September 28, 2007
Fug Me Down
I assume Emmy Rossum is so excited because her CD is coming out, and her music video is being splashed all over the Interwebs. Certainly it's not the overly boring and wrinkly shift she's wearing, which is a great color but which sucks all the youth out of her.
Aside from Dakota Fanning, Emmy is pretty much the youngest little old lady in the business. In a way, though, that's apt, since she's churning out the sort of quasi-New Age music that you'd expect to hear a bunch of crones relaxing to while they get their salt scrubs in Palm Springs. It's like Enya, with a tad of Imogen Heap thrown in to give it an illusion of hipness. Her voice is hugely overproduced, considering that she's a classically trained singer. And the video... is magic.
And because it's been a long week here at GFY HQ and possibly a rough one for some of you out there, we'd like to borrow a little something from those wry geniuses at The Daily Show and present Emmy's music video to you -- after the jump -- as this week's Fugment of Zen.
It's not all fugly, per se. Her hair and her skin look fantastic, and when she is wearing clothes and not bedsheets, she mostly looks fine, except maybe for that one maxi dress she keeps rubbing against her face. The part of Imogen Heap she's borrowing from is NOT the part of her that wears frogs on her hats and carries parasols.
And yet there's an almost tangible fugness of spirit to it. I have seen the color of its aura, and it is a rich shade of fugple. There's something hysterical about the way she acts the SHIT out of it, going from confused and wounded -- "FEEL the speed of the traffic, Emmy! You're confused! You're lost! WHERE ARE YOU? Also, show more of your breasts" -- to orgasmically happy. Really, it's transcendent.
Enjoy! Happy Friday.
Posted by Heather at 01:05 PM | Permalink
Fugger Willis, the Sequel: Fug Free, Fug Hard
Apparently Rumer Willis has been taking her new hairdo all over town.
[Photo: Splash News]
Unfortunately for her, a) life is not one long Whitesnake video, b) we already have a Brigitte Nielsen, and c) even Sienna Miller stopped going out like this two years ago. That's three strikes, sweetpea. Time to invest in a wig and a new wardrobe.
Posted by Heather at 12:03 PM | Permalink
Poor Cheetah Girl. Not only is the name of her band kind of a sad knockoff of Pussycat Dolls -- next up: the Meerkat Kids! -- but she is wandering around in public swaddled in a bedraggled half-tarp, half-tablecloth.
Maybe this outfit represents one of the many steps down from Pussycat to Cheetah. Whereas Robin Antin has bravely committed her life to ensuring that the Dolls are about understanding their inner confident sexyness and sexy confidence, the Cheetahs are merely required to find their inner wet-t-shirt-contest participant and then walk around cloaked in an aura of dampness. Seriously, that skirt looks sopping wet. For her sake, I hope she did just win a free drink coupon in Cancun before she got to this party. That's about the only thing that would make this worth it.
Posted by Heather at 11:04 AM | Permalink
There is a lot wrong with this picture. But I think you'll understand if I skip over the dirty ballet flats and stained sweater in favor of saying, "OH MY GOD, RUMER, WHAT IN THE NAME OF BILLY IDOL DID YOU DO TO YOUR HAIR?"
This reminds me of a crappy yellow wig -- basically just a slab of cheap fuzz -- that a friend of mine wore when he went as Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes for Halloween. Except he got to take his off at the end of the day, and also a few times in the middle of it, because he couldn't stand it. Much as I am having trouble looking at Rumer. It's like she got a Tyra Banks Special. You know, from Miss T's constant obsession with using makeover day to bleach into oblivion some poor America's Next Top Model wannabe's hair -- and in at least two cases, pausing first to chop off all their hair in a "style" that makes it look like the model had stuck 70 pieces of bubble gum all over her head and needed a dramatic rescue.
Is this a cry for attention? Is this what happens when her alleged BFF Hayden Pannnettttieitiererere gets too busy with work (and threatening to kill photographers and looking as carefully cosy as possible with her older co-star so that she'll have something she can coyly deny)? Did Rumer bet Ashton a bleach job that Lindsay Lohan would be out of rehab by Labor Day? Is she angling to star as Susan Powter in an off-Broadway musical called Start The Insanity? Or did she erroneously think, just because Demi was blondish in St. Elmo's Fire and The Butcher's Wife, that she could pull this off and become a sex symbol? Because, seriously, the way this turned out, she should've looked to G.I. Jane first.
Posted by Heather at 09:58 AM | Permalink
It seems we may owe Bai Ling an apology. Behold: A scene from last night's Ugly Betty.
Look familiar? Except for the accessories, this is basically the exact outfit we fugged Bai Ling for a year and a half ago, a portion of which has a starring role in our site masthead.
Forgive us, Bai. Obviously, we misunderstood you lo those many moons ago. Personality #12 wasn't trying to teach us the assorted merits of cracking a ringmaster's whip while pirouetting around a dais at a circus honoring Kelly Osbourne. Rather, by wearing it without the belt, that particular Baby Bai was sending us a very important Message From The Future: One, that no matter how fabulous Betty's nephew is, his insistence that it would work without the waist strap is the baldest of balderdash because that thing wouldn't work if it was on a streetcorner full of escaped convicts and sailors; and two, no matter how much Wilhelmina Slater agrees with him, she is NOT TO BE TRUSTED because deep down (say, a centimeter) all she wants is for the world to look worse than she does. In short, Bai Ling, our most cherished psychic friend and tireless crusader for truth, wanted to tell us not to believe everything we see on TV.
HA! Just kidding about that last part. What kind of message is that? TV would never lie! Sure, in this case it's having a little fun at our expense, but otherwise our sweet friend would never lead us astray. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to check and see whether my bionic legs have been secretly installed yet.
September 27, 2007
Oh, Lauren, I don't even know:
On one hand, that color is cute on you. On the other, you sort of look like you were attacked by a rare species of florescent green chickens -- very violent, very prone to molting.
Posted by Jessica at 12:46 PM | Permalink
Whenever I look at this picture of Taryn Manning, the first thing I think is that I could resurrect my 2004 Hilary Duff Halloween costume and we could go together as Hilary Through The Ages.
And then I realized that Taryn is already kind of two Hilary eras in one. From the waist up, she's Latter-Day Duff, with the floaty yet trendy shirt, the godawful hat, and the dark hair that occasionally looks like it's been out in the rain and hastily re-dried with one of those hand-blowers in the women's room.
And on the bottom, she's 2004-05 Duff, back when she never hemmed her pants. I mean, on the whole the outfit is kind of trendy, I guess, but SERIOUSLY, honey, tailor those jeans. Do you not understand the power of a cute shoe? Even Hilary knows that.
Not that I have nothing against Hilary Duff -- she hasn't humiliated herself in the tabloids (even that Lohan feud was mostly on Lohan's part), she hasn't dated anyone who makes us want to brush our teeth since that time we saw her at a bowling alley in Studio City making out with Aaron Carter, and I can't resist Raise Your Voice if it's on (in part because that British kid is super cute, and in part because the dubbing job on some of her singing is hilariously obvious... and then also, it's fun to wonder how drunk John Corbett and Rebecca De Mornay had to get at the end of the day to bleach out memories of their participation) -- but Taryn here is looking like a Value Village version of her, and well, we already have a Discount Duff. Her name is Haylie, and she needs the job more than Taryn does. Don't you think?
Oh, Bjork. Thank you.
[Photo: Splash News]
Just when the world feels full of nothing but trenchcoats and cute cocktail dresses, you come through with one of your usual Intergalactic Ballet Company costumes -- this one is from the award-winning production of Jiffy-Pop Presents: Wonder Woman, although it's better with the cuffs that squirt weapons-grade streams of scalding liquid butter -- and I'm gripped with the urge to embrace you.
Although I may wait for you to change. That thing looks sharp.
Posted by Heather at 10:21 AM | Permalink
Letter of Fug: Part MOMMY'S CRYING
Psssssst. Hey, you alls. Come over here.
Shhhh. Be very quiet. I'm not supposed to be talking to anyone because "my downward spiral is too depressing." I don't know how that's possible since I don't even have a spiral perm but whatever. The people who post up these letter thingies on the internets think I don't hear them when they call me "Princess Tragedy Trainwreck" behind my back, but I have ears just like the walls do IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. Anyway. I know people are all oh my god she's a terrible mother and a really bad driver and we totally miss her snake and I am here to tell you that that snake was totally a pain in the ass so you should get over that part of it right now. All the rest of it will work out just fine if all y'all would just CHILL and OPEN YOUR EYES and see that I am WEARING SHOES IN THIS HERE BATHROOM. God. And people (MOM) say I don't ever listen to anybody's advice.
It's MISS BRITNEY BITCH because you are nasty.
September 26, 2007
As Jessica and I were sitting around the other day writing our "Get Well, Intern George" card and watching Passions while we ate our way through three tubs of ice cream -- you know, as wicked wenches do -- I turned to her and said, "But you know what would REALLY help him learn to laugh again? The sight of his ex-girlfriend in a hideous, cheap, pantsuit/jumpsuit thing that looks like she ganked it from Katie Couric's 1994 Today show wardrobe, back when she was bubbly and cute and unassuming and not obsessed with bronzing her legs and whipping them out every time a celebrity had to sit knee-to-knee with her."
We thought we were going to have to finger-paint it for him using the sticky remnants of Tiramisu gelato. But Lisa Snowdon evidently heard our cry and decided to step up to the plate.
It's so selfless, really, this sacrifice -- just to give him the healing power of mirth, she allowed herself to leave the house in this. Bravo, Lisa. You are a true hero. When George comes back to work, you will be the FIRST person to receive an autographed hugshot.
Posted by Heather at 01:35 PM | Permalink