October 31, 2007
Well Played, Our Blessed Lady of High Camp
It's only Wednesday, and yet somehow it's already been a long week. It's also Halloween, of course, which means nobody is really focusing on work because they're too busy thinking about getting drunk at a bar while wearing a feather boa or a Fembot costume, or whether you possibly have enough gold lame to costume yourself as a Eurovision Song Contest runner-up. Life is stressful. And Mercury is in retrograde, which probably means your dog will accidentally eat its Wonder Woman costume before you get a chance to take it up and down the street in the hopes of scoring some candy.
What better way to celebrate, or at last endure, this particular Hump Day than to acknowledge the brilliance of a woman whose Dynasty character pretty much treated every day like some form of Hump Day, if you know what I mean. Dex Dexter certainly does. As does Blake Carrington. And Mark Jennings, before he fell off her balcony. And a bunch of random Middle Eastern businessmen with oil leases, not to mention Ricardo Montalban's character Zach Powers. Oh, and we can't forget King Galen of Moldavia. And that's just the short list.
Behold, Joan Collins:
The earrings are like expensive versions of those brassy nightmares that were pretty much the visual centerpiece of Desperately Seeking Susan. The dress might be a nightie. And Alexis Morell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan would've worn almost this exact same thing in the 80s -- possibly with a turban made of that same white fur, but otherwise it's fairly close.
And yet, Joan Collins manages to look hot and regal and just as awesome as if she were still gracing our TV screens in an Aaron Spelling drama wherein her son was decorating her son-in-law's office with lead paint to make him crazy. Sharon Stone is well on her way, but she still can't quite hold a candle to the original. Joan doesn't just know how to amp up the drama; she exudes it and makes it look natural. She is a delicious, divine diva, and one of these years I really need to put my effort into going as either her or her alter-ego for Halloween. Really, I'm just afraid I won't do it justice, because seriously, nobody wraps herself in fur or fur-substitute quite like she does. Also, I would get marinara on that thing. Even if there is none in sight.
So, as we ease our way through what really already feels like it should be a Friday but cruelly isn't, here is a Fugment of Zen brought to you by the prodigious slappy talents of Ms. Joan Collins herself:
You will especially enjoy the editor's initial care at showing you how the dog feels about all this madness.
Posted by Heather at 01:13 PM | Permalink
Camille Winbush is SO cute. She was cute on Bernie Mac, she was cute two weeks ago on Grey's Anatomy as the Chief's tragic, cancer-stricken niece. Although that particular brand of cuteness was sort of depressing, now that I think about it. At any rate: she is adorable. AND, according to IMDb, she owns an ice cream store/bakery in Pasadena (that she opened when she was 13!), and I can't truly hate on a girl who takes her acting money and invests it in snacks. But I can hate on this:
I mean, as jumpsuits go, it's -- wait. I can't even finish that sentence. It's a shiny denim jumpsuit and no amount of cuteness or ice cream can induce me to endorse a shiny denim jumpsuit. Not when there are so many dresses and skirts and pants and tops and caftans just floating around, begging to be put on and worn out. Think of the dresses and skirts and pants and tops and caftans, Camille! Think of THEM. Just promise me you'll think of them, the next time you're standing in front of your closet, eating an ice cream cone, and you consider jumpsuiting up.
Posted by Jessica at 12:09 PM | Permalink
When Fugly Met Sally
Look, unless Meg Ryan is actually in costume as Ashley Olsen, and has been growing out her hair for months and months in preparation for this day, when she will impress all the neighborhood children with her ability to impersonate a famously rumpled barely-legal billionaire impresario while handing out mini-Twix, then I strongly suggest she consider at least BRUSHING HER HAIR:
Lady, listen: you're 46 years old. And while I absolutely don't believe that a woman needs to roll over and die once she reaches a certain age (unless that age is, like, 120, at which point I plan to be simply tired out), I do believe that there comes a point for each of us when bedhead stops being sexy and starts looking like you've turned into that nutty old lady on the corner with thirteen feral cats who is always leaning out her kitchen window smoking and yelling at the gardeners not to steal her mail. You're kind of getting there.
Posted by Jessica at 10:51 AM | Permalink
The Jane Austen Fug Club
Maggie Grace looks a little tired.
And it's no wonder -- having a paper route is no easy feat. I should know; I've seen Better Off Dead about 100 times. That kid is tireless. So, please, somebody, ANYBODY, just slip Maggie two dollars so she can go home, ice down her paper-throwing arm, and snag a nap.
Posted by Heather at 10:14 AM | Permalink
October 30, 2007
My Fug Will Go On
There is so much to appreciate about Celine Dion. Like how she celebrated her marriage to Grandpa (which was aired live on Canadian TV -- like Princess Diana!) with multiple receptions, one of which involved, I believe, elephants. The way she pummels her own breast whilst in the throes of song. And, of course, her epic video for "It's All Coming Back to Me Now," which is possibly the most dramatic thing ever committed to film, as well as being an excellent song to wail in the shower. I can NOT, however, appreciate this:
That bodyguard-looking dude and I have the EXACT SAME expression on our faces right now, namely one that says, "WTF, Celine?" I have no doubt that it's chilly wherever La Dion is right now, but is that any excuse to layer what looks like baby bunting over saggy leggings? It is not. And this hurts me. I don't mean to be overly dramatic, but when she's not out wearing something majorly over the top and crazy -- like her backward Oscar suit -- I feel so alone. All by myself, if you will. I know, I know: my disappointment is a tale as old as time. But, you guys, it's true as it can be. My heart seriously is not going to go on.
Posted by Jessica at 01:34 PM | Permalink
Can you imagine how different Brad Pitt's life would be if he had ended up with Juliette Lewis as planned, instead of breaking up with her and then getting with Gwynnie and Aniston and Angelina?
I mean, maybe it'd be relatively similar -- he'd still be hot, after all. Maybe the big difference is that Jennifer Aniston might not have gotten her reputation as the sad, tragic, cuckolded waif. But do we think Brad Pitt would've ended up doing all the relief work and adopting or fathering a Benetton ad's worth of beautiful babies if he'd decided to betrothe himself to this woman?
Nothing against Juliette Lewis -- I don't know her; maybe she really likes relief work and adopting children, or maybe her tears can cure cancer or something -- but I feel like if he'd gone this route for life, Brad Pitt might be taking a break from showbiz to hang out in the front row of all her concerts wearing spandex pants, stained tank tops, and a mullet. I guess the benefit of this outfit is that Juliette can't work up any of her trademark performance pit-stains, and I don't even hate the pants if I focus hard enough and ignore the Victoria's Secret Swimwear style bathing suit she's wearing under them, which I imagine will make it very difficult for her to go to the bathroom later unless she's wearing a Poise Pad. But I do find myself wondering why she was in such dire need of knee pads.
Perhaps she thought they were a precautionary measure:
Because when the Native American population decides to mess with her head by announcing that it is angry she paired a headgear homage to its fine culture with a red plastic jacket befitting a soldier in Michael Jackson's Neverland army -- which might not even be a trick, actually; would YOU want someone walking around with an echo of YOUR culturally iconic headgear while looking she's in a giant game of Cowboys & Indians with a famous cape-wearing man-child? Didn't think so -- then the pads will make it way more comfortable to drop to her knees and apologize.
Brad Pitt would've stopped her, though. Well, Today's Brad, anyway; I actually fear the bizarro Pitt would've been in the crowd wearing a matching outfit and screaming that he wants to be starting something.
If anyone decided to modernize Little House On The Prairie -- I don't know, set it on an alpaca farm somewhere in Iowa, right near a giant outlet mall -- then Joy Bryant would already be dressed for the lead.
[Photo: Splash News]
It's like she walked into Wet Seal and picked up one of everything that was on sale. And while that's sometimes fine -- apart from the leggings, of course, unless she's in a yoga class or dressing up as Lindsay Lohan for Halloween tomorrow -- it's a little overwhelming to wear every item and accessory all at once. Especially when one of her booties seems to be peeling itself like a banana.
Posted by Heather at 11:28 AM | Permalink
I Think I Love My Fug
I do not know what Kerry Washington is up to, here:
[Photo: Splash News]
Is this an early re-purposing of her Halloween costume? And if so, what was she? A sexy witch with a fetish for goth shower curtains? The Employee of the Year at Hefty, attending a trash-bag-themed ball in her honor? An incredibly depressed employee of JoAnn's Fabrics, who's wrapped herself in the glummest remnants and is about to write a long, long diary entry about how the selvage of her soul will never end up in the rag bag of your heart, but will instead occupy the center of a quilt of truth and justice, stuffed with the cotton batting of justice and understanding? I hope it's the last one.
Posted by Jessica at 10:48 AM | Permalink
October 29, 2007
So, I have this issue with Cashmere Mafia - which has to premiere soonish, I guess, we're practically at November sweeps here, people -- which is that I keep getting it confused with Lipstick Jungle (which I guess doesn't start until after the NFL season is over, and then I won't watch it anyway, because it's on during Brothers and Sisters and the other night I had this dream that I was married to Balthazar Getty and we were REALLY HAPPY [ironically, I had a similar dream back when I was in 10th grade] and I can't not watch the show featuring the man to whom I was so blissfully dream-wedded ). I am sure I am not the only person doing this, since they sound exactly the same (if only the CW would throw their hat into the ring with Pedicure Coven and CBS would close the circle with Tampax Warriors). AND Patricia "Sex and the City" Field is doing the outfits for Cashmere Mafia even though the Candace Bushnell book-based one is the OTHER one. In fact, I had a whole conversation with Heather the other day about the book Cashmere Mafia is based on and how I found it surprisingly entertaining and good and then I realized that I really meant Lipstick Jungle and oh my god, just keeping them straight is making my head spin and that's not even taking into account the fact that they will probably both suck, but might have interesting clothes. You know, like this:
[Photo: Splash News]
All I can say is that PLEASE GOD this better be a situation where they're just filming her from the waist up, because if we're all supposed to be wearing fabulous gold suits that probably cost like thousands and thousands of dollars with UGGS(!), then I can NOT be held responsible for my actions, which will probably -- no, definitely -- include violent acts illegal in several states and a whole heck -- a whole HELL of a lot -- of swearing.
But I do like Lucy's lipstick.
Posted by Jessica at 01:03 PM | Permalink
Strawberries for the Fugless
Though I recently read that our gal Phoebe Price is making a film titled Strawberries for the Homeless (which...you know what? I really don't even want to know), it seems to me that her most recent appearance should more accurately be called Wallpaper for Dressmaking:
I do like the idea, however, that this dress matches her bedroom walls, and that when she puts it on, she runs around pretending to be a floating head and a pair of legs.
Posted by Jessica at 12:06 PM | Permalink