frenzy somewhere in the vicinity of her thighs.

Exhibit A: The red carpet dress. Perfectly cute bodice, and the color works on her...

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

And then... bloomers. Or the effect of them, anyway; in an offbeat twist, I think it's actually just that her skirt is elasticized so that it bunches and billows around her bum. That ruffle is just irresponsible. I'm not sure which is actually worse -- real bloomers, or the yen to recreate the effect of bloomers by turning a dress into a drawstring sack. Is she stashing something up there? Is that where her she keeps her whitening trays? Did something bite her in the behind, causing it to swell to such insane proportions that only a pear-shaped outfit could cover it?

The whole thing is alarmingly, "Hilary Duff stars as Little Orphan Annie in the hotly anticipated sequel, Annie Warbucks: Betting Her Bottom Dollar, about the puckish sprite's adulthood as a surprise temptress."

Exhibit B: During the show.

I am not in love with the polka dots. Nor am I terribly enamored of Rob Schneider and his cuffed jeans-aloha shirt combo, but that's neither here nor there. No, my main beef is with the shredded and torn bottom of La Duff's frock, once again an outfit that started off just fine -- if a bit precious -- and tragically devolved into The Dog Ate My Wet Seal  Dress.

She has the footwear down pat. Now if she could just attend to her mid-thigh region, we might be off and running toward an unfugging.

Might.

Teen Choice Awards Show Fug: Gwen Stefani

"Okay, I give. I do. I admit it -- I don't know what the hell I'm doing any more. I thought maybe taking off the do-rag I wore on the red carpet, and replacing it with this kicky Air Force Marching Band cap might tie it all together, but... y'all, that shit's bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S. It's time to be honest. We both know I couldn't tie anything together if I had a diagram, D-I-A-G-R-A-M. I almost want to yell at you guys for believing that I have any clue what I'm wearing on a given day. What is wrong with you? I have actually shown up somewhere in a shirt I savaged with some scissors, S-C-I-S-S-O-R... S. I've lost it. Poof. Gone. There ain't no hollaback."

Teen Choice Awards Pre-Party Fug: Kristen Bell

So nice of Kristen Bell to dress up for this occasion:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

From the waist up, it's Flashdance; from the waist down, Dancing With The Stars. At the afterparty, I hope she felt up John O'Hurley's crotch with her foot during a steamy paso doble.

Teen Choice Awards Fug Carpet: Fergie

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Very savvy, Fergie -- overalls are an excellent choice to conceal your Depends.

Fug Grace

It is at moments like these when I realize that sometimes I don't need to do anything other than just post the photo:

You see, there are fans, and then there are people who get Dave Navarro silk-screened on a dress.

The 40-Year Old Fug

While we're on the subject of unexplained ribbons:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Jenna Fischer needs to take a lesson from Salma, because this outfit is as slouchy and unflattering as Ms. Hayek's was unexpectedly beguiling. The sash looks like it once swung from a butler bell in the Von Trapp house, which Fraulein Maria ripped from the ceiling to use as the final adornment on her curtain-couture gown. And while I love to skip through the mountains in draperies as much as the next aspiring close-harmony singer, I suspect I would rather not wear an outfit that confuses my hips for my waist.

Freaky Fug Friday: Well Played, Salma Hayek

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

You might think we'd have something scathing to say about the randomness of tying a luxe red ribbon around a dress that seems to have nothing to do with either red or ribbons. And generally, you might be right about that -- we might have wondered for whom she is intending herself to be a gift, or what tugging on the ribbon tail might undo; we even might have attempted a Tony Orlando and Dawn joke about oak trees, but I hope we'd have deleted that one five seconds after writing it.

The thing is, though, whenever we sat down for a nice, cathartic textual shredding of Ms. Hayek's ribbon, we came up dry. Why? Well... we had to throw up our hands. Salma Hayek is hot, people. Super hot. And sometimes, God help us, the hot just wins.

For one thing -- and I'm sorry to be crude, but it must be said -- that woman's rack is fantastic. And she knows it, and so she dresses it to the nines and works it in a way nobody else has mastered. No quadra-boob, no pancakes, no nip-slips, no teardrops dripping their way to her knees as she prances... I have serious melon envy when I see her on the red carpet. Also, the skirt's a good length, her skin is glowing, and her shoes match the dress without ever crossing into twee territory. She even works that damn ribbon -- to her credit, even though it at first seems superfluous, the bow looks like it's given the dress some shape, in the form of a gently nipped, curvy waistline it might otherwise have lacked.

So as much as we'd prefer her to leave the gift wrap at home -- that fetish should be a woman's own private kingdom -- we can't really fug Salma in earnest. We give. She's gorgeous. She improves what she's wearing. Long may the days of our lives run like sand through her hourglass.

Looking ahead, as we frantically try to scrub the tar from our blackened hearts, we may flip the script every so often and spotlight somebody who managed to get things right. It's our Freaky Fug Friday feature, so named because nothing is more alarming than putting on your usual bitch pants and noticing that they're streaked with benevolence. Fortunately, it doesn't happen often... but every once in a while, you have to show the home runs so you can appreciate how sad the strikeouts really are.

Editor's Note: So, we totally ended up usurping this feature with the "Well Played" category. Turns out we have a much more expansive kind side than we thought.

Herbie: Fugly, Loaded.

Lindsay Lohan is at peace. Because when she finally becomes the strung-out, washed up 49-year old we all know she's destined to be -- clinging to cultural relevance almost as tightly as Ted Casablanca clings to the English language -- she can at least recycle this frumpy shirt, because it will finally be age-appropriate.

In fact, I expect this entire photo, right down to the ... er, "tired"... look in her eyes, will be recreated at that time -- probably at the premiere of some summer extravaganza starring a Peldon spawn and little Maddox Jolie.

Fugging Crashers

Rachel McAdams, what have you done to yourself, young lady?

You're a very pretty girl, and you seem nice. I think you should go back to being a brunette, but otherwise, I would love to have your skin and you have a very nice glow about you.

A glow, I am compelled to add, that probably doesn't appreciate being stifled by leggings, a peasant shirt, and ... what are those, anyway? Satin shorts? You don't seem like the type to wear those without the leggings, and they certainly look ridiculous with leggings, so... why do you have them at all? Where does one even buy leggings and/or satin shorts in this day and age? Is it a place with a friendly return policy? Did you keep your receipt?

People need to stop abandoning their common sense just because they're being shoved out onto a garish stage at the orgy of puberty TRL has become. Rachel McAdams seems to do just fine everywhere else, but then she  gets an invitation from MTV and goes buck wild by combining the worst of both Sarah Jessica Parker and Sienna Miller. It's like her stylist is insisting that eyeliner + spandex * looking like you were ripped from a 1980s Madonna video = Reaching Out To The Young People.

WRONG. Snap out of it, Rachel. Walk back toward the light.

Random Fugs

The UK premiere of The Island turned into some kind of bizarre porno bride convention:

You can see this woman's glee at attending a major premiere in her very best hacked-up handkerchief-- pure delight is written all over her face (did I mention I am fluent in botulism?).

But then I imagine her face made a desperate (but ultimately fruitless) attempt to fall in disappointment when she noticed the following woman on the blue carpet:

It's a frighteningly similar theme: wedding gown gone wild. Although this one looks more like she got out of bed with the sheets twisted around her pelvis and decided she didn't feel like changing, so she threw on her best tube top and bolted. 

I like to think the whole thing ended happily, with the two of them swapping numbers, bikini waxers, and collagen suppliers before disappearing arm-in-arm into the pages of Maxim Bride. But I suspect there was really just a lot of glaring and jealous huffing, followed by migraines induced by trying to furrow their paralyzed brows in a simulation of anger as they fired their stylists.

Fugwatch

Something about this picture is like looking into a crystal ball:

On the right, we have Pamela Anderson. On the left, we have Charo, representing what Pamela Anderson will be thirty years from now.

It's kind of like gazing into a time warp, isn't it?

The Fugging Of America: Teen People

As if watching Esther go on a Vogue-induced romp through English meadows in tweed weren't weird enough, Teen People --which presumably differs from its parent by featuring slightly hipper baby-down-the-well stories mixed in with its gossip -- has decided to take to the prairies in its effort to tell us what's hot for fall:

Even Carrie Underwood, Country Princess, appears to be having trouble fully committing to this folksy ensemble. And who could blame her? She's wearing a denim gown. In addition to being cumbersome, it probably weighs a ton; indeed, the picture almost makes it look like she's on the verge of tripping and faceplanting on the lawn. (Luckily, I hear grass stains are the new black.)

If this spread is to be believed, then come autumn, everybody will be dressing like they've been torn from a debutante ball sponsored by Wrangler. I think the Teen People folks have not only gone off their collective rocker, but thrown it on a bonfire and watched it burn while chanting in tongues.

Kate Fugworth

The problem with Sienna Miller being declared some kind of fashion idol is that people subsequently start to believe it. And emulate it. And show up in public thinking that all you need to be considered a pixie-like guru of sartorial derring-do is a smattering of freckles, stringy blonde hair, and a mish-mash of stuff from any girl's circa-1993 Give To Goodwill closet purge.

It's a good thing I haven't eaten lunch yet, because this little fug buffet is all-you-can-eat. I think I'll start with the leggings, before cleaning my palate with the slouchy, saggy negligee-shirt that's two sizes too big. As a main course, I'll take the hastily thrown-on denim vest, a trend du jour that never really goes with anything despite people's fervent attempts to add it to everything, and then for dessert, it's Standard Big, Thick Brown Belt Slung Low About The Waist.

For God's SAKE, K-Bos, you are BETTER THAN THAT. Look -- even Orlando Bloom is wiping the tears of aggravation from his eyes. He's all, "Yeah, Kate, um... I already dated Sienna Miller once. Don't put me through it again."

One Fug in Paris

There are times when my ability to form coherent, complete sentences fails me.

This may be one of those times:

Is Man Paris SERIOUS? White, draw-stringed track pants...with crotchal graffiti? An acid-washed jacket...adorned with kooky man-plaid? Worn together... and not on Halloween? [Although Man Paris would have to be trick-or-treating dressed as Blind Man With Cruel, Joke-Playing Girlfriend for even that to fly.]

There's really only one explanation for this: Man Paris has been ordered by his family to break off his engagement to Paris Paris.  Man Paris, however, is terribly scared of Paris Paris's wrath, and is employing the age-old Boy Trick of Acting Like An Ass So She'll Break Up With Him First, and the first item on his list of assholery is, "Dress Like The Derelict Who Lives In Vanilla Ice's Dumpster."

Sadly, what Man Paris has failed to understand is that Paris Paris has an inordinately high tolerance for bad fashion -- as proved by her own wardrobe -- and he is probably going to have to move on to the next items on his list, "Try To Sleep With Nicole Ritchie," "Hit Nicky With Car [Not Too Hard]," and "Give Up Drinking."

Best of luck, Man Paris. Best of luck.

Wild On Fug

Okay, Tara Reid. Take a seat, baby, because we need to talk.

You do realize that you have a problem, right? That when your behavior and appearance makes Paris Hilton look like Grace Kelly,  something has gone horribly, horribly wrong? Also, that your new fake boobs are really, really too big and, honestly, that smooshing them down like that is neither comfortable, nor flattering?

Do I have to be blunt here?

Okay.

You're THIRTY DAMN YEARS OLD.  YOUR LIFE SHOULDN'T BE A GIRLS GONE WILD VIDEO TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAMN DAY. GET A GODDAMNED GRIP.

And buy a shirt that fits. Jeezy Chreezy.  My boobs hurt just looking at you, kiddo.

Fuglia Stiles

Oh, man, I am so ready for this trend to go away:

Actually, that sentence could apply to a number of things in this picture:

1. Tube dresses. There's nothing hotter than the way a taut strip of elastic hugs your torso, milks your armpits for some cleavage, shoves your actual cleavage down toward your waist in teardrop-shaped lumps, and then skulks slowly down your torso so that you have to spend your entire day hiking it up again.

2. Ballet flats. There are exceptions to every rule, but I just find that in most cases, flats in this style can stumpify even the willowiest model. They're certainly not doing Julia up there any favors.

3. These godawful thin, stretchy cotton garments with stripes that shoot off in different directions. At least La Stiles isn't sporting one of those wretched pink and purple ones. The most infamous garment in this vein is the skirt, which usually comes with some kind of bunched-fabric waist, a droopy flower or sash at the hip, and a ragged Fairy Queen hemline. I feel like these, and their tube-top/dress kin as seen above, have been pimped by various retailers for going on eleventeen years now. They are older than the interminable, neverending boho obsession. They even predate Dumpster Britney, which is saying something, as I can't actually remember the last time she looked cute and clean. Isn't it time for this fabric of doom to go away? Must we be sartorially smote from on high in this manner? Can't we all just move on to the next big bad thing? At least fresh distaste that eventually devolves into rage is... well, fresh.

Fugga Mendes

Bad hair day, Eva?

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Or are you playing dress-up? I wonder what you're pretending to be... A 1970s country-club regular whose hair reacted badly to the chlorine? A cocktail waitress at a Polynesian tiki bar who doubles as a junior chef? An old-school stewardess from back when flying was glam and planes didn't have enough storage space, forcing employees to stow their oxygen masks in their headgear?

The suspense is killing me.  Well done -- you've put together one rather hilarious costume indeed. I'm hopeful you'll put out some sort of guide for those of us who struggle on Hallowe'en.

Kate Fugson

The first time I saw this photo from the premiere of The Skeleton Key, I was a bit concerned:

No doubt, Kate Hudson is rocking that sheer beaded sheath -- she looks scandalous, but in an undeniably hot way. Unfortunately, at first I couldn't divorce the dress from all the unpleasant Geena Davis flashbacks it brought on, which left me quivering in fear that the lady would see Goldie Jr. sexing it up in this dress and decide it would be okay to resurrect her old transparent couture. And I'm not mentally ready for that.

But even with my fear of The Geena Factor, I'm now singing the praises of the above outfit, because I've seen what Kate changed into for the afterparty:

How did she go from sinfully sexy to shlumpy? This is a depressed bridesmaid. This is a bad 1991 prom dress. Indeed, I once wore a white version of this to a dance... when I was in grade nine. And even without a movie-star mother and fat piles of dosh in the bank from my own film paychecks, I still managed to wear one that fit; hers is sliding off her body, and taking her breasts with it.

Why the sharp left turn into Shapelesstown? It's like she gorged herself on popcorn and Junior Mints during the screening and decided she needed to hide the bloat with an untailored cotton sack. I sympathize with the bloatwatch, but... come on. This is extreme.

Periodically, as their busy spa and Spider Club schedules allow, celebrity experts will join us to answer your questions about how to fug up your life as thoroughly as they do theirs. This week's expert has an advanced degree in overaccessorizing and is studing for her doctorate in enamels.

Q. Dear Aunt Fugly,

My sister is getting married this September and has asked me to be in the wedding. Great! Except the dress she wants me to wear is totally hideous: lime green satin, with a hoop skirt and matching hat. Do I tell her that I look like a deranged lime in this get-up, or keep my mouth shut?

Signed,
No One Ever Told Me My Sister Was Blind

A. Oh my God, like, that's totally tragic. Blind people are totally the real heroes. Except for all the other heroes, like soldiers, and poor dead Dr. Atkins, and little Zahara Jolie. I can totally relate to your sister because one time, my sister gave me some of her mascara and I put so much on that it clumped and glued my eyes shut. I cried for three days and then burned a picture of Aaron Carter.

Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh yeah -- your sister is stupid and has bad taste in fashion. You and I are, like, totally the same, NOETMMSWB! And I can't keep my mouth shut about it! I mean, physically, I can't, because these things are, like, veneers on steroids. You know what you should do? Take some scissors to the dress and cut it up, like I did at the VMAs when I turned my Armani pants into Armani shorts. Then slouch a little and wear forty-five necklaces along with some cowboy boots, and you will look, like, totally fantastic, and everyone will tell you that you're the real star.

Or, you could just tell your sister she's dumb and much uglier than you are, although that tends to get people grounded. Trust me. Ouch!

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Q. Dear Aunt Fugly,

I have a problem. Until about a year ago, I was a nun at the Monastery of the Angels. After a lot of soul-searching, I eventually left the convent and reentered the world. I'm very happy with my decision. However, I have no idea what a 29 year old woman is supposed to wear here on the outside. Fashion magazines are impractical, and celebrities are no help. My friends all tell me I look fine, but I feel totally lost. Can you give me some advice on some basics I should have in my wardrobe?

Thanks,
Don't Call Me Sister

A. Wow, you're, like, totally pious! I love God! He's so awesome! What a wicked beard!

Anyway, Sister Don't Call Me Sister, dressing doesn't have to be hard, you know. Two words: Teeth.

I find that a nice set of veneers dresses up any outfit. Fangs are incredibly slimming -- I mean, look how hollow my cheeks look -- and everything goes with white, even after Labor Day, so ignore all those people like my sister who will tell you that you have to paint your enamels black from September until Easter. My  teeth are totally natural -- they just took a while to develop, You know? Every girl gets her teeth at a different time in her life. But you could probably buy some really good ones from... oh, off the top of my head... Dr. James X. Morgan III, Esq., in Beverly Hills, who is in the book and has a framed, autographed photo of me on the wall even though he's never touched my mouth, ever, and those X-rays are totally faked.

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Q. Dear Aunt Fugly: I do not know what to do. I keep seeing photos of my ex-fiance's pregnant assface human incubator and it MAKES ME SO MAD, I WANT TO BUY WEST VIRGINIA AND THEN CLOSE IT JUST TO MAKE HER CRY, BECAUSE THAT WILL TEACH HER TO COOK SPERM EGGS! Except my Mar... er, husband... is hibernating right now in that coffin he bought on eBay, and I don't know when he's coming out, and I can't buy West Virginia until he  has written us a sultry duet about bubble baths! Help me, por favor, I am furious!

Also, what should I wear when I am crowned Queen of West Virginia and declare that stupid high-cheekboned baby chute an enemy of the state?

Sincerely,

Alias Schmalias, Stupida!

A. Aw, poor ASS. That, like, TOTALLY sucks! Believe me, I totally know your pain -- I so know what it's like to have somebody who is, like, completely trying to copy your life, and you wish she would get the hell off your coattails, already, and have her own stupid career and stop trying to upstage you with nice teeth and a bony face. But you know what helps? Caps. They do for your mouth what newsboy hats do for the rest of you -- a little something extra, extra. HA HA HA, get it?

For your coronation, dear sweet ASS, you must wear pants that hide your shoes -- they make you look taller! It's the best secret in town! -- and some scarves. About seven. Then march over to her house, announce that your she has no taste in clothes and looks like a man and can't even sing, no matter what your record exec tells her, and 7th Heaven is like so totally over, dude, so would she please just stop acting like a bitch and stop trying to Single White Female you, and stuff?!?!? ... Then flip one of your scarves over your shoulder, steal her whitening toothpaste, and leave. Easy.

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Okay, I'm off! I have to back-brush my hair 100 times every day in order to make it look as rock-and-roll as possible, because (ssssh!) my boyfriend is in a band. Good luck, you guys! Watch for my Stuff By Duff false teeth on sale soon at Target! Smooches!

Midsummer Fug's Dream

Look, I know Sienna Miller is heartbroken and all, but I've been there, and I didn't react to the crushing agony of a failed relationship by putting on a BOWLER, for Christ's sweet sake:

Nor did I tie my jeans shut with what looks like  bailing twine. If I had, my friends would not have allowed me out into the street, but instead would have locked me in my apartment, shoveled first ice cream and then tequila down my gullet, and repeated "he's an asshole, he's an asshole, he's an asshole," until I believed them, or was at least recovered enough to pretend to believe them so that they would let me out of the house, so that I could drive past the asshole's house ten to twelve times a day, not that I ever actually did that or anything.

But poor Sienna clearly has no such friends. In fact, I am concerned that she has no friends at all, and that this bailing twine/bowler thing, instead of being a quirky sartorial homage to, like, both Mr. George W. Banks of the Fidelity Fiduciary Bank and the Home Depot, is actually a tragic, screaming cry for intervention.

I mean, honestly.  A bowler? And twine? Won't someone help this girl?

White Satin Jumpfug

Oh good lord. Danielle Gaither looks less Mad TV and more Mad T.P.:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

This girl needs a mirror. Or friends who don't lie to her. Or at the bare minimum, swift neighbors who, when they see her trying to leave the house looking like she got all tangled up in her satin sheets and then threw on her gardening clogs, will tackle her and tape her to the drainpipe until she agrees to change.

Fugback Mountain

I was much more excited about seeing Heath Ledger's upcoming film with Jake Gyllllllennnnnhaaaaallallalll, Gay Cowboys In Love, back when he wasn't all walking around town looking like a blind hobo:

I imagine the orange socks are the footwear equivelent of caution tape: proceed at your own risk, because beyond this line lies deadly stank.

Random Fug

One of the women in this photo is pregnant. One is not.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

I'll give you a hint: It's not Mary Catherine Garrison, the starlet in the foreground. No, she's just wearing an ill-advised, blousy, empire-waisted dress that swallows her whole. Indeed, in combination with some overly territorial shoes that are seizing just about every inch of pediterritory possible, she looks quite stumpy. And... are those buttons along the neckline? Did she really need spares?

Meanwhile, Ming-Na is just casually glowing in the background, incubating her fetus and yet somehow looking less preggers than the apparently not knocked-up (and that's the way the nuns like it!) Mary Catherine . Perhaps Ming-Na's knowing grin is less one of maternal joy, though, and more one of relief that she herself didn't choose an outfit in an excrement-themed color palette.

Perhaps this is a stunt fug. Perhaps NBC is putting the "PR" in "pregnant" by having one star of its new fertility-clinic drama actually be befetused, while shoving the other into a maternity bag to create the illusion that she too might be ripe. ... But, no, I suspect it's just bad judgment.