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May 30, 2007

Phoebe Fugs: Cannes Edition

A couple of months ago, we broke our long-standing silence on premiere and party fixture Phoebe Price. Her special brand of fashion-related crimes were too fascinating to be ignored. And since it's been a while, it felt like it might be time to check in with our not-at-all-famous red-carpet-fixture, especially since it seems she went to Cannes (her trip paid for, surely, by the....um. She clearly went to promote.... She's obviously there for..... Well, she's there).

Imagine our surprise when we realized that she didn't look half-bad in Cannes (you know, comparatively). Maybe a quarter-bad (okay, three-eighths bad. Okay, she did look half bad, but we expected it to be Whole Bad). Remember, we're talking about this woman:

That's ONE way to do the Reese Witherspoon Yellow Dress/Red Shoes look. It's also one way to do the considerably less popular Embroidered Hot Air Balloon(?) Floating Crown (?) Look.

So let's toddle down to Cannes with Ms Price and see what she pulled out of her Louis Vuitton trunk for the week, shall we?

First off:

But of course. What else does one wear in Cannes but a zebra print frock cut to the waist, accessorized with a feathered cummerbund, mais oui? The woman behind her is clearly thinking, "Um...I don't know about this." The man is thinking, "DON'T LOOK. If you don't look at her, NONE OF THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING."

Cannes is apparently where Phoebs pulls out all the feather-y gear she's been storing all year long. Like this number:

Seriously, I don't need to see the curve of your ass. Not your ass, not Jennifer Lopez's ass, not Jessica Biel's ass, not the curve of anyone's ass. Not on the red carpet. No. If your ass has what it takes to become a Famous Celebrity Ass, it can perform through layers of fabric. Also, I almost think this dress might have been okay, in a Loud and Screamy Way, if it were not, again, for all the feathers and the huge slit and the ass-showing. Let's try to explore the idea of Less is More, P-Squared.  I mean, seriously, even all those photogs behind her are bored. Everyone has seen this, and decided to take the moment to switch out his film or chit-chat with the dude next to him. That is a very weak endorsement indeed.

And, finalement:

More snoozy photographers. How could they resist a gown that draws inspiration equally from Tiffany lamps and lingerie? What is wrong with them? A nightgown that recalls nudity AND lighting schemes? C'est genius!

Poor Phoebs. I'm sure she was sure that France would be her crowning glory. The French, after all, are famous in America for eating up all sorts of things that Americans have kind of dismissed (insert requisite Jerry Lewis reference here). And yet, no.  Which prompts the question: if you can't whip the French into a frenzy with your feathers, is it you, or can you blame the bird?

Stay strong, Phoebe. Maybe next time you could try to put the feathers on your head?

Posted by Jessica at 12:41 PM | Permalink


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