October 31, 2006
Evidently, Virginia Madsen's Halloween costume this year was, " Orange Julia." Get it? Orange Julius ... Julia... See what I did there? ... No? No good? Sigh.
Well, regardless of what I did there, the issue is what Virginia did here.
She has taken the unflattering, boxy thing Candice Bergen wore to the Emmys and soaked it in the biggest vat of industrial-strength tequila sunrise she could find. It's so aggressive that the sea of citrus overpowers her face and washes her out completely. In fact, it took me ages even to notice her afterthought of a head because I was awash in memories of the game Lemonade Stand, and how on the really hot days you'd get a blazing orange sun and know you were in for a major killing. Big money. And yet somehow, paradoxically, the outfit is also a massive whammy. We're through the Press Your Luck looking glass here, people.
Posted by Heather at 02:36 PM | Permalink
Anatomy of a Fug: Part One
[Obligatory bit about Halle Berry's great beauty here.] [Sentence about her ability to look at least marginally hot in even a potato sack here.] [Wry comment re: fact that one could look marginally hot in a potato sack does not mean it would be a good idea to actually WEAR ONE here].
[Insert photo here:
[Note that you've come back to this photo seven or eight times, and been underwhelmed by it each time, despite the fact that you suspect you're supposed to think it's okay here.] [Wonder to self what exactly is wrong with this look, as you drink a Diet Coke and flip through the Sky Mall catalog you stole the last time you flew. Wonder if you need a giant glass table with a ceramic sculpted Sumo wrestler as a base. Or maybe a hot dog bun warmer. Do NOT note this interlude on site.] [Suggest that maybe she's just TOO SHINY here.][Think about how the fabric of this dress reminds you of the rad shiny foil wallpaper in your friend Jennifer's guest bathroom in 1988. Don't note this either, in case it makes you sad about how you probably can't buy shiny foil wallpaper anymore, and how you'll never have the guest bathroom of your 7th grade dreams after all. Does this also mean that you will never be Mrs. Kirk Cameron? A fate too tragic to continue to consider.] [Wonder what would happen if Halle caught that really long sleeve in the car door/if she's able to eat a meal without getting sauce all over that really long sleeve/if that really long sleeve would, at least, lend itself to making super dramatic entrances and exits here.] [Consider noting that she looks hot from the clavicle up; reject this as being too nice.] [Pithy ending here, perhaps using the words "disco," "Xanadu," "Olivia Newton John's knickers," or some combination thereof here.] [Call Sky Mall about hot dog bun warmer.]
Posted by Jessica at 09:45 AM | Permalink
Hilary Duff has done a nice job remaking herself recently into a more stylish, sleek version of the child star who favored 80 necklaces at once and rarely displayed any evidence of having a neck.
Having given her that credit, though, please allow us to pick a nit.
If she would just please learn to stand up straight and quit the coy shoulder-hunch, perhaps the thought floating through my head right now would be, "She looks lovely in that gown," rather than, "She looks so uncomfortable in that heavy bedspread."
October 30, 2006
Not realizing Willy Wonka isn't real, Suzanne Somers turned herself into a human Golden Ticket in the hope of luring the reclusive mogul to her chamber of thighmastery:
Unfortunately, in addition to blowing all of $5 on this hideously shiny suit that makes Las Vegas itself look prude and tasteful, Suzanne also ended up looking as if one of Wonka's everlasting gobstoppers exploded on her face. Seriously, this had better be the last time she lets a drunk vagrant do her makeup before an event; it's nice to give the lost a sense of purpose, Suzanne, but unfortunately this just highlights the fact that your last plastic surgery was a bit too severe.
Posted by Heather at 03:13 PM | Permalink
Further adventures in misguided belting, courtesy of Lost's Elizabeth Mitchell:
I stared at this photo for several minutes before coming to the following conclusions:
1) However lovely her legs are, that dress is too short. She looks like she's trying to gain entry into the Hilton clan.
2) The belt makes the black strip of fabric above it look totally misplaced on the dress, awkwardly spaced between the others to the point that it chokes up on her breasts unflatteringly. For a moment I thought it was gaffer tape.
3) Indeed, the random deployment of belts is never appropriate, no matter how terribly trendy it is, because when done incorrectly all you can see is the belt itself. Here, it looms terrifying, like a red-wine stain on your parents' couch: large, ugly, and impossible to pretend doesn't exist or didn't happen.
4) She could play the sister of Ellen Pompeo and Renee Zellweger, should there ever be a movie that requires such a triumverate; however, considering that the last three-sisters flick I can recall was Hanging Up -- an egregious malfunction of cinema involving Meg Ryan, Diane Keaton, and Lisa Kudrow -- let's hope this doesn't come to pass because the precedent is not encouraging.
4) It bears repeating: Careless belting is just another form of self-abuse. Don't let this happen to you.
Posted by Heather at 01:26 PM | Permalink
Fug the Cover: Jessica Alba
There is no doubt that Jessica Alba is a pretty, pretty girl. (We've also heard that she's a crazy bitch, but who are we to judge her for that? In fact, it sort of makes us want to get a beer with her.) So why does she look like this on the cover of Elle?
There are several possible explanations:
a) She's a huge Janet Jackson fan, and instead of, say, getting a nice military-inspired jacket, or randomly flashing her left boob at nationally televised events, she decided to pay homage to Janet's disastrous W cover.
b) Nina Garcia hates her, and this is her revenge. (Okay, okay, we know that Nina Garcia probably doesn't have the final say on Elle's cover, but don't you love the idea of her sitting in her office -- twirling her highlighted locks like a more feminine version of a handlebar mustache -- and saying, "AT LAST, Alba! Your neck is MINE. MWHAHAHAHAH!" ? And while we're on the subject of Nina Garcia, now that she's pregnant -- contrary to popular belief, we are not entirely cold-hearted and actually love babies, especially fashionable ones, so we're totally pleased for her -- we're worried that she might not have the energy to get around to sneering at everything she'd like to sneer at. In which case, we're here to offer our sneering services: Call us, Nina.)
c) She got some incredibly bad beauty advice from a hack plastic surgeon, who advised her to get a neck-ectomy, because "shoulders are HOT for fall."
d) She's in full-on Method acting mode for the lead role in a gender-bending version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, called Hottie Hunchback.
e) Tragically, all of the above.
Oh, Frankie. That's good advice. And I'd like to relax -- really, I would -- but, see, I live in L.A. also, and it's making me tense knowing that a pack of rabid chihuahuas is running around trying to tailor people's pants with their fangs. Mary-Kate-or-Ashley (with the latter's new hair color, who can say without a clear look at the eyebrows?) is putting on a brave face, but I'm not so stoic.
October 27, 2006
So, former WWE personality Joanie "Chyna" Laurer is kind of a mess to begin with, right? I mean, this is really no good at all:
Like, what's the deal with the skinny brown leather man's belt layered over a high-waisted, white handkerchief hemmed skirt? She looks like a toddler who's just learned to dress herself, except for the enormous boobs.
So that was pretty bad. And then THIS happened, speaking of toddlers (warning: kind of NSFW and definitely Not Safe For Your Retinas)
Oh my god, lady. Put it AWAY.
Posted by Jessica at 03:53 PM | Permalink
When it comes to Paris Hilton, I prefer not to think of her actually coming from anyone. As far as I'm concerned, she spontaneously generated on a rainy spring day from a pile of fertilizer rife with dung beetles.
But I suppose there are documents that claim otherwise, and so it is that we've come to refer to Kathy Hilton as Paris's mother. And I'm realizing that if we are forced to admit Paris Hilton is a DNA creation, it does make some genetic sense -- the rotten apple doesn't actually plop in a pile of moldy pulp terribly far from the tree.
The outfit itself doesn't tickle my fancy, particularly, but it's fine. [Except for that crinkled skirt; her poor chauffeur is so fired for not having wrinkle-proof upholstery on his seats.] But the shoes are totally ridiculous. They're quasi-spats; the ankle cuff is totally perplexing -- it's as if she wasn't initially planning to carry a purse, and so needed a creative new way to carry Kleenex on her person for any nostril emergencies that might arise. To which I say, "That's what bras are for, lady."
And there's just so much RIGGING on them. Look, a word to the wise, Kath -- some more Chicken Soup for the Fugging Soul, if you will: If they look like they belong affixed to Paris's Portuguese sex swing, or if indeed that's exactly where you found them, do not remove them from their squallid home; instead, step away from the kegel-pilates apparatus area without touching anything and go bathe your hands in lye just in case.
I don't know what is going on here. I can't tell if this is a costume or not, and if it is a costume, I have no idea what it is a costume OF. (Please excuse the unfortunate structure of that sentence: today is Casual Grammar Friday.) Is this an homage to her role in Eyes Wide Shut? Is she some kind of Hipster Jester, reaching into her pocket for two iPods and a copy of McSweeney's to juggle? Is she half woman, half vampiric elfin sprite? I just wish someone could explain it to me. I just want to understand.
Posted by Jessica at 12:02 PM | Permalink