June 30, 2006
So I, of course, once knew the song stylings of Gavin Degraw mostly thanks to the efforts of STAR 98.7 -- the radio station in Los Angeles that plays a mixture of 80s music, moderately hip "adult contemporary" numbers, and the most inoffensive selections of current rock and pop. I don't know what station this called is where you live, but it's the one you feel safe listening to in the car with your mother, the one that played that Third Eye Blind song every hour on the hour back when you (and by "you," I mean me) were in college, although they bleeped out the reference to crystal meth. (Admittedly, at the time, you REALLY LIKED that song.) I assume they are also the radio station most confounded by Nelly Furtado's makeover. "Nelly Furtado has a new song! Excellent! Our listeners loved that time she was like a bird. Wait! It's called...'Promiscuous Girl'? Um. Huh. Do we....are we...can we....? This is curious indeed."
ANYWAY. STAR played a lot of that Gavin Degraw song. You know the one. "I DON'T WANNA be anything other than what I've been trying to be LATELY." That one. That one that's also the theme song for One Tree Hill (which, if I watched, I would be very embarassed about, while also being excited to find out who drowns and who's knocked up after a season finale in which three people are trapped in a limo under water and four women are potentially pregnant. Four!). Apparently, what's he's trying to be lately is DERANGED:
That. Is a mess. You know someone half-tucked that shirt on purpose, not realizing that the half-tuck is not attactive, but rather an awkward way for a guy to tell the entire world that he really wants to seem casual, but he also really wants you to check out his awesome ribbon belt. I'm not even going to talk about the hat. I suspect Degraw is The Guy Who Wears a Hat, because he thinks it makes him look all interesting and retro and nonchalant, when really it just makes us wonder if he's losing his hair. Here's a suggestion, kid: try to find a stylist who is not going to make you look like you might be a little tiny bit drunk.
Posted by Jessica at 01:24 PM | Permalink
The Fugger Wears Prada
Aww -- it was very sweet of Anne Hathaway to do her own sartorial homage to Aaron Spelling.
... That is what this is, right? Because why else would a person wear a cropped vest with one of her father's shirts? Surely not because it looks good, so I have no choice but to assume Anne is having a deliberate and touching Brenda Walsh moment.
Posted by Heather at 11:16 AM | Permalink
June 29, 2006
We've written before about the trevails of trampy style twins Jodie Marsh and Jordan, Britain's leading misguided exhibitionists of the moment who, although not actually related, sport virtually identical plastic breasts, overdone faces, cheap hair extensions, and embarrassing clothes. The caliber of camp in England is high, and these two are senior-level counselors.
And in an effort to keep you abreast -- ahem -- of their continued exploits, we present to you a photo of Jodie Marsh's latest and greatest ensemble, which she wore to the UK premiere of Lindsay Lohan's already-forgotten "romantic" "comedy" Just My Luck.
Of course, out of respect for those of you who are at work, and do not wish to be assaulted in this manner without warning, we're installing one of those "after the jump" thingamies for cases like this. So you'll have to click to relish the fug.
What can one say about this? It's a fug orgasm. I know I have been exposed to too much Star Trek: The Next Generation when my initial reaction to this photo is that LeVar Burton's character would find a kinship with her... shirt? Bra? I mean, what is the exact name for "cheap strip of crap stretched tenuously across one's mountain range and only barely covering the peaks"?
It strikes me that every item on her body except for the death strip feels like something Britney Spears might have worn on stage at the height of her popularity. So I suppose you could take it one step further and suggest that Britney might either have gone in this direction, or down south to the pit of despair in which she currently dwells. Given that choice... wow, that is a true Death Is Not An Option, isn't it?
I'm going to pick the K-Fed destiny, I think, because that can be reversed. Whereas Jodie Marshdom is, sadly for her, probably forever.
Posted by Heather at 02:33 PM | Permalink
It's A Public Fug
I don't know what it is about this outfit that bothers me. It's really not that offensive, actually.
Except the dress looks like a nightgown, and the shoes are heinous, and, admittedly, I've never really liked the classic LV logo bag because it's so LOOK AT MY LOUIS VUITTON, but I really don't like it paired with a white nightgown, because she looks as though she's being hustled out of a burning building in the middle of the night, and she only had the time to grab her purse and throw on the random pair of shoes next to the front door before racing to safety. If you're going to wear a nightgown-esque number, why weigh it down with all these heavy accessories? Load it her up with little light, insubstantial shoes and a smaller bag, and she'll look ready for summer, instead of ready for Rescue Me.
Posted by Jessica at 01:18 PM | Permalink
From afar, when it was a thumbnail-sized photo, I thought Summer Glau's dress was actually a scene from a child's cartoon -- Thomas the Tank Engine, perhaps. And that was weird enough. But then, I saw it this size, and realized it's actually just a completely mystifying and terrible tableau of somebody's surrealist Fisher Price nightmares.
What is that thing on the left? Is it the crumpled body of a person who has been left for dead? Is it... no, wait, now all I can see is the crumpled body of a person who's been left for dead. This thing is like a fashion Rorschach test. So unfortunately, it probably says very strange things indeed about my psyche if all I can make out is the form of a corpse, but at least I can take comfort in the fact that it says worse things about her psyche that she wore this thing out of the house in the first place.
Posted by Heather at 10:59 AM | Permalink
June 28, 2006
Random Fug: Brooke Valentine
If Siegfried and Roy locked Maria von Trapp in their living room and refused to release her until she'd found a way to design the most flamboyant yet impractically unflambuoyant swimwear possible, this outfit would be the result.
Poor Paris Bennett. Bitter that she lost American Idol and was thusly denied a glorious "I'm going to DISNEYLAND!" moment, she defiantly toddled over to the Warner Bros. studio store, determined to make lemonade out of the bruising canary-colored fruit life had lobbed at her.
But life would have the last laugh, as the lemonade proved tainted. With The Crazy.
Posted by Heather at 01:10 PM | Permalink
My Fair Fugly
If you had a time machine -- like, say, a DeLorean outfitted with the latest in flux capacitors -- and you had paid me a little visit back in, oh, 2003 to tell me that: a) Peter Brady -- yes, of The Brady Bunch -- was going to reappear on our radar as some kind of celebrity-like person, and, b) that he would end up marrying that girl who just won that new modeling show Tyra Banks is doing, I would have asked you why the hell you were wasting my time with these clearly ridiculous lies, when you could be telling me if I was going to get to meet and/or marry George Clooney within the next three years. And, yet, here we are:
Peter Brady is all, "Check it OUT! I married a MERMAID! Suck on THAT, Greg!"
Posted by Jessica at 11:15 AM | Permalink
India.Arie looked so elegant at the Grammys. I loved her dress -- it was understated but still glamorous and eye-catching.
But at the BET Awards... well, she was less "eye-catching" than "tormenter of the ocular cavity":
This is a bit aggressive for me. I'm not sure what she's camouflaging herself from -- we're not fighting any more World Wars in the poppy-strewn battlefields of Ypres, at least not at the moment, so the "In Flanders Field" theme seems a bit unnecessary.
June 27, 2006
Life after Melrose Place must be rough. It's got to be hard to be colorful -- surely everything in life seems so hopelessly devoid of hue when compared with that rich, lusty universe. Especially because a day without Michael Mancini and all his smug, gleeful treachery is like a football team without tight pants: rather less glorious, and indeed, faintly alarming.
But some people do still try. Marcia Cross, for one, is making a game stab. Kelly Rutherford, on the other hand, seems to have blah-ed herself into oblivion.
Now, I understand the perils of fair skin, being pale as Casper myself. But the way some people counterbalance that is with sporting, say, an actual hair color, or some eyebrow tint, or even a spot of makeup. They also tend not to wear colors that make them look consumptive.
As far as the dress itself looking fresh from Gymboree's summer line, well, that's just sad and wrong no matter how dreary and wan you look.
Oh, Kelly. It didn't have to be like this. And it's not like you haven't worked at all... what's the deal, here? Is it just that nothing seems worth it any more? Because I'm sure we could find you a reason to spruce it up a little. Gay Matt found it on ABC. Jack Wagner found it on daytime TV (and by ironing out more than a few things on his face, methinks). Lisa Rinna managed to extract some meaning from her life after Melrose by being dragged around on a reality program in what amounts to sequined netting. Which, hey, one girl's costly psychological trauma is another girl's pig-in-shit fantasy. Props to her. So what can we do for you?
I think step one is a dye job (or if she's pregnant, some organic dye a la Britney, or a wig; surely she could ask Marcia about wigs) and some lip gloss.
Posted by Heather at 03:10 PM | Permalink