Fugly Swank

Listen, Hilary Swank: We used to like you. Not because of Million-Dollar Baby, although you were wonderful in that, and not because of your stellar work in The Core, but rather due to your heart-tugging love affair with Steve Sanders. You had us at giving our favorite shallow Beverly Hills playboy a softer side. One might say you made a Sears out of him.

But then there was the whole Vanity Fair thing, when you decided you just couldn't not spill the beans about your estranged husband Chad Lowe's history of addiction, and suddenly, I wanted to wring your scrawny and indiscreet neck for using that as a salvo in some twisted, pathetic Hollywood divorce PR battle. Which, by the way, you TOTALLY LOST. Goooooo, Team Chad!

All of which means you've got a lot of work to do to win anyone back, and this dress at your Dangerous Freedom Writer Minds premiere isn't particularly helping anything.

I don't necessarily mind peekaboo dresses, but I don't care for how this one makes it look like you're wearing an enormous 36-Hour Bra. Or a bodyskimmer. It's as if you just covered your Body By Victoria skintight slip with a bunch of filmy black fabric, glued it together with a cheap strip of sequins, and tied it off at the neck. And looking like a homemade gift bag from The American Institute for Fostering Depression and Feelings of Hopelessness is not, perhaps, the way to crawl back into our hearts.