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December 21, 2006

Fuggie Bell

I know that socialite Birdie Bell's shoes are in fashion, but I don't like them with this dress, at all:

To me, she looks like a 1940s war bride, slaving away at home whilst her beloved risks his life for our country. But not in that hot,  eye-pencil-drawn-up-the-back-of-your-leg-to-approximate seamed-stockings, adorably snooded, jitterbug-dancing, Victory Garden-keeping, USO-visiting, wearing-dungarees-to-the-factory kind of way. In a sort of dowdy, sensibly orthopedically-shod, "I'm not really interested in giving it up to you, even though we could all die tomorrow, AND we just had what should be a romantic quickie wedding" kind of way.  This girl is spying on her neighbors because she thinks they're cheating on their rations, and she thinks dancing is Satan's shortcut to sin.  She doesn't wear eye liner even on her eyes, and her letters to the front are neither amusing nor inspirational.

NO ONE wants to be that girl.

Posted by Jessica at 07:11 AM | Permalink

December 20, 2006


Sometimes, Beyonce Knowles gets it right; other times, she's maddeningly wrong. But it's not often that she hits both notes in one day. At one location.

Exhibit A: The Good.

Aside from the fact that she and Miss Tyra Banks could have a seriously fierce weave-off -- the likes of which could, nay WOULD, change the meaning of life for us all -- Beyonce looks quite pretty. We love that she has a normal body and love it even more when she drapes it well. Here, she's a gentle hourglass.

And now for something completely different.

This is Exhibit B: The Bad, in whichthe sands of the aforementioned hourglass have officially all reached the lower chamber. Beyonce looks less like superstar than a shell-shocked diner employee who, as part of a surprise contest win, was plucked from the restaurant during her shift and deposited on the set of TRL as a guest co-host. That skirt, built-in apron and all, is a veritable tent; she could throw a Girl Scouts jamboree under there.

She also appears to be molting, which brings us to Exhibit C: The Ugly.

Now she's not just a diner employee -- she's a fired extra from the ill-fated The Muppets Take Manhattan Sam's House of Bacon, in which our merry band of Hensonites would have opened up a greasy spoon, had this nutter not accidentally sat on one of the main characters during a coffee break.

Why she wore this when she had something better on a nearby hanger, I really don't know. Sure, she wore the red dress on Letterman later, but come on -- there can't be that much overlap in those demographics. Sure, maybe that striped-shirt dude with the crazy eyes and gleaming maw would tune in to obsess over her Late Show appearance, but he's about to be arrested for plucking the bird, I think, so that's a moot point.

We would call it a wash, but the feathered derriere actually counts as a full second point against the aqua outfit, so the final score is: Tina Knowles' DNA 2, Rational Thought 1.

Dang. Better luck next time, Beyonce.

Posted by Heather at 10:12 AM in Beyonce | Permalink

Fug The Cover: Billie Piper

Did Billie Piper burn down the Glamour UK offices?

Because from everything I've seen her in -- admittedly, we're talking mostly British tabloids and chat shows, since I don't watch Doctor Who -- she seems bubbly and fun, and while she is wearing something that you need to be bubbly and fun to pull off (hey, sequins on a January cover? Works for me, since gold sequins are basically what champagne would look like if it were fabric), her face looks like she's just received a Botox facial and a death kiss from Vlad the Impaler.  Get this girl some lippie!

In fact, I noticed when I was London over the summer that many British women's mags actually give away REAL ITEMS with each purchase (one of them actually included an actual bikini, which I think is brilliant. Why don't they do this in the United States?). Maybe the Gift With Purchase with this issue is a tube of a gloss that includes actual color, thus allowing readers to avoid the cover look, in some kind of nifty reverse psychological trick. Nude lips are well and good, you know, but they sure are hard to pull off without looking like you just stumbled from your cold, dark grave in search of warm virgin flesh upon which to feast.

So basically,  I'm just saying, that if you are a British Glamour staffer, and you run into Billie Piper in a dark alley or a wine cellar, or near any kind of crypt-like thing, just get out your garlic, okay?

Posted by Jessica at 08:33 AM in Fug The Cover | Permalink

December 19, 2006

We Fug Marshall

Theoretically, there's not much wrong with this photo...

... except that it'd be nice if somebody told Kate Mara to stand up straight and look lively. Seriously, is she at the premiere of a movie she's in, or is she being forced to attend a We Are Marshall-themed prom with her pimply, socially inept, and inappropriately grabby cousin? It's hard to tell.

Posted by Heather at 11:59 AM | Permalink

Fuggy Smart

Wild horses couldn't keep Amy Smart away from this party.

I'm serious. Even the cold, hard, irreversible reality of being seen in public wearing a beige silk blouse adorned with galloping stallions somehow did not deter Amy Smart from leaving the house.

Hell, throw in the pants -- droopy at the waist, yet simultaneously managing to give her a nice package for Christmas, if you get my drift -- and the fact that she still hasn't figured out how to make up her face, and Amy really ought to spend the entire WEEK at home eating popcorn and watching She's The Man on DVD. There's nothing like a little inspirational teen comedy to clear the mind. I mean, if Amanda Bynes can overcome gender discrimination -- not to mention strapping down her breasts and wearing a hideous brown wig in order to pose as her brother, evading her brother's persistent and somewhat needy psychotic girlfriend, convincing her classmates she's a total ladykilling dude despite the fact that she looks like she's two years away from puberty, falling in love with her male roommate who thinks she is bepenised, trying to get on the men's soccer team to play against her old school and specifically her jerkwad ex and BEAT ALL OF THEIR SORRY ASSES, and (spoiler!) getting exposed on the soccer field -- and STILL get the guy, well, surely Amy Smart can come to terms with a concept as basic and unchallenging as The Goodwill Pile.

Posted by Heather at 10:14 AM | Permalink

Carol Fug

Former model Carol Alt is in great shape:


That being said, I've got no problem with her working it -- she looks fantastic -- but must she work the aforementioned it in something that recalls nothing so much as a formal version of Britney's Front-Thong BoHo Bathroom Skirt?

Posted by Jessica at 07:44 AM | Permalink

December 18, 2006

From Justin to Fuggy

Remember the first season of American Idol, when we all rooted for Kelly Clarkson over Paula Abdul's poofy-haired and bepenised favorite, Justin Guarini? And we were all really happy that she won, because, among other things, we were kind of tired of the show ramming shots of Justin's dad down our throats? Yes, he was a police chief, and even though he didn't raise Justin, he's here now and they're fine and that's great and oh, look, there he is again, crying, and there he is AGAIN, and look, AGAIN, and OH MY GOD, WE GET IT.

Let me refresh your memory, in case those heady days are too far behind you and you never happened to catch the cinematic abortion that is From Justin To Kelly (which, if you didn't, don't, but you ARE missing out on her dancing around in a skirt made of ties).

Here is Justin Guarini.

His curly mop was his signature -- well, that, and singing some longing love song or other (I think it was "Get Here") directly at Paula, causing her to break into a sweat of potent yearning -- and although I never really got swept away by the 'fro, or by him, I appreciated that he had something distinctive going.

And yet, I also never thought I'd miss it if it went away.

Until now.

This is Justin Guarini during the shooting of some movie called Fast Girl. [I had herewritten that I thought the jackets were the same, but upon actual careful review, they're really not at all the same. My defense: I think the hair addled my brain. And my eyesight.]

I'm not sure if this is a wig, or the result of a chemical straightening process, but I suspect the former. And quite frankly, it scares the bitch out of me. Well, almost. This hair makes him ... wrong, somehow. He evokes Chris Kattan playing Justin Guarini playing a character in a movie. There's an eerie prissyness to his features -- particularly around the eyes -- that I never noticed before. And that manly confidence he's attempting to put into his eyes? With the old hair, it would seem harmless. But this greasy mop makes it all look like he's secretly thinking about harvesting my organs, and for some crazy reason, I'm kind of fond of my heart and my liver and all that other hoo-ha, so I'd be pretty devastated if he tore them from my limp, dead form and ate them with linguini and a nice tomato cream sauce.

Hurry up and finish shooting, Justin, so you can get that thing off your head and help us all regain our innocence.

Posted by Heather at 01:11 PM | Permalink

Well Played: Wilmer Valderrama

We've made plenty of snide comments about Wilmer Valderrama in the past. I believe we even may have compared him, visually, to a strung out serial killer at some point.  But now that I think about it, maybe he was just recovering from the stress of dating Lindsay Lohan. Sure, at the time we were all like, "Poor Lindsay! She's taking this so hard. Boo,  Wilmer, you broke her heart." And now, it's a bit more like, "Oh, man.  She's really kind of gone overboard, hasn't she? How long do you think it's been like this? It's sad: she's nuts. It must have been stressful for him to deal with her obvious problems for so long. "

And, like Ben Affleck rising from the greasy, bloated, gambling-addicted flames of his broken engagement to J Lo to emerge once again as a cute guy who would probably be pretty amusing to hang out and watch the game with, Wilmer has finally crawled his way out of Skeevewatch and turned into a pretty sharp-looking guy of late. Behold, besuited:

Classy! Sharp! We're not looking at the pinky-ring! Everything else is good!

Then we've got the no-suit-but-still-kinda-dressed-up, appropriate-for-a-holiday-party-or-dinner-with-your-parents look:

And, finally, the most casual incarnation:

We do try and give credit when it's due, and it's definitely due in Wilmer's case. There was an article about him in Entertainment Weekly about a month ago, in which he seemed pretty smart and together and serious about transitioning to producing and more adult roles, and I must say, it's nice to see someone back that up with what looks like an actual change, other than following the Tara Reid role of cleaning up briefly and then, the next day, falling over a curb in a drunken stupor and crying that no one takes you seriously AGAIN. He seems to have a weakness for the man-jewelry, but overall, he's skeeveless, and that's just what we like to see.

Now, if he would just stop talking about all the starlets he's slept with, we'd be in business.

Posted by Jessica at 12:06 PM in Well Played | Permalink

Fuggycat Fugs

We're not completely sure what about being a Pussycat Doll evokes costuming oneself like a futuristic porn gladiatrix, but here's lead singer Nicole, dressed like she's playing the leading role in the rebels vs. establishment erotic drama Colisemen:

This one is almost a scrolldown. The harsh hair and makeup, which age her (she's allegedly 28; would you have guessed closer to 35? I would've), are odd enough; then you get down to the stretchy jumpsuit and the cuffs, as if she's hoping people will mistake her for somebody with either rock talent, super powers, or both, and then you arrive at the lace-up leather legwarmers/boot covers that have been yanked back to reveal mesh peep-toed foot sheaths. I refuse to call them shoes; it would defame the entire concept of the mighty shoe.

And how sweet that she appears to be blowing a raspberry right back at us, unless of course that's collagen gone wrong. Did Jessica Simpson's inflate her lips to sausage proportions in vain?

The rest of the Pussycat Dolls should consider themselves lucky that we can't remember their faces or names...

... except, apparently two of them decided they couldn't bear it any longer and sewed cheat sheets into their outfits.

"Melody" appears very excited to be heading to the gym for some squats, and this so-called "Jessica" can't wait to make our Jessica throw a sparkling shiraz bottle against the wall as a way of channeling her rage at her name being so closely associated with formal shorts (and, possibly, leggings). However, if it makes these two feel any better, there's no way in hell I will ever remember who they are. I'll know there's a Jessica, but damned if I'll be able to pick out which of the mob she is.

The other felines look as insane yet silly as ever; in Spice terms, they're all Sporty and Scary with none of the soothing, dilutive Posh, the charm of Baby, or the cheek of Ginger. Yawn. And I don't know why the one to the right of Nicole felt like she needed to turn her bodysuit into some sort of harness.

The thing is, if they're not going anywhere -- and, sadly, it appears they're going to use all nine lives -- we wish they'd figure out a more interesting identity, and fast. They're so interchangeably outlandish-yet-bland that it's almost hilarious. However, the more we stare at them, the more we're wondering why the Pussycat Dolls want to look like a roving band of transvestites. Because, unless they are transvestites, that's not helping their cause. I don't want to know anything about them. I just want to go another blissful day not listening to their music, and go make a sandwich and read my Entertainment Weekly.

Posted by Heather at 11:34 AM | Permalink

December 15, 2006

The Tide Is Fug

In yet another case of mistaken fugdentity...

When I first saw a small version of this photo, the order of my reactions was this:

1) "Wow, I have NEVER seen Shirley MacLaine in a hoodie before."

2) "...Or, wait, did Courtney Love just get a Raggedy Ann haircut?"

3) "Unless that's Ben Stiller's mother..."

4) "No, it's... Damn. I was hoping it wasn't, but it is. WHY is Debbie Harry DOING THIS to herself?"

And that's when I lapsed into a sad, introspective silence. I miss the Debbie Harry who didn't look like she just wandered out of the gym and finds it hilarious that she needs to ask for directions back to her house. I mean, she rapped! She wanted us to call her on the line any anytime! She wasn't the kind of girl who'd give up just like that -- oh noooo-ooooo! It's vexing.

Posted by Heather at 12:20 PM | Permalink


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