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October 29, 2007

The Year of Getting to Know Fug

Oh, Sharon Stone. You're so crazy/fabulous. I hardly ever seen you anymore, unless you're out being the amfAR spokeswoman and official auctioneer, which is, admittedly, an excellent reason for you to leave the house. And, if I may be frank, I miss you and your glamorous/wacky shenanigans. I sort of wish you were my neighbor, honestly. I feel like you probably secretly cook, and therefore would bring over cookies sometimes, and then we'd stand out by the pool and gossip about how the guy across the street is always wearing short shorts and wonder how his wife puts up with it, and then I'd tell you all my dating woes, and you'd snort that YOU married a guy who got bit by a dragon at the zoo and everyone's always making cracks about having seen you panty-less before it was popular, so I should just shut up and enjoy myself, and then you'd realize you were missing Dr. Phil and we'd both go back inside. If I were Debby Boone, I'd say that you light up my life. If I were Bette Midler, I'd note that you are the wind behind my wings. If I were Dolly Parton and/or Whitney Houston, I would croon that I will always love you, Sharon. But because I am me, I have to first do that and then note that  -- whether your wrap here is faux or vrai -- NO ONE needs a fur wrap the size of a king-size duvet, not even you:

You look...well, crazy/fabulous, of course, but mostly crazy because -- leaving aside the question of how many bears or whatever had to die for that thing and/or how many faux fur makers worked their fingers to the bone stitching it -- that thing is so big, you basically just look like you're lugging your bedspread down to the cleaners after a particularly rough night of extremely formal party hopping.

Not to mention the fact that a wrap larger than some studio apartments, by definition, obscures the rest of your dress, which is actually very chic:

Hee. Sorry, I just really wanted to find a way to use this picture. Although, in all fairness, that dress DOES look fabulous and glamourous. So why hide your light under a bushel of bears, I ask you?

Posted by Jessica at 11:07 AM in Sharon Stone | Permalink

Fuggy Washington

This dress adds ten pounds to Kerry Washington that I'm fairly sure she wishes would go back to the theoretical realm whence they came, or at least go and plague photos of somebody else whom she doesn't like very much.

Still, that's what you get when you don something from Mr. Snuffleupagus's ready-to-wear line -- sure, he may be a sensitive friend with the kind of cruelly long eyelashes that could make any girl weep with jealousy, but the dude doesn't really understand how to design for a woman's body.

Posted by Heather at 10:01 AM | Permalink

Nicole Fugman

Is this what it's come to, Nicole?

No one's really talking about you as an actress any more, so your solution is to shuffle down the red carpet with your carefully shaggy husband while wearing a see-through dress and shoes, the latter of which look like you just got through performing "Let's Go To The Movies" in your dressing room while a scrappy red-headed orphan followed you around and pretended to understand all the cultural references you were making at her? Honey, listen, I know we were in a fight after Bewitched and everything, and it's upsetting that you won't go back to the red hair that is so much more flattering on your frozen face, but you didn't need to make a cry for attention. I mean, if ANYONE should be crying out for our help or attention in these weird times, it's Kat(i)e Holmes, and yet you don't see her skipping around behind Tom trying to draw people's focus from his troublingly boyish Valkyrie coif by giving us a peek at her lingerie.

But at least you're wearing a coat, and aren't likely to take that off any time soon, OBVIOUSLY, since you are not wearing a real dress.

Oh, except:

"Delta," she seems to be about to say to her shiny companion. "Is that somebody waving and pointing at me over there? What's he trying to say? Something about London and France? Oh well. It's too bright to tell. I guess I'll just ignore him."

I'm PRETTY sure she won't bend over, though.

[Photo: infdaily.com]

Oh, come ON. I feel like that girl to her left is all, "Dude, check out my camera -- I totally got a shot of her ass before she came over here. I think I have that thong at home. Can you see it? It's not blurry, is it? Should I take another one?"

Nicole... girl, please. You played a courtesan in Moulin Rouge who was more modest. There's a point at which I will accept the old, "Whoops, I didn't do a flash test before I left the house," but this is beyond accidental. Sure, I appreciate enjoying your awesome figure before you're too old to bother any more, but nobody needs to see the solutions to all your corporeal mysteries. No thong endorsement campaign is worth that.

Posted by Heather at 08:30 AM | Permalink

October 26, 2007

A Shot at Fug

I suppose it's no surprise that MySpace's high priestess of nudity, Tila Tequila, would show up at an event modeling a number that appears to have been plucked from our girl Bai Ling's "Too Obvious" pile (which, in case you're wondering, is located on the floor of her closet between the "Too Nonchalant" and "Too Orange" piles -- Bai is big on alphabetizing).

And yet I admit to being surprised by the actual fact that high-waisted short-shorts THIS high-waisted and this INCREDIBLY short-short are actually available for purchase. I mean, these things are SHORT.  And while Tila of course is in great shape, that's kind of not the issue. I don't think it's revolutionary to feel that shorts shorter than boy-cut underwear should be worn with great, great discretion, and perhaps only as part of a burlesque performance. I think we've all had the experience of walking into, say, the 7-11, minding our own beeswax, just there for a Slurpee, and coming across another customer, one wearing terry cloth dolphin running shorts (for example) so wee that both of her butt cheeks are falling out of them. And generally, at that moment, you exchange  A Look with the guy behind the counter, and almost always the meaning behind The Look
is not, "HOT DAMN! Sexy ass flaps!" It's more often, "WOW. Someone needs to PUT IT AWAY, right?" Even when the short-shorts wearer is in amazing shape, it's just awkward to see that much rearflesh when you're out and about, whether you are at a red-carpet-having event or picking up another box of Red Vines. It makes everyone feel a little concerned about what might pop out next. And so although we now know definitively that it is possible to purchase what is essentially a bleached denim swimsuit and wear it to confession, or AA, or a party launching a new vodka, or Hot Topic, or whatever your errands may be, I beg you to spare a thought for the rest of us. Starting with you, Tila.

Posted by Jessica at 12:08 PM | Permalink


I'm sure Amy Adams's old school-y two piece number is all very fashion-forward, albeit in an incredibly monochromatic way:

But I can't help it. Every time I look at her in this, I think, "shoot! That reminds me: I have to buy wrapping paper."

Posted by Jessica at 11:00 AM | Permalink

Well Played AGAIN, Marcia Gay Harden

I think I'm developing a girl-crush on MGH right now. Although I can't call her that again, because it sounds like a beer -- like a hybrid blend called Miller Genuine High Life, billed as the Prosecco of beers rather than the champagne of them. And that's not fitting for Marcia Gay Harden, because she is nothing less than the champagne of hotties in this dress.

She looks fantastic -- age-appropriate but not stodgy; cute and fresh, but not like she's trying to emulate some fancy 18-year old pantyless coke fiend spreading her legs on the way out of a limo. And I think we all know how tempting it is to copy THAT behavior, so she's clearly mighty of will in addition to being formidably well-dressed. Bravo, non-skanky hot lady. Bravo.

Posted by Heather at 10:02 AM in Well Played | Permalink

Bee Fuggie

JERRY: Don't worry about a THING, Renee, it's all going to be FINE. Just keep smiling.

RENEE: Wait, what?

JERRY: I'm not gonna lie to you, it doesn't look good.

RENEE: You don't like it? Damn, that is cold. I thought it...

JERRY: It's not a matter of opinion. It's empirically awful. But smile through the pain and the night will be over soon.

RENEE: It's that bad, huh?

JERRY: Worse! It's NEWMAN bad.

RENEE: Oh, God, I had no idea. I could've sworn this was flattering.

JERRY: Not even a little! You were SO wrong!

RENEE: I guess I'll send it back then.

JERRY: Wait, that thing is a WIG?

RENEE: No, it's by... hang on. Wig? You're not talking about my dress?

JERRY: Hell no! Although come to think of it, the top DOES look a little prickly. But, no, I was talking about your hair. It's a nightmare!

RENEE: Well thank you, Jerry.

JERRY: It's like a giant crab climbed out of your bowl cut and has your head in its claws! WHAT is the DEAL with THAT?

RENEE: Ah, that old chestnut. You couldn't resist, huh?

JERRY: Renee... have you SEEN those NBeeC TV juniors spots I did? I can't resist ANYTHING any more.

Posted by Heather at 08:59 AM | Permalink

October 25, 2007

Well Played: Kristen Bell

It's so nice to see them get something right:

At last, at last, Wee Bell has realized that less is more on her weensy little frame! Not to mention the fact that this is an amazing color on her. Hmm, if she's sussed out the mysteries of her wardrobe, maybe it's not too much to hope that she'll manage to whip the current seriously lackluster season of Heroes into shape after all.

Posted by Jessica at 12:45 PM in Kristen Bell, Well Played | Permalink

Fug In Real Life

I have been staring at this photo for an hour now. I am finding every excuse to procrastinate dealing with the blank Typepad window: I swept the living room. I started some laundry. I contemplated cleaning the fridge. I even turned on The Tyra Banks Show. No, really.

But Juliette Binoche just won't go away.

Not to Studio 54, not to Xanadu: The Musical, not to hit pseudo-celebrity weight-loss program Dancing With The Stars. She won't even run back to the dungeon room where her evil stepsisters threw her, forcing a bunch of stoned mice and her Fairy Sienna Godmiller to throw together something that at least covered her bits enough to get her out of the house. No, Juliette is out and proud in that thing.

And listen, pride is great. It's also awesome that she's comfortable enough at 43 to be in Playboy this month in France, but seriously, "disco bag lady" is not Juliette Binoche's best look. She should really leave the vagrant style with Helena Bonham Carter, where it belongs.

Posted by Heather at 11:38 AM | Permalink

Lion For Fugs

TOM CRUISE: Ladies and gentleman! If I may draw your attention to the center ring! Her torso is longer than my entire body! I've haven't yet figured out how to force her to wear flats all the time! At home, I sometimes secretly call her Long Arms McGee! KATIE HOLMES!

KATIE HOLMES: This is so embarrassing, Tom. I'm not your Real Doll.

TOM: You kind of look like one! A really EXPENSIVE one. And I called you Katie! Katie Holmes! Wasn't that nice of me? Are my bangs too severe?

KATIE: I wish you wouldn't parade me around like this. It makes it hard for me to pull up my dress. Also, does it look like they somehow attached the skirt part of this thing backward? There's like this weird front bustle, and I can't figure....

TOM: My bangs, Katie! You didn't answer my question about my bangs! I took in a picture of Lily Allen to the hairdresser! Do you think I went too far?

KATIE: I'm beginning to think this whole thing has gone too far.


KATIE: Oh my god, can we just go inside now?

Posted by Jessica at 09:50 AM | Permalink


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