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August 26, 2005

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?

Posted by Heather at 11:58 AM in Juliette Lewis | Permalink

August 25, 2005

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.

Posted by Heather at 11:46 AM | Permalink

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.

Posted by Jessica at 07:08 AM in Ashlee & Jessica Simpson | Permalink

August 24, 2005

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.

Posted by Jessica at 01:14 PM in Random Fug | Permalink

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.



Kevin Federline


Brandon Davis


Michael Madsen


Wilmer Valderrama


Jake Gyllenhaal

Posted by Heather at 09:59 AM in Celebrity Terror Watch | Permalink

August 23, 2005

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.

Posted by Heather at 10:59 AM in Mischa Barton | Permalink

August 22, 2005

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?

Posted by Heather at 10:16 AM in Ashlee & Jessica Simpson | Permalink

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.

Posted by Heather at 07:36 AM | Permalink

August 19, 2005

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.

Posted by Heather at 03:33 PM in Misc. Awards Shows | Permalink

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.

Posted by Heather at 10:28 AM in Sienna Miller | Permalink


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