August 31, 2007
Go Fug Your Week
While our days of being as winsome and wrinkle-free as the almost unbearably cute little Miss Suri Cruise are sadly long gone, the glee she is getting from gnawing on that finger is equal to what we're feeling as we announce that we're off again to cover Fashion Week for New York magazine's Web site.
Things will be a little light here on the GFY front while we chase Rachel Zoe through the streets of Manhattan, but please check at Show and Talk blog for all the dish, and keep coming back here for periodic updates and tidbits throughout the week. Nicky Hilton, Gwen Stefani, J. Lo, and Chloe Sevigny are all showing lines this season, so there should be no shortage of sartorial shenanigans.
Whoever scheduled the VMAs for the middle of Fashion Week should be smacked upside the head with a stiletto. Despite the fact of where they fall this year, we'll be back with fresh updates from that hopefully hideous event on Monday, Sept. 10.
Happy Labor Day!
Posted by Jessica at 04:07 PM | Permalink
DONALD: Nice to see you, Elizabeth.
ELIZABETH: Thank you, Big D! You look well. I haven't seen you since we did Fierce People.
DONALD: That old thing? Goodness! You look terrific, though -- you've really grown up nicely.
ELIZABETH: It was only two years ago.
DONALD: Marvelous outfit. It's very... confusing, actually... sorry, I just have to squint...
ELIZABETH: Hey, D, we should guest-star on 24!
DONALD: You know, I think this is where I'd make a weed/Weeds joke, but my vision is getting blurry.
ELIZABETH: It'd be so great! RATINGS, Donald! And Emmys!
DONALD: I want to focus on this conversation but that thing is starting to give me a wicked migraine. So much zigging. And zagging. Who made that? Charlie Brown?
ELIZABETH: You could play Kiefer's OTHER DAD! And I'm your trophy wife! OH, COME ON!
DONALD: I think your dress is actually making my heart upset. I see it and I hear machines beeping.
ELIZABETH: Oh. Well, tell Kiefer I said hello. And if he needs a love interest... RROWR!
DONALD: I have to look away from you now.
Posted by Heather at 01:19 PM | Permalink
"Now, how did I get here?" Goldie Hawn wondered to herself.
"Shoot. This is some kind of charity function, isn't it? I thought I was going to my yogi's house for three hours of hard core mediation and some wheatgrass. Oh, god, that's TUESDAY. TUESDAY. Damn. This is what I get for relying on the movement of the stars instead of my Blackberry."
Posted by Jessica at 11:27 AM | Permalink
This inventive dress works brilliantly if you're attending the same formal event as, say, the old high-school rival who makes you want to drop through the floor, the coworker you're pretty sure has the SARS, or the boss who doesn't realize you're secretly a spy and are there on a very sensitive undercover operation:
To hide, simply bury your face in the cranium-sized fabric attachment or yank it right up over your hair, and everything will fly right past you. So stress no more when you bump into the ex-boyfriend who you realized was off his nut when he started talking nonsense about how he wants to name your children "Spackle" and "Rotary Phone," and how showers are too damn bossy for their own good, forcing you to fake your death to get him to stop calling you, except now you're at the same restaurant and if he recognizes you he'll mace you or, worse, put you on the phone with his psychic friend. This will hide you as adeptly as a funeral shroud.
I seriously stared at this picture for hours today. It was hypnotic.
The stupid shriveled fake logo shirt painted onto a Fruit of the Loom 3-for-$10 special chapped my hide. I glared at it until I saw double, yet still I drew a blank and could only roll my eyes and go, "What the hell? Whatever, Zachary. I love you on Heroes, but just because you slice open people's skulls during your day job and possibly feast upon but certainly misappropriate their brains does NOT mean that you can do this and I'll be too scared to say anything. Also, you wouldn't want my brain. It would make for a really unsatisfying meal -- more of a light snack, really, or an amuse-bouche. So stop looking at me like that. For real. Stop. It kind of freaks me out. Come on, it's a REALLY dumb shirt, you know this. Why are you... Okay, fine. You know what? You can have my brain. Take it. I barely use it anyway. Take the goddamn thing. Whatever it takes for you snap out of the weird zombie thing and go put on a sweater."
So, if you don't hear from me for a while, assume it's because Mr. Quinto shrugged his shoulders and came by my house to collect. But I'll make sure he gives me a bunch of spoilers before he does. It's the least he can do before a bloody lobotomy.
Posted by Heather at 09:02 AM | Permalink
August 30, 2007
So, we don't fug people in costume TOO often, primarily because, you know, they're IN COSTUME. And so I would like, first and foremost, to point out that Lucy Liu is not personally to be blamed for the fact that her character in Cashmere Mafia apparently dresses like Carrie Bradshaw if she were forced to lead a Girl Scout troop camping trip ("I got to wondering," she'd say. "Is bird watching all that different from boy watching? Are these little campers learning skills that will eventually serve them well in pitching tents of a different kind? And in an apartment across town, Miranda was doing something humiliating.").
[Photo: Splash News]
And while I hold out hope that this costume is from, say, a dream sequence, that hope is small and sad indeed. For do you see the bright pink head bobbing behind La Liu? It is attached to the body of Pat "I Dressed Carrie Bradshaw in Those Hotpants, and You LOVED IT" Field, who is indeed doing the clothes for this show. On one hand, this news is horrifying. If knee socks and sandals become the giant flower pin of 2008, we will be more than alarmed. On the other hand, would Sex and the City have been nearly as fun if the outfits hadn't ranged from Amazing to Amazingly Terrible often in the course of one conversation? Probably not. So consider my judgment officially withheld.
Except on this outfit. This outfit is terrible.
Posted by Jessica at 01:50 PM | Permalink
Fug The Cover: Ashlee Simpson
Riddle me this, children:
Is Ashlee Simpson turning into Ashley Tisdale, or is Ashley Tisdale actually Ashlee Simspon FROM THE PAST who, thanks to a purloined DeLorean, has returned to reclaim her life the way it would have been had she not fallen prey to the demons of "punk" and Pete Wentz, all full of Disney musicals and shocking revelations in this week's Star magazine that -- GASP! -- she's not naturally all that blond? If the two girls run into each other at Barney's, will the universe therefore fold in upon itself, imploding right there between the Chloe and the Marc Jacobs? Or is Ashley really here on a mission from Ashlee, employed as a warrior from the past come to 2007 to take Jessica Simpson out of her misery, and she's just loitering around the Disney Channel until she gets close enough to get a shot off? Also, what IS the one flirting move guys can't resist? I need to know.
Posted by Jessica at 12:43 PM | Permalink
Must Love Fugs
Let's all just take a quick moment to bow our heads and hope fervently that Diane Lane's newest haircut is for a role:
PS: Diane, you've got a lot going on here, with the belt and all, no? But I can't be too concerned with that right now, as I am too worried by the state of your generally extremely gorgeous head. Let's go to the close-up:
I like short hair. I'm on board with the Posh Spice Saucy Asymmetrical Salute to Simon Le Bon. I'm all over the Katie Holmes Preppy Shout-Out to Posh's Saucy Asymmetrical Salute to Simon Le Bon. But I can't -- and won't! Don't try to make me! -- sign off on the Diane Lane Big Ups to the Awkward Growing Out Phase.
** We totally forgot that Lane lopped off her locks for charity. But that was 2006, and this is... not. What gives? From her effusive comment about wanting short hair that no one would ever let her have, we presume she may indeed consciously be maintaining the '80s male-rocker hairdo. No wonder nobody let her do it before.
Posted by Jessica at 11:29 AM | Permalink
Random Fug: Sybil Danning
I think I've figured out why Peter Pan didn't want to grow up.
The poor lad's mother was a dominatrix, and it beat the yen for puberty right out of him.
Rosamund Pike is a really pretty girl.
A pretty girl with a stonking drunk seamstress. Let's see: The top was probably the product of the last half of yesterday's bottle of wine on an empty stomach -- "Dammit, was that trim, or lining, or both? And are those HER measurements or the dimensions of that coffee table from Ikea? HAHAHA! OH MY GOD I'M OUT OF SHIRAZ" -- and then, furious and furiously amused, she crawled into a bottle of Patron and accidentally glued the skirt to itself before passing out on top of it. So, a little like having Lindsay Lohan make your clothes, except without a bonus dusting of fine white powder. And maybe a bit less nudity. Maybe.
Posted by Heather at 09:08 AM | Permalink