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August 29, 2007

Daniela Fugcury

Behold Elvis Crespo and Daniela Mercury at the Latin Grammy Nomination Ceremony:

While he looks totally fine and just as he often does -- albeit a bit on the Severus Snape side -- she was TOTALLY at home painting the guest bathroom and listening to the radio when she realized she'd agreed to do this and was supposed to be at the studio like an hour ago so she threw on a belt and a clean shirt and ran out to the car and was twenty minutes down the road when she looked down and realized she was driving barefoot and oh my god her agent is going to kill her WHERE ARE SHOES? DO I HAVE SHOES? and then realized that, yes, she had these random zebra print clodhoppers clonking around in the backseat and so she just threw them on and marched into hair and make-up and pretended that this was all COMPLETELY on purpose and TOTALLY the new style and no one better say anything and then this is where we all learned that "fake it 'til you make it" doesn't always totally work.

Posted by Jessica at 02:03 PM | Permalink

Random Fug: Nathalia Ramos (or, as we prefer to remember her, That Girl Who Played Bob Loblaw's Daughter)

Welcome to the newest innovation in efficient summer fashion: Quilted formal shorts, brought to you by the makers of Bounty paper towels.

Bright enough to conceal food stains; absorbent enough to take care of any unexpected spills, like when you overfill your martini glass, or knock back one too many and trip over your best friend's handsy cousin from Connecticut; and stretchy enough for you to comfortably kick him in the shins when he tries to help you up by the boobs. If only such a garment had existed back when Fergie needed it most. It's like an adult diaper without the stigma. And the awkward bulk.

Posted by Heather at 01:01 PM in Random Fug | Permalink

High Fug Musical

I totally get the Zac Efron thing. He's charming and non-threatening and when he takes you out for movies and a milkshake, he's not going to do anything scary like try and touch your boob. He's perfect for the 14-year old girls of the world. In fact, he would have appealed mightily to me when I as 14, especially in his Members Only jacket and overall Maxwell Caulfield disguise here:

[Photo: INF Daily]

He's seriously about to burst into song and then drive his motorcycle off a cliff, only to reappear at a celebratory luau to make out with Michelle Pfeiffer. And, frankly, isn't it about time we re-made Grease 2? We know the kid can sing. Stick him in there, give M. Pfeif her old part back (her plastic surgery is really good), and just wait for the box office magic.

Posted by Jessica at 11:37 AM | Permalink

Paris Hilfug

As alternately ordinary and twee as I find Amanda Bynes' clothing line -- note to Steve & Barry's: If it looks like everything costs under $20, then it automatically takes the novelty out of your pricing plan -- I will say this for her: She didn't paint her face all over everything and then expect you to pay for the privilege of having her eyes staring out from the vicinity of your nipples.

I guarantee you these vain little babies cost more than $20 (the shirts, I mean, but possibly also the girl). The Warholian number behind Paris's right shoulder is a deliciously conceited treat, as is the one that entreats you to "LUV THYSELF," as long as you don't do it enough to buy a shirt that's properly spelled. But the Main Event is my favorite. It's like she's depicting herself behind bars in a prison run by Victoria's Secret. Yep, held captive by her own indomitable sex appeal -- that's our Paris.

Although, is it just me, or does she look a wee bit haggard? Maybe she was up all night crying her eyes out when she realized her flippy new 'do is just a poor, shaggy clone of Posh's coif, and therefore David Beckham would never be likely to get them confused and accidentally take Paris home for a night of muscular passion. But chin up, Paris; iit's just as well. See, you don't want to cross Victoria Beckham, or you'll end up learning the hard way how many different torturous uses there are for a press-on nail.

Posted by Heather at 10:27 AM in Paris & Nicky Hilton | Permalink

Fugberta Flack

[Photo: Splash News]

After an invigorating, crowd-pleasing game of Peek-A-Boo gripped the party in wild mirth, Roberta Flack slowly realized that the joke was officially on her: She'd forgotten to bring her real outfit, and would be stuck for the rest of the night in an elaborate taffeta sack.

Posted by Heather at 09:00 AM | Permalink

August 28, 2007

Fug the Cover: Keira Knightley

I LOVE fashion magazines from other countries. Probably because they feel like a new treat, rather than the same-old same-old I'm accustomed to (when you subscribe to like 10 glossies, you start to get burned out at some point), and also, you get to do fun math to figure out the currency conversations on all the stuff therein (please note: the "fun math" I did last time I was in Great Britain involved me just deciding that everything was priced in dollars so that I didn't get too bummed out by my TopShop receipt). It's also fun to see what is au courant in other places.   Apparently, our Canadian friends are currently wearing make-up the likes of which makes them appear to be burning with the supernatural flush brought on by the fevers of galloping consumption:

K Kni is lovely indeed, but she looks so feverish and overly warm here that I feel the urge to fluff up her pillow, dab her forehead with a cool cloth and then spoon lukewarm broth into her mouth, whilst murmuring soothing things like,  "no, no, no one wants to strangle you. That's just your dress," and "Johnny Depp will be here at 4."

Posted by Jessica at 12:47 PM in Fug The Cover | Permalink


Oh, Christy Turlington, how I loved you when I was young. Of all the models writhing around in George Michael's "Freedom" video, you were my favorite. And while I understand that, as George says, sometimes the clothes do not make the man, I sort of wish you weren't dressed in what looks like, from this angle, a toned-down version of the outfit Crazy Homicidal Hermaphrodite Vincent wears on Passions.

Vincent, because he is nothing if not totally overly dramatic, prefers to be Crazy and Homicidal and Blackmail-y while wearing a sort of a split-down-the-middle half-dress/half-pants outfit (as well as a half-man, half-woman mask) that non-subtly should have clued someone in Harmony into the fact that s/he had some gender identification issues. Of course, I guess his issues would have been obvious no matter what he was wearing, as he's: a rapist (of his half sister!), an arsonist, a murderer, a blackmailer and someone who seduced his half-uncle (who is also his half-cousin...I think) into a whirlwind of gay(ish) sex that said half-uncle claims he didn't enjoy very much, but I don't believe him, and frankly, if said half-uncle WERE gay(ish), it would be a lot less shocking than that time he was sleeping with his sister the nun, even though she turned out not to be either his sister or a nun in the final analysis. 

Anyhoodle, I just think Christy could have benefited from taking one of these pieces off, you know? But at least she's not running around killing prostitutes, bartenders, psychiatrists, or her half-sister's kind of bitchy lesbian lover. I mean, as far as I know. Oh, Passions. Am I really going to have to get DirecTV just so I can keep up with this sort of thing?  I am scared that the answer is yes.

Posted by Jessica at 11:22 AM | Permalink

So You Think You Can Fug?

We'd heard tell of what host Cat Deeley wore on the So You Think You Can Dance? finale, but not having seen it, we filed it away under, "Things We Can Never Prove For Ourselves," alongside the existence of Bigfoot and Britney's hair regrowth.

Then, photos started trickling in, and it was almost as frightening as the sasquatch itself banging at the kitchen window hungry for some human liver:

[Photo: Splash News]

Something tells me he might have already taken a messy swipe at hers, unless she's just really been lazy about getting back to her waxer.

Although... has anyone seen Bigfoot and Cat in the same place at the same time? I mean, for one thing, nobody who hasn't been living in a far-flung forest or isn't Sienna Miller would do her hair that way on purpose.

Posted by Heather at 10:38 AM | Permalink

Teen Choice Awards Fug Carpet: Eve

Usually, Eve looks pretty age-appropriate, so I can't figure out what possessed her to show up at the Teen Choice Awards -- where, presumably, teens are trying to tell us what they like, because 184 million viewers of High School Musical 2 still felt ambiguous -- in what amounts to cocktail pajamas:

Granted, I covet the shoes a trifle, but overall the effect is less "young vixen" than "Cougar salivating over her prey as she lasciviously licks caviar off a cracker." Or she's simply wearing the uniform of a long-lost martial art in which she's a black-belt -- say, the kind where she can slice off your head with a well-timed leg spin without so much as spilling her bourbon. Rrowr.

Still, I can see one advantage: The only hint of her Anklet of Legal Woes is in the bunching of the evil pants' drawstring hem, so perhaps she thought cloaking herself in fug would distract us from the Lessons Of Her Past. No dice, though, Eve. Also, The Lessons Of Her Past would actually make a great Lifetime movie if you added a few colons in there, like The Lessons Of Her Past: I Drink, Therefore I Can't: The Eve Jihan Jeffers Story.

I might have to eat all those words with a side of paté, however, because here she is demonstrating the more current fashions of the day and I'm not sure it's an improvement:

[Photo: Splash News]

It's a bathing suit, a minidress that could well be on backwards, footless tights, and of course her Anklet of Legal Woes -- all of which I feel like I've already seen on Lindsay Lohan. It's sort of like she's the host of The Grim Reaper's MTV Back-2-Skool Summer Wake and Pool Party Jam, which I parenthetically and amusingly just misread to myself as "Panty Jam" (either the world's worst-selling condiment, or a Playboy party you'd get Cameron Diaz to host while Fergie performed).

This is like a Sophie's Choice of catastrophic outfits. I don't think I can pick a winner, but I know who the loses are: our retinas.

Posted by Heather at 09:06 AM in Misc. Awards Shows | Permalink

August 27, 2007

Teen Choice Awards Fug: Jessica Alba and Dane Cook

JESSICA ALBA: I want to die. Why am I here? At least I can wear this shade of yellow. Even in my doldrums, my own beauty comforts me.


JESSICA: I hate him. And I hate his shirt. It looks like someone threw up on him.  I hate everyone. I hate myself.


JESSICA: Maybe I shouldn't have broken up with my boyfriend in order to pretend that I'm maybe sort of seeing Loudmouth over here, for publicity. But he was boring, anyway. Was that wrong?


JESSICA:  Sigh. I have to stop this. Thinking gives you wrinkles.

Posted by Jessica at 01:25 PM in Misc. Awards Shows | Permalink


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