Kylie Fugogue

Listen, I am thrilled that Kylie Minogue should be so lucky, lucky-lucky-lucky, to get through an ordeal like breast cancer, and with such dignity. I've loved Kylie since she was Charlene on Neighbours and her and Scott's trailer with all their possessions in it exploded, and yet mysteriously the next week she was still wearing all the exact same loud sweaters and earrings. I was squealing right along with the other pre-teens when she and Jason Donovan (Scott) released that terrible, terrible love duet, "Especially For You," and was pretty convinced they needed to get married and have little neighbourly babies and be together FOREVER because CLEARLY THE SONG WAS REAL.

Anyway, my point is: love Kylie. But that doesn't mean I have to love how her hair is shaping itself now that she's growing a fuller head of it.

I'm going to ignore the glove, which is rather silly-looking -- I feel like Alexis would wear those on Dynasty if she felt like she might accidentally break a vase over the head of whatever businessman was refusing to give her the oil leases she so craves. But since I'm fairly sure Kylie isn't in any kind of criminal mood today, she should just put that thing away and keep her hand warm in a more practical, less Michael Jackson Throwback kind of way.

No, my chief concern here is how OLD that hair is. It could star in its own late-70s sitcom. It feeds on prunes, uses words like "upchuck" and "my stars" and calls Kylie "a darling girl," and gets pensioner discounts to all the tourist attractions in England. In, fact, when I first saw it, I immediately thought of one person in particular:

It's a very slippery follicular slope Kylie is on, and if she keeps spritzing it with Matron Spray, surely Camilla's feathered flips can't be too far behind. It's not that I don't understand the joys of regrowing her own hair after losing it to chemo, but Kylie has a new album out, she's still rocking her looks, and she needs a coif that's appropriate to the comeback of a lady whose bum once was named "Bottom Of The Year" in Britain.  Maybe some extensions?

Or at least some curls. I know Christina Aguilera kind of bogarted the Marilyn thing, though, so it's possible all that's left to Kylie if she insists on eschewing fake hair is to go all the damn way and take things in a a more amusingly old direction, evoking a more beloved lady -- one who has nestled into the crevices of even the darkest hearts:

Come on, can't you just see Kylie wriggling on-stage singing, "Can't Get You Out Of My Head," while paying cranial homage to The Great Rose Nyland? St. Olaf would never be prouder.

Random Fug

Christina DeRosa, the best I can tell from the information available on the interwebs, is one of those Actress/Models/Whatevers that abound here in Los Angeles like fleas on a feral cat.

In her case, the Whatever seems to involve having to dress like the lovechild of Joey Tribbiani that time he was working as the Hombre Cologne man, the weekend floor manager at the Gap, and a stripper with a gladiator fetish.

Fug Money

This may not be a popular opinion, but I don't know that I really hate Katie Holmes's new head suit that much:

In fact, I think she looks cute in it. Sure, it''s completely wig-esque, but it's a CUTE wig. A wig I suspect the people over at Rhonda's Wig Emporium and Hairapalooza call The Suri. And yes, I am interested to see how it looks when it's not combed so meticulously. And, sure, I had that exact same cut when I was six years old. But overall, I find it rather...kicky. There. I said it. KICKY.

I do have a small issue with the rest of this look, though:

Is it me, or does her peat-moss shrug make her newly kicky be-wigged noggin look kind of small? Perhaps she should have considered a coordinating Astroturf turban to balance it all out.

Fug or Fab: Rihanna

Obviously, Rihanna is young and hip, and blessed to be born with a great figure. These are things we know. They're undisputable, alongside things like Brett Favre's badass-osity and Beyonce needing to get off my television set for a while (seriously, how many endorsements is she doing right now? Where does it end? I mean, while it's running, we might as well run that train straight through Tinactin City and Massengil Avenue).

So I'm somewhat confused as to why this otherwise youthful and fresh-faced hottie would go out in an ensemble that downplays all of those things:

[Photo: infdaily.com]

God knows I love an animal print, but not when it turns her into a walking, talking Leopard Sausage. The cut adds weight to her midriff and looks so tight and uncomfortable that, once she finally pours herself OUT of that thing, she'll be taking nothing but deep breaths for a month. And she can forget about nibbling on the crudité. The whole effect ages her, like she borrowed her clothes from Sharon Stone. Except Rihanna is TWENTY and Sharon is... not. I guess it's true that youth is often wasted on the young. 

However, if anyone ever decides to make a randy think piece called How Lily Munster Got Her Groove Back, I think we've found our leading lady.

Or am I overreacting? Does Rihanna rise above it?

poll by twiigs.com

Nip/Fug

Dear Joely Richardson,

I didn't like this on Mischa Barton, and I don't care for it on you. (Speaking of the erstwhile Marissa Cooper, where has she gotten to? I miss that crazy headband-wearing kid.) There's something about it that just screams Cocktail Waitress At Spaceman's! Disneyland's Misguided, Quasi-Futuristic Tomorrowland Bar, Soon To Be Replaced By a Giant Make-Your-Own Churro Stand. And surely you can understand that the only reference to spacemen that we can accept are those referring to Dr. Leo Spaceman, my favorite television doctor ever. Get back to me when you're wearing a tee shirt with Chris Parnell's face on it, and we'll talk.

Fug the Cover: Christina Aguilera

Well, this is one way to officially confirm your pregnancy:

As well as your tragic addiction to bronzer, last night's eye liner and those bitchin' cropped jackets of fashion's proudest decade, the 80s. There IS something hilarious about this photo being juxtaposed with the headline, "Tanning, bleaching, botox: ARE YOU OBSESSED?" as Xtina here looks to be deeply in thrall to at least two of said vices. I'm just not quite sure what either Our Lady of the Bleach or Marie Claire were thinking: Christina's been nothing if not sexily classing it up since marrying her baby daddy, and while there is a less tacky way to pose nude on the cover of a magazine...this ain't it.

Well Played, Kristen Bell

Our roller-coaster of a relationship with Kristen Bell's fashion sense continues apace:

[Photo: infdaily.com]

Nice cleavage, babe! And you actually look kind of tall with that empire waist. Your makeup also perfectly complements the red in the dress, and in case I didn't mention it strongly enough before, I really meant it: Nice cleavage. Enjoy not having to wear a bra while you can, little girl. Gravity will chafe your navel soon enough.

Still, I do spy a few wrinkles -- I do still think there's a REASON "satin" is only one vowel away from being "Satan" -- but I'll let it slide because the overall effect is so good. Furthermore, the satin isn't nearly as crinkled and crunched as I've seen it before, and really, it's hard to hide from that fabric forever. Sometimes it's unavoidable, like a pimple, or Brad Garrett. You just have to accept it as part of life, learn to live happily anyway, and hope you own a really wicked travel steamer. For the satin, that is. I've never known a travel steamer to work on Brad Garrett. But then again, maybe it's just that nobody has tried.

Celebrity Coif Watch: Matt Dallas

So, I've never actually watched Kyle XY. I only barely know what a "Matt Dallas" even is, except that he has an amusingly fake-sounding moniker, like his real last name was something sort of kinky and weird -- or, something taken, like Perry or Damon-- and so he threw a dart at a U.S. map and picked the city it hit as his new alias. Other than that, though, the man who could've been Matt Rambo Riviera is an enigma to me. Well, okay, I've seen him shirtless on all show posters, designed to help us marvel at Mr. XY's lack of belly button, but I'm assuming that's not an affliction Matt Chocolate Bayou contends with in real life. So this leads me back to him being a total blank to me.

What I definitely did not know about Matt Loveladies is that he apparently wears carpet samples on his head.

Seriously, that might well be Matt Gaylordsville's real hair, but it looks like you could lift that thing off and cast it as Toto in a community theater production of The Wizard of Oz.

Fug or Fab: Lily Allen

So, I thought Lily Allen was cute to begin with, but I have to say she's been looking great lately. I know she's lost some weight because she allegedly has a heart murmur or something -- and I want to stress that I certainly didn't think she needed to lose it in the first place -- but apparently the introduction of cardio to her life agrees with her, because she is looking fantastic. I should remember this next time when I'm playing my favorite game, Tostito Or Treadmill? (Tostito usually wins. The treadmill is boring, while chips are FASCINATING.)

ANYHOODLE, she's looking cuter than ever lately, except for how I am really not sure what the deal is with this dress:

Like, from the collarbone up: AWESOME. From the collarbone down: Wow, that's a lot going on. The color is good on her, but I can't help picturing several kindergarten classes slaving away to cut out all those leaves to exactly the right specifications. Won't someone think of the children?

polls by twiigs.com...

What Fug To Wear

We've noted several times that we're pretty sure Trinny Woodall has made herself a walking What Not To Wear, so as to underscore more emphatically the whole point of her show. In that, I have to admire her consistency, at least. And her commitment. Not many people are as determined as she:

I mean, in order to get this dress in an adult size, she would've had to take the version she obviously found in the Harrod's children's department clearance rack and have a tailor recreate it as skintight as possible. THAT is dedication. If only she were as devoted to opening her mouth and dumping chocolate malts down the hatch.

Fugshia Cole

Long johns are great: They're warm, they're comfortable, and they will get you through a frigid winter when your boiler breaks and the house is freezing and you're out of firewood and you're forced to blow-dry the layer of ice that has grown on the INSIDE of your living-room wall because the nice men replacing your heating system are taking two weeks to figure out how to get the ruined one up the basement stairs. Indeed, given my history with broken boilers, it's fair to say that I truly love long johns. [And Slim Jims. And Long John, as in Silver. Not only was he literature's most influential depiction of a pirate, but he started a very special chain of fried-food restaurants.]

I would not, however, declare my love of long johns by wearing them on TRL.

Keyshia Cole has actually put together a top here that defies visual comprehension.  It seems to be a stretchy camisole, a tank top, a wool sweater, and a corset all in one -- like if Eddie Bauer and Victoria's Secret merged and created a line of lingerie you would wear to seduce a man in an igloo. And hey, if you ARE going to leave the house wearing your thermal finest, that is a great shirt to pick, because 90 percent of people will be too busy staring at it in consternation to notice that you're not wearing pants.

But the thing is, I am in that ten percent of people who can't stop wondering whether some mischievous rapscallion convinced Keyshia that in winter, long johns are the ONLY true pants. And then suddenly all I can think of is how much she reminds me of that tired time when you get back to the hotel after a day of skiing and you are peeling off your layers to take a shower, but it's taking FOREVER because you are so bundled up, and OH my GOD, how it is possible that you've still only gotten as far as your long underwear, and it's all so exhausting that you're forced to take a quick break from the undressing and then suddenly you have accidentally spent the last two hours on the couch in your room watching the entire International Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament on ESPN 4 and rooting for the dude in the pirate outfit.

Which brings us back to Long John Silver, and finally, full circle to long johns. Which, despite the length of my digression, STILL ARE NOT PANTS. Listen, the holidays are right around the corner. Can't someone gift Keyshia with a nice pair of jeans?

Well Played, Kelly Osbourne/But Then There's Kimberly Stewart

Why, it was just last week that I was all, "oh, Kelly, what's wrong with your make-up? Oh, Kelly, what's wrong with your hair? Kelly, why are you dressing up like Liza Minnelli? Kelly Kelly Kelly Kelly Kelly Kelly Kelly." (Sorry, that was just a reflex.) And it's like she was LISTENING:

How adorable she looks! How pixie-like! How prettily made up! I feel like a proud mama, although not like her proud mama, because if I were to suddenly start feeling like Sharon Osbourne...well, I guess now that I think about it, Sharon could actually probably very easily step in for me here if I were to have both of my arms broken by Jessica Simpson in a tussle over the last butterscotch pop down at See's Candies or something.

In other news, there's Kimberly Stewart:

How much does she think she's Posh, circa three months ago? You know, Outdated Posh.

polls by twiigs.com...

The Golden Fugpass

Nicole Kidman is many things: a fairly talented actress, allegedly the author of a yet-to-be-published tell-all about her marriage to Tom Cruise, and best as a redhead. She is not yet, however, to my knowledge, an Upper East Side matron on her way to the board meeting of her favorite charity. Not that you'd know it from this:

[Photo: infdaily.com]

I once worked at a company we'll call The Button Factory, although it was not a factory and buttons weren't involved, unless you were telling me which ones you wanted on your custom, $25,000 ottoman. And at The Button Factory, I worked for a woman we'll call Mulva. And Mulva was awesome. She swept into that office every day looking like a million bucks, in short little Chanel suits and very high heels and expertly coiffed hair, generally carrying a package that had been FedExed to her from Gump's in San Francisco containing a tiger-shaped broach with rubies for eyes. She had booze at every business lunch and she once stared deep into my eyes and said, "honey, the whites of your eyes are the whitest I've EVER SEEN." She would have snapped up this entire ensemble from Nicole, shortened the skirt, and worn the heck out of it.

Of course, she was also seventy-five years old.

I Fug Who Killed Me

And here, ladies and gentleman, we have Miss Lindsay Lohan:

[Photo: Splash News]

From the neck up, she's all Incognito (hat AND sunglasses! I wonder if she left her fake mustache in the car). But her boobs have not signed off on this whole Media Attention Is Overrated and Unwelcome thing. Oh, no, they haven't. And those boobs, they are INCORRIGIBLE. They will NOT be contained.  They pop out of things of their own accord and they are FIGHTING the concept that they -- and, by association, Lindsay -- want to take things easy and be low key now. No, those boobs have been locked up in Utah for MONTHS, and now they're MAKING A BREAK FOR IT.

And they're bringing the leggings with them.

Fug & Bide

Sarah-Jane Clarke provides the "Sass" portion of Aussie label Sass & Bide.

She also looks as if she'd happily provide a scoop of Tiramisu-flavored delights at a trendy burlesque club/gelato bar. I hear its take on a banana split is something to behold.

Fuggo: The Genetic Fug

[Photo: Splash News]

"Hi, Nicky, it's me. Your sister. The blond one who isn't you. Some people call me Paris, although I made that one guy call me Lady Cleavage of the Nude the other night and I kind of liked that better because I don't have to share that name with anyone. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I went through your lingerie drawer after I read your diary -- um, not that your diary has anything to do with this, but I did think it was funny when you wrote "Mary-HATE"  instead of "Mary-Kate" and then drew a devil face on the "O" in "Olsen." Where was I, though? Oh right, your vibrator drawer. I borrowed a slip from you, because after all that itchy, sweaty stretchy velvet, I couldn't handle the idea of that much fabric. YOU know how much I'd always rather be naked. I mean, for one thing, you read it when Man-Paris glued that "I'd Rather Be Naked" bumper sticker to my ass and I kept it for a year just so people would know. Plus, I figure that I wore more material in that one dress than I had the entire YEAR put together! I totally earned the right to wear your nightie with tights. So just deal with it. What's yours is mine, anyway, because I'm older, and that's how it works, which is why I also copied David Katzenberg's number out of your cell-thingy. Okay? Sweet! So... uh, yeah. Call me back when you get this, or one of my other messages. Whatever. Do you have my number? I don't know it but I know it has a three in there somewhere. Bye! Love, Paris. Oh, P.S., I got my shoes from Goodwill. HA! Take THAT, all you people who think I don't do charity work." 

Fugatha Ruiz de la Prada

Clothing designer Agatha Ruiz de la Prada is apparently not shy with color.

I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that this was once a giant ribbon dispenser attached to the wall of Candy Spelling's reserve wrapping room (used mostly when The Help are busy dusting the other one), and sold on eBay so she could replace it with something larger that might also act as some kind of booby trap against the prying eyes of her children.

We're not strangers to Agatha here at GFY HQ; in fact, we've featured her before as a prime candidate for an "It's A Fug World, After All," ride in which creepy and inanely attired dolls croon hymns of fuggery while you ladel shots from a booze river designed to help you convince yourself it is all a terrible, aggressive hallucination. This outfit might have to appear at a special vodka bar, where you can dock your boat and hold your glass under taps dispensing any number of flavored spirits.

And yet, it might also be considered one of her tamer ensembles.

All hail the heretofore forgotten and hugely batty Good Witch of the South -- who, owing to her blinding lack of restraint and inability to do actual witchcraft, had to make a living in Emerald City as a freelance cobbler and craft-store owner before being chased out of town for upstaging the Horse Of A Different Color and attempting to turn this dress into a scratch-and-sniff game for lonely adult men. Still, she did manage to sell a pair of glittering ruby slippers to that rich, rotten, warty old crone from the East, and we all know how that went, so in a sense the story has a happy -- if slightly bone-crushing -- ending.

Fugstralian Idol

MATT CORBY: Hey, Natalie, congratulations on beating me out to win Australian Idol. Nobody thought you would, of course, but you did, and that's nice for you.

NATALIE GAUCI: Thanks, Matt! Gosh, I'm just so thrilled. I do think maybe this is an occasion where you could've tucked in your shirt -- maybe that was bad karma?

MATT: Oho, don't you worry about me, lady. I'm going to make it HUGE as a Zac Efron impersonator. Just a little bronzer and some dilated pupils and a little off the back, and I'm there. But what are YOU going to do?

NATALIE: What do you mean? I'm going to sing!

MATT: I was referring to your dress. What is anybody going to want from someone who looks like she got knocked up by a plastic-lei factory?

NATALIE: I don't think...

MATT: I GUESS you could sing your new single at luaus. Meanwhile I'm CERTAIN I'll be doing, like, High School Musical 10 and Hairspray 3 and all that stuff, because even though Zac Efron won't be fresh forever, those stories will be!

NATALIE: We'll just see, Matt. We'll just see.

MATT: We will. Call me, Zac! I need to know what kind of self-tanner and straight-iron you use!

Fugfessions of an Heiress

You know, Paris Hilton takes a lot of crap -- including from us -- about all kinds of things: cultivating a public persona of vapid vacuity as though that were a state to be aspired to; public drunkenness and driving under the influence; and all the needless nudity and sex tapery. But you can't say she never did anything for us:

Frankly, it's downright brave of her to demonstrate the dangers of stretch velvet in public like this. Think of all the people she's saved from heinous crimes of figure-assault this holiday season alone!

Fugga Ward

I know this is one of those dresses that I'm supposed to look at and go, "OH MY GOD, DARLING! It's so chic! So now! So very very! So too too! So fall fall! I MUST have it! Have you seen that cater waiter? I need another glass of champagne."

And yet, while I love the fabric, it really just makes me say, "Damn, girl, invest in some Static Guard! Have you seen that cater waiter? I need another glass of champagne."

Happy Fugging Thanksgiving

On this delicious Thanksgiving holiday, we here at GFY HQ give thanks for many things: the vast amounts of Diet Coke nestled coolly in our refrigerators, our  lovely and extremely good-looking readers, and the fact that this woman currently resides on American soil:

Posh, we don't care what anyone else says. We love you, and want to take you shopping. Although, to be frank, we DO expect you to pay.

And we expect our American readers to enjoy a happy and healthy Thanksgiving, during which you stuff yourself full of terribly caloric delights and spend several blissed-out hours in front of the television. In fact, we wish all of our readers a lovely, lazy couple of days, because we believe that a hearty appreciation of delicious treats and mind-numbing televisual sweets is a global trait that should be encouraged, if only so we all are together in wondering why our pants feel so darn tight come Monday morning.

We'll be back with more bitchery then. Happy Thanksgiving!

The Amazing Fug

Rebecca Cardon here is probably best known to you as one of two things: 1) for dating a man whose MOTHER cut his TOENAILS for him, DESPITE HIM BEING OVER THREE YEARS OF AGE (as I noted to my friend Carrie at the time, "I didn't even know I had to SPECIFY that I was in the market for a man who was capable of cutting his own nails") and then taking him on The Amazing Race, and 2) being a trainer on Work Out, which I find strangely compelling and also feel guilty about finding compelling in the least.

She looks almost unrecognizable here -- new extensions? Yes. New facial features? I'd never say either way definitively, but something looks new and different and I can't quite put my finger on what, so I thought I'd take that digit and point it accusingly. Of course, the biggest issue with her is that she's wearing the dress equivalent of oatmeal -- bland, too-big, and overly long. Wait, that has nothing to do with oatmeal, and also makes no sense. In fact, I rather like oatmeal, and who doesn't like a nice oatmeal cookie? Maybe this is more like the dress equivalent of gruel, in that it... is something you might be given if you woke up one morning in a Dickens novel? No, that hardly ever happens anymore. Perhaps it's like the dress equivalent of...um... mucus.... in that... it.... Oh, forget it. I don't know. It's almost Thanksgiving and I am fresh of out of similes and/or metaphors. All my metaphor space has been taken up with yams. Hey, maybe this dress is like a yam in that -- okay, I'm just going to shut down that train of thought. Let's just say that I don't care for this dress, and I don't find it flattering, although I suppose it makes sense that someone who dated someone whose mother -- did I mention this? -- was still trimming his toenails might have laps of ye olde judgement from time to time.

Miranda Fugchardson

Miranda Richardson is seriously fantastic. Of the bajillion things on her resume that are recognizable, I think my all-time favorite is her hilariously awesome take on Queen Elizabeth I in Blackadder II. I'm sure my sisters would prefer that I hadn't picked up so many superb tips and tricks on being a brat from my childhood exposure to this series; they're just lucky I didn't respond as well to how fun she made it look to run around ordering people's necks to the chopping block.

I would, however, dearly love to send this dress to Tower Hill to meet a violent end:

Queenie would knock her block off on charges of high treason against England if she saw Miranda swanning around the red carpet in that hideous maternity sack, which also appears to be an ill-advised tribute to wicker chairs. Indeed, before coming down hard against this self-bloating junior-level caftan, I decided to double-check that she's not pregnant -- which presumably she is not, as she and her marvelous skin are almost a very youthful fifty. Way to go, Moisturizer. So there's really no good reason for her to look stumpy and bloated, other than the unwitting purchase of a fun-house mirror that had her convinced this thing fit like sausage casing.

Incidentally, in doing all this careful research about her womb, we also learned she has a cuddly pet axolotl -- a.k.a. a Wooper Rooper, if you live in Japan. (Not to be confused with waterdogs, though, no matter how tempting it is to make that mistake.) All of which means absolutely nothing here, unless she has been dabbling in a little family planning of a different sort, and simply forgot to change out of her axolotl-husbandry smock. Maybe yellow blotches, wrinkles, and phantom fetuses really get a pubescent neotenic mole salamander in the mood for love. At least that way, SOME creature would approve of this dress, although she should really act on the advice of a human next time.

American Music Awards Fug Carpet: Alicia Keys

There's a lot I don't understand about Alicia Keys. Like, say, why I am so sick of all her songs, or why she's on the cover of Entertainment Weekly and I still can't muster up the energy to read anything more than the headline on her story before I flip ahead to the big ol' dishy piece on Gossip Girl (although I'll grant that last one probably says a lot more about me than it does about Alicia, and parenthetically, if that show would just give in already and hire Joan Collins to be some kind of grande dame of English society trying to infiltrate the Upper East -- possibly as man-whore Chuck's unexpectedly British grandmother -- I would die happy).

Chiefly, though, I don't understand why Alicia would decide to change out of this:

[Photo: Splash News]

To this:

Nothing about Alicia Keys' music screams "jazz hands" to me -- or even jazz hands' awkward prepubescent cousin, spirit fingers. But I really don't get why she's decided that her "most personal album YET," or whatever tedious, desperate sales-speak she's using, demands slinky flared jumpsuits that might've even gotten her laughed out of Studio 54. Is Alicia Keys' soul addicted to one-piece outfits? Is it curled up in footie pajamas at night and cavorting in rompers by day, begging for external recognition of its proclivities? Is she just completely freaking crazy? Or did she sell her soul to Satan in exchange for better eye makeup and a few good hair days?

Not that I want to imply anything -- personally, I suspect the answer lies somewhere in option C -- but there might be some evidence lending credence to the latter theory.

See? A cloven hoof. Maybe it IS the work of the devil.

American Music Awards Fug Carpet: The Ladies Knowles

Listen, we all know Beyonce is bodacious -- or bootylicious, if you want to get into quoting Destiny's Child, which I'm sure Those Other Two Girls would appreciate since otherwise they're not getting a tremendous amount of love these days. And I remain eternally pleased that, rather than keep to the Dreamgirls-era stories of "How Beyonce Gave Up Fried Chicken" and "Beyonce's Sexy New Body," Miss B has in fact put the ten pounds back on and returned to her sexy OLD body, because she is not mental, and thereby understands that a life without fried chicken is not a life anyone should have to lead.

Still: Why satin, B?

This woman should look glorious in everything, all the time, and instead she gravitates toward the kind of grandiose satiny confections that end up buying property and building a mansion on the trashy side of divalicious. Also, Beyonce, you're all lovely and curvy, so don't detract from that by wearing a dress that bunches and pulls like it's a size too small an your mom struggled to sew you into it an hour ago, and told you not to DARE drink or eat anything, or else GOOD LUCK GOING TO THE BATHROOM.

Not to mention that the poor, brave halter strap is doing heroic work up there. I hope she's encouraging it with a lot of compliments and other positive reinforcement, because the second it feels bitter and taken for granted, it's going to pop and then the club won't be the only thing that's bouncin', bouncin'. (You're welcome AGAIN, Those Other Two Girls.)(Edited to add that, apparently, they won't be thanking me because the club is "jumpin', jumpin," which is a whole different chestal-region issue indeed. Oh well. You get the point: They're going to fall out of there, and I don't like Destiny's Child.)

Apparently sartorial tragedy runs in the family -- no surprise since mama Tina Knowles fancies herself a designer and stylist. Check out what that other forgotten girl, Beyonce's sister Solange, decided to wear:

We're all really happy they're letting you out of the house, honey, but don't belt a gift bag and think you're making yourself our Christmas present. For one thing, it makes you look like you could only fit through a door if you side-stepped, which I'm sure is not true; for another, there isn't enough egg nog in the world that could erase the embarrassment of sitting down in the theater and watching your skirt arrange itself around your thighs like a giant gold-leaf wedding cake at Celine Dion's next lavish vow renewal. And let's face it, if Santa popped by to drop you down my chimney, that skirt would fly clear up and all we'd have under our tree would be a pair of legs and some sooty knickers. And nobody wants that. Unless of course we're watching it on Lifetime and it's called Jingle Buns.

American Music Awards Fug Carpet: Rihanna

Oh my god, Rihanna:

I'm pretty sure this is...supposed to be layered over something. Like an actual shirt, say.  In a way, I have to commend you for going all-out with your theme here (apparently, it is Clothing Items Which Are Missing Whole, Vital Pieces of Themselves LIKE FINGERS Or A THIRD OF YOUR BOOBS) and I appreciate how fresh and relaxed your hair and make-up is, but...okay, listen. I'm going to cut the complimentary crap for a sec. Sure, you're cute and young and have a huge hit song and are probably now richer than God, but all that means that you have FAR MORE resources than the rest of us schmoes (like money, and advisors, and the best reflective surfaces said money can buy and the best handypersons available to hang them) , and, ergo, should not find yourself out in public with a quasi-vest non-shirt that comes complete with clear plastic straps designed to prevent your nipples from making a desperate run for it.

American Music Awards Fug Carpet: Carrie Underwood

For someone who seems like kind of a classy girl -- she doesn't talk much about her personal relationships in the press, she seems to wear all the appropriate undergarments, and she can certainly wail -- sometimes Carrie Underwood shows up places looking like she just raided Tabitha's Tack-o-Emporium and Ice-Dance Fire Sale:

I mean, okay, I'm glad she's not showing off her traditional Bustier-With-Train-Over-Jeans look, and, sure,  her legs look fantastic, but Lil' Miss Before He Cheats here also looks like she's about fifteen seconds away from strapping on ye olde figure skates and showing us all how to perform a proper double axel.

American Music Awards Fug Carpet: Kid Rock

Dear Kid Rock:

WE GET IT. We didn't love it when you did it in stained tank tops and a quasi-mullet, we didn't care for it when Keith Urban took on the partial version of this look, and we STILL think it's stupid and vain even though you have cut your hair and borrowed Timberlake's fedora. The brunette, who looks like she's wearing a matching sling on her back for you to slide your hand into when it's cold, is not helping either. We GET that apparently you want us to look upon your life as one long beer commercial, okay? POINT MADE. Now can you please INVEST IN A SHIRT? Seriously. LOOK INTO FABRIC. YOU ARE MAKING ME SHOUTY. LOOK HOW LOUDLY I AM YELLING NOW.

A keg would quiet me down, though, I think. I'm just saying. It's not that I can be bought -- it's that I can be made too blurry and confused to notice that your chest is not a shirt.

Enfuganted

I was originally resistant to the concept of Amy Adams's new movie, Enchanted, on the grounds that it looked really corny. Then I remembered that I am really corny and will at the very least end up watching it on HBO one night and possibly crying into my kettle corn over an as-yet-unspecified moment in the movie. I mean, I cry at Whirlpool commercials, so there you go.

If I do burst into tears, I will probably LONG to have A-Squared's dress here within arms' reach:

A bit spit-ball inspired, no? But it looks like it would be nice and soft on my nose, at the very least, and certainly it's convenient to have what looks like 750-900 wadded up balls of Kleenex collected in one handy garment.

PS: I'm not going to make some kind of groan-inducing WHITHER YOUR GLASS SLIPPER, PRINCESS?!?! crack here, I promise, but....next time you think about going out in a creamy sack of any ilk, I would suggest maybe a metallic shoe. Less breakable than glass, less jarring than these, right?

Fugsana Baiul

Oksana Baiul just turned 30 on Friday, and as I made this same decade-change three months earlier, I feel like I have a lot of valuable wisdom to impart to my favorite fugtacular figure-skating sprite. For instance, I might suggest binning her entire wardrobe and starting from scratch -- for real; its not good.

[Photo: Splash News]

I also might have sat her down and said that, while dressing like a pregnant eggplant sure SOUNDS like a fun and memorable way to kiss off one's twenties, she might regret it later in life. Like when she is only known among pre-schoolers for her series of moving home-video figure-skating presentations entitled, "Play With Your Food," in which she stars as a friendly aubergine attempting to demonstrate the nutritional value of mixing things up by associating with different parts of the pyramid. The stirring pas-de-deux between her and the dude who plays lasagna noodles will be worth the price of admission. So, hey, what do I know -- maybe this outfit is going to make her a bajilionaire. But I'm still more concerned it will instead make her the unwitting virtual president of a food fetishists' club.

Random Fug: Rebecca Ryan

If you are styling a 16-year old British actress starring on a show called Shameless, please don't let her out of the house in an outfit that attempts to prove her show title is apt:

[Photo: Splash News]

This kid is going to look at this picture in five years and be like, "Seriously, you people let me wear that? Why? What is wrong with you? I WAS NOT DANCING IN THE NUTCRACKER."

Still, don't worry, Rebecca. We ALL wore stuff when we were 16 that would make us cry today. Like vests, or cropped sweaters the likes of which Valerie on 90210 would wear with extremely high-waisted, possibly pegged jeans. So when you DO flip past this photo in your family album in several years' time, comfort yourself with the knowledge that -- while it IS a misguided deployment of a tutu -- it's not any of those other things. And hey, if a foot-breaking epidemic sweeps through the entire cluster of ballerinas slated to play Clara this year, you can step in and save Christmas.

Fugged and Confused

I really do like Parker Posey, if only on the strength of her performance in Dazed and Confused. Sometimes, I think of the scene in which her character is hazing incoming freshman and screaming at them, "Fry like bacon!", and reflect that, truly, we've all wanted someone to fry at one point or another in our lives. Usually, it's our boss or someone we're no longer having sex with, but I wonder if Parker is going to wake up this morning and wish a heated, crispy fate upon her stylist:

From the neck up, she looks as winsome and youthful as ever, but the rest of her resembles a woman sneaking out of her house first thing in the morning to grab the newspaper, clutching some kind of medical waste disposal bag, perhaps because she's embarrassed to toss it into her own trash and has decided that, as long as she's outside first thing in the morning in her bathrobe to get the paper, she might as well toss it into her neighbor's cans.

To which I say, if you're going to go that way, might as well toss all your empty wine bottles while you're at it.

Project Fugway

Everybody loves Heidi Klum! Project Runway is so entertaining! She's so pretty! She seems really happy with Seal! She's a savvy business woman! She's got great hair!

And so I can't ding her for wearing something shiny and sparkly and short to a Victoria's Secret function. For one thing,  Victoria's Secret is all about shiny and sparkly and short. For another, she's totally pulling it off.

Unfortunately, kind of literally:

Wow. I mean...yeah. That's....I don't know how I feel about butt cleav. Even on someone as charming and attractive as Heidi Klum. Like, I just don't think I need to see that much of someone's ass in public, even if I do like them. Hot plumber's crack is still crack.

polls by twiigs.com...

Fuugs

Oh, MK. When first I saw this, I thought, "Oh, MK. Why are you wearing a high-fashion version of the beach over-up my Great Aunt Doris bought in San Juan in 1986?"

I mean, no offense to my Great Aunt Doris -- she was awesome, and used to buy me acid-washed Guess jean jackets and other items deeply coveted by junior high school students without regard to what my mother would allow -- but she was a sun-worshiping, chain-smoking septuagenarian. And MK is...well, 21.

And then I realized that this is not merely the high-fashion version of my Great Aunt Doris's 80s Puerto Rican Vacation Cover-Up, but it is also A ROMPER. Did you hear me? I said it was A ROMPER! This moves her from the realm of Something Your Elderly But Still Sassy Relative Would Wear on a Tropical Jaunt and into What The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man Wears On Summer Vacation.

You know, if he were taking strip class there. That's quite a pair of shoes.

Celebrity Skeeve Watch: Ryan Cabrera

It's hard to imagine that dating Ashlee Simpson might have been the apex of Ryan Cabrera's short career and life, but seriously, would anyone have known that he's in the studio working on his third album -- or that he even has more than one album out already -- if Wikiepedia weren't around to clutch our sad, ignorant heads to its ample virtual bosom?

As it is, I only know Ryan Cabrera is still around because he is having severe hair trouble.

Oddly, this look now represents the good old days:

Hair tall enough to lose a Ben Roethlisberger action figure in, tips more frosted than a Canadian window in December... at the time we thought, "Wow, this kid is really trying his best to challenge Chad Michael Murray to a duel. It can't get any worse for him."

Then the brunet curls came along:

Jessica already covered our shock and initial mental trauma upon seeing this photo, but it bears repeating: No. And put away the scraggly chest hair.

But instead of moving away from hair that only Johnny Depp should ever try, Cabrera has attempted to gild this wilted, rotting lily:

Joe Simpson would never have allowed this. Maybe living under his iron thumb wasn't such a bad thing. Now that Ryan is dating Elvis's granddaughter Riley Keough, he appears -- inexplicably -- to be trying to turn himself into the rock-and-roll version of Philip Bloch.

Or invoke the greasy, stringy, elephantine-testacled visage of Cisco Adler. But just because the Internet-surfing public is uncomfortably aware that Cisco is so generously besac'd doesn't mean we are going to think that EVERY ratty, ragged, matted dark-haired "musician" with a scowl and a fedora automatically has a similarly formidable carton for his precious eggs.

And STOP WITH THE CHEST HAIR. Really. It doesn't make you sensitive. At all. I will only allow it if you include a wailingly sincere ballad about it on your forthcoming record, because that would automatically become one of the funniest songs of all time and the world could use a little comedy.

poll by twiigs.com

That Fug You Do!

Listen, Liv... your son isn't even three yet. Isn't he a little young for you to be tromping around in Mother Of The Groom couture? This isn't Tudor England, where little infant babies are betrothed to each other before they can even say the word. Also: I know I just wrote about how all those old fashion rules are passe at this point, but I still feel like it's rude for the M.O.G. to wear white to the wedding. It kind of upstages the bride. Plus, those Tudors can be CRANKY; you don't want them to knock your block off and put it on a spike.

I Really, Really, REALLY Wanna Zig-Ah-Zig-Fug

[Photo: Splash News]

SCARY: Listen, I just want you all to know that if a tango threatens to break out, I'm here for you.

BABY: I'm just here being cute! It's what I do!

SPORTY: Alexis Colby, reporting for duty. I WANT THOSE OIL LEASES.

GINGER: I wish they still made Skating With Celebrities. Although, I  just had a marvelous idea. Think of it: Spice On Ice!

POSH: These people disappoint me. Why WEAR the dress when you can tie it to yourself?

SCARY: How about Dancing With The Spice On Ice? Oh, wait, my paso doble would MELT THE JOINT.

BABY: Hey Sporty, can I play Krystal in this scene? Or Amanda? Can I? I love you! I just want us to hug.

SPORTY: Do what I say, Baby, or I'll fire you and replace you with a band member that will. I hate you, BLAKE. Make love to me, DEX.  You're mine in the boardroom AND the bedroom.

GINGER: I am a little frightened standing between these two, I'm not gonna lie. Especially if Sporty is itching for a catfight.

POSH: Seriously, WHAT is the point of supporting a lingerie store and its bloody expensive stuff if no one's going to see it in public? SIGH. Nobody understands. I'm five years ahead of all these bimbos.

SCARY: I wonder if this tour is going to be a bad idea. What if I win my dancing show? What if the world needs to see more of me doing the rumba instead of explaining what to do if you wanna be my lover?

BABY: Oh, don't leave us, Mel, I love you! You're so pretty! Here, take Sporty, she'll beat some sense into you! Lovingly!

SPORTY: You're nothing but a second-rate lounge act, Dominique! King Galen, every time you come into my life something awful happens. Krystle, I can't wait to see you leave here with the same cheap plastic suitcases you came in carrying. YOU KNOW THE WAY OUT.

GINGER: Does anyone know what's going on? God, leaving looks pretty smart now. Was I dumb to come back to this thing?

POSH: Bollocks to these boring glittery idiots. I give up. But if anyone wants to make Pretty In Pink 2, call me. It'll be may-jah.

Fugoes

KRISTEN: HI THERE!

HAYDEN: Hey there, Kristen... um... that's an interesting look.

KRISTEN: Let's be friends! We have so much in common. We're both tiny. We're both blonde. We're both wearing black and white. We're THE SAME.

HAYDEN: Not quite the same, maybe, though, huh? For one thing... no offense but I look kind of great.

KRISTEN: But... but I don't look stumpy!

HAYDEN: No, but the ruffle is not good, hon. It looks like a terrible bib.

KRISTEN: What? SHUT UP.

HAYDEN: I'm just trying to help. I see where you were GOING with it, but it just kind of looks like you were sniffing glue one night and decided to use it on one of your little black dresses.

KRISTEN: I don't have to put up with this. I'M GOING TO GET YOU FIRED.

HAYDEN: Good luck with that. What with them saying "Claire is the key" a lot lately and making a whole SLOGAN about how they couldn't save the world without saving me first, well, I am pretty sure they are going to laugh in your face, babe.

KRISTEN: OH, well, THEY WILL COME AROUND. Once I pitch them my promo package where they show clips of me being all sparky while "Electric Youth" by Debbie Gibson plays in the background, I will be the queen of the show and you will be FIRED and I will clean out your trailer myself with this dress.

HAYDEN: That's fitting, since I'm pretty sure the bib ruffle cost you about as much as a rag. Have fun! I'm going to go take some pictures with Milo that will make people think we might be dating, so that we can deny it some more.

KRISTEN: Oh yeah? Well I'm going to go find Evil Sexy Sark because WE are dating ALLEGEDLY and he is way hotter and more interesting, and his fake accent will make the whole world's loins explode.

HAYDEN: You have a point there.

KRISTEN: You will never beat me, little girl. GAME SET AND MATCH to ME. Bib and all.

Well Played, Rachel Bilson

Dear Rachel Bilson,

Hi! How are you? I am fine. You were cute on Chuck this week. I think you are pretty. I also have a favor to ask.

Would you mind writing a little pamphlet called, say, Fashion For Shorties or Dressing the Heightually Challenged or Little Ladies Looking Like [Complimentary Word Starting With an "L" -- you'll think of something], or...whatever, you can title it whatever you want. Anyway, it'd be about how you manage, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, to show up places looking totally relaxed and chic, but not at all stumpy or overwhelmed by your clothing, despite the fact that you're only, like, three apples high. There are some people I need to send it to (KRISTEN BELL but don't tell her, I want it to be a surprise).

Thank you!

Love,

Jessica

A Model Fug

Okay, I already know how this is going to go. I'm going to write this, and then I'm going to get like nine emails from dudes being like, "okay, but Petra Nemcova is HOT." And I just want to say, here and now, that I am totally aware of this. I mean, I have eyes. She's definitely hot:

Great legs, good dress, AND she seems really nice. I watched that sort of more-realistic version of Top Model she did for TLC, A Model Life, and she was all kind and supportive and every time she talked about being in the tsunami, I totally cried. She seems to be truly lovely. HOWEVER. While she does look tres sexy here, the hat makes me think she's about to burst into either a spirited tap routine, or a recreation of Kim Basinger's striptease in 9 1/2 Weeks (warning: that's not particularly safe for work, or for people who are easily depressed by how terribly Mickey Rourke has since f'ed up his face). And while both of those activities ARE pretty hot (if you are human, or a wild tap enthusiast), neither are particularly red-carpet-approved. You just can't walk around looking like a welder one bucket of water short of a striptease, after all.

But maybe it's a trend that's spread more widely than I thought. After all, Fisher Stevens was out and about last night wearing nearly the same hat:

If it's been approved by someone who was in Short Circuit, who am I to complain?

Fugcago

Kelly Osbourne has been looking pretty cute lately. Just look at her and Jack at a recent event:

Cute! Love the make-up, love the hair, love the body-conscious but not trashyola dress. Cute without looking cookie-cutter starlet-y, and thank god for that. (Jack looks cute, too. Clearly, not having to live through their young adulthood on television is agreeing with them.)

And she looks cute at this event last night  -- if a little maturely dressed for her actual age:

Well, okay: she looks cute from the neck down.

Now, don't get your culottes in a twist. I'm not talking about her ACTUAL FACE -- for one thing, I've always thought Kelly was very pretty, and even if she weren't, it would be kind of 8th grade of me to be all, "SUCKS ABOUT YOUR FACE!" And I have reached at least the maturity of an 11th grader.  I'm talking about her MAKE-UP:

Girl. No. Unless you are in costume for your leading role in WITH A Z! The Liza Minnelli Story, this hair, with this make-up, is just too much. There's all that rosy English skin under there -- let 'er breath! You've got like, seriously, at least 20 years before you need to rely on that much slap, and even THEN, it's useful only if you want your nieces and nephews to be like, "Oh, Aunt Kelly! She's kind of eccentric! I love her. Let's go play in her wig closet."

Which is a legitimate desire, for sure, but wait until the time is right!

Dita Fug Teese

I never thought we'd see anyone else attempt this type of thing, but apparently I forgot that Dita Von Teese was married to Marilyn Manson and therefore might not have peerless judgment. 

[Photo: Splash News]

In fact, I wonder if she slipped, cracked her head on the toilet seat, and regained consciousness under the delusion that she is a wedding cake (after, of course, sketching a rudimentary flux capacitor). Although I suppose that thing is keeping her ears incredibly toasty. Now I know that next time a winter wind is threatening to gnaw off my lobes, all I need to do is throw over the nearest flower shop. Maybe if Eliza Doolittle had figured this out, she'd have been a more profitable saleslady.

Shar Fugson

Someday, Shar Jackson should donate herself to science. Because she is living, walking proof that you CAN be twice fertilized by Kevin Federline and still wear panties, not ruin yourself on television -- and that's saying something, considering Shar was most recently spied participating in and WINNING Celebrity Rap Superstar -- and not leave your kids with your parenting coach to go shop for light fixtures while what's left of your brain leaks lazily out your ear. So while I still question her taste in men (what, exactly, about K-Fed had her thinking he WOULDN'T disappear one day and take his Bavarian nooky-swing to richer and stupider pastures?), I have to give props to her coping skills and ability to cling to mental health.

If only she would unclench her talons from her Ugg boots.

[Photo: Splash News]

I know it gets chilly in L.A. at night sometimes, but seriously, WHAT IS UP with the furry dead-of-winter boots in Southern California? They make sense if you are hanging out in a ski lodge drinking a Kir Royale by a roaring fire after a day on the slopes, and they're a Godsend when you have to stagger back to your chalet after a few too many glasses of bubbly bliss. I could even MAYBE understand it if she was part of celebrity fitness fad Dancing With The Stars, and had just come from her fourth rehearsal of the week and her feet were totally killing her to the point where she couldn't shove them into proper shoes. But otherwise, on a red carpet in a non-frigid climate, I just don't get the thought process. She might as well be wearing her slippers. Throw in a dressing gown and the random discovery of Cruel Intentions on cable and you've got a great movie night... on the couch.

Superfug

But of course.

When you're wearing a cute but VERY BUSY dress, does it makes sense, I ask you, to top it with a cute, but VERY BUSY neck-scarf, or does it look more like she got dressed, checked her make-up in her hallway mirror and then realized that, oh my god, she TOTALLY HAS A HICKEY/A SCAB WHERE THE VAMPIRE BIT HER on her neck, but she's got to leave NOW, there's no time to change, what's this in her bag? Oh, thank god, it's that scarf she usually wears with her black wrap dress, whatever, whatever, it's fine, it'll look like some kind of fashion statement, let's go!?

You make the call.

poll by twiigs.com...

Dare to Fug Me

Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay, may I be frank?

[Photo: Splash News]

While I definitely got all up in arms about your recent very bad behavior, what with the terrible driving and the drugs and the "That's not my coke because...um...THESE AREN'T MY PANTS, YEAH!" excuses and all the rest of the stupid-ass, knife-wielding drama you got up to this past summer, I must admit that -- as if you were an ex-boyfriend who was really self-involved and destructive and kind of totally CRAZY, but who was also kind of fascinating and intermittently hilarious -- I am totally ready to take you back, in a defiant but also moderately ashamed kind of way.  What can I say? If it were 2006, I would joke that I can't quit you. You are one f'ed up girl, but at least you're never boring. And while under normal circumstances, I would make some snide comment about how I'm SO SURE you're having lunch at the Ivy for the food and not because you totally thrive on the media attention you get there, and then I would gently wonder if maybe low-heeled ankle boots are generally unflattering on most people,  including maybe you, I truly am rather pleased that you're back in fugulation but not yet back in those pantaloons, or wearing a sequined tube top as a belt. Maybe you HAVE made progress.

polls by twiigs.com...

Fugyness Deyn

Of the current crop of runway models, Agyness Deyn is one of my favorites. She's cool on the catwalk, she's got a unique look that stands out among all the long-haired bed-headed models with interchangeable pale faces, and I'm incredibly amused by the fact that Wikipedia tells me the celebrities she'd most like to meet are Queen Elizabeth II and Jordan -- yes, that Jordan -- whom Agyness reportedly claims seems super funny and real. Which is exactly what I would say about a woman who deliberately slices up her skirts to be no longer than nine inches. It's like we're soulmates. I wonder if she ALSO likes putting potato chips in her peanut-butter sandwiches.

But:

Yes, distinctive fashion style is an asset at times, but this one caught me by surprise because I don't see her dress like this all the time. Indeed, when I saw the thumbnail for this photo, I thought, "Holy hot DAMN, Macaulay Culkin hit his head and thinks he's in Duran Duran." And I'm not sure that's a clever style choice as much as an ill-conceived VH-1 holiday rock opera, which will run in deadly infamy this holiday season in a marathon alongside A Diva's Christmas Carol.

Melrose Fug

Looks like Daphne Zuniga is having a Chico's kind of day:

Better than a Melrose Place kind of day, I guess, considering that her character got kidnapped on a boat by her drug-dealing boyfriend, had to kill him, lost custody of their baby THREE TIMES, and was forced to walk around in overalls a lot.

The Fugsby Show

Oh, God, Raven-Symone. I REALLY don't want to have to do this to you. For one thing, this outfit is actually REALLY cute on you. Except for one thing:

I mean, guess, technically, it's two things. Other than the breast-plate issues, this dress is great on you, and goodness knows, we've all gotten pictures back from, say, the time we went to have Jackie Collins sign our first edition of Hollywood Wives, and found out that WHOOPS,  that shirt was sort of sheer. But you've been doing this red carpet thing since you were in pre-school, so I would have thought that you might be hip to the concept of the high-wattage flash, and, accordingly, put on a black bra.

All that being said, there is also a part of me that is thrilled to have to feature you, because now I have an excuse to tell the world about your web site, which is full of crafty instructional videos like, "Raven teaches us how to make an assortment of mini-sandwiches," "Raven teaches us how to make a party invitation using mini clothes," and "Raven teaches us how to fix a bra when the underwire pokes out." Who would have thunk that little Olivia from The Cosby Show would grow up to be a miniature-loving bra wrangler? 

Well, I guess she's still sort of working on the bra-wrangling, isn't she?

Celebrity Rut Watch: Brad Pitt

Dear Brad,

Listen, I feel you. I have these two waffle-knit cotton shirts from The Gap that have been my go-to lately for bumming around the house pecking away at my blog and watching Brothers & Sisters and Days of our Lives. Speaking of which, don't you think they should have Marlena get possessed by the devil again? Soaps are in trouble. That would probably help. Everyone loves Satanic undereye bags, contact lenses, and levitation. Some folks might just call that "Thursday," but I think it makes for compelling afternoon procrastination material.

But that's not why I'm here. My point is: I know how it feels to be in a rut of wearing comfortable clothes. I do. And yet, I also don't live on the red carpet. Here you are at the Beowulf premiere:

It's not that you DON'T have a nice coat. Or a nice shirt. I'm sure your pants are lined with angels. Expensive angels that you can only borrow from Heaven because you and your half-wife, "Angel"ina, cooked up and squeezed out the undisputed (until Suri Cruise rises to power) savior of our land.

No, my concern here is that I saw this picture and thought, "The hat AGAIN? I feel like all he does is wear this hat." You do seem to have been leaning on the newsboy cap rather a lot lately. What gives, Brad? What's the breaking story?

Here he is a week earlier:

And yet earlier:

Are you just really into the musical Newsies? Doing some caddying in your spare time? Going on a hat binge in order to encourage Angelina to do the same with meatball subs? Perhaps you are planning to quit acting because you have a cockamamie business scheme that involves eschewing hygiene: "Extra, Extra! Read all about it! Pitt Refuses To Shower, Uses Hair To Cultivate Own Brand Of Organic Cooking Oil!"

Or is it something else? Brad... are you balding? No, seriously. Talk to us. We're here to help. Because we love the baldies: Taye Diggs, Tom Colicchio, Daddy Warbucks, Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise (I believe his Earth name is Patrick Stewart), occasional-cue-ball and Derek Zoolander Celebrity Supermodel Walk-Off Support Crew Chief Billy Zane... the list is long and glorious. You should not feel shame. Embrace the chance to grease up your splendid cranium and debut it to the world.

Or is reliance on The Newsboy just a male equivalent of women developing a wig obsession, and I should relax my level of concern and just let him LIVE?

poll by twiigs.com

Prison Fug

Um. What is going on here?

Are those tights? Weird boots? A terrible calf-fungus for which she needs to see a specialist, like, yesterday? Is she some mythical creature -- half woman, half lizard-woman -- come to Earth to destroy us and/or feast on our vast array of exotic insects? Does she just have like REALLY BAD razor burn? I can not rest until I figure out the deal with Callie Thorne's lower legular area.

Fuggie Bell

Byrdie Bell looks a little bit like she got mauled by an overzealous Project Runway contestant trying to impress Tim Gunn with ten different ideas: "Tim, it's going to be GLORIOUS. The top will have a RUFFLE but the shape of a vest at the waistline, and then the skirt is going to be black shot through with SHINY SILVER in a pattern with pointy bits, but then it turns ROMANTIC with a GIANT SASH made of two shades of orange!" At which point Tim Gunn would scratch his chin and furrow his brow and say, "This worries me. I'm worried here, I'm not going to lie. I'm feeling concern." And the designer will say, "What if the sash ties into a GIANT BOW???" and then Tim will purse his lips and go, "I'm just not sure what you're trying to say with this," and the designer will say, "Trust me, Tim, I believe in it and it's going to knock your socks off," and Tim will cough, "Well, carry on then, make it work as best you can," and then scuttle off to a corner where he can wash the stain of disaster off his hands.

So NoFUGious

It's well-documented that we hold a fond place in our hearts for Tori Spelling, on account of the important social contributions she made as Donna Martin, to a lesser degree as Screech's snorting girlfriend Violet on Saved By The Bell, and of course to a MASSIVE degree through her catalog of Lifetime Television For Women movies. We now know that the answer to the question, "Mother, May I Sleep With Danger?" is a resounding, "Not unless you want to get stalked and nearly meet a violent end on a pier somewhere in the country." Ergo, we wish Tori only good things in life.

I am not sure this dress is one of them.

Outwardly, aside from how destroyed it got in the car on the way over, it's not that bad. The color is great. But the bodice is making upended ostrich eggs of her boobs. Everything is tight and squished and uncomfortable-looking, like she was so excited to squeeze herself into a size zero that she was HELL-BENT on getting those puppies into the top, whether they whimpered at her the whole time or not. I also enjoy that every time I get a passing look at that clutch purse, I mistakenly think it is a really old-school calculator, like she brought it with her in case she's seized with the urge to write "BOOBIES" on it in numbers and then hand it to reporters with a giggle.

Although... is it just me, or has Tori dropped a little too much weight? I know she was always really lean, but something about her looks a tiny bit too shrunken. Almost bobbleheaded. Which, incidentally, I think you could ALMOST also write on a calculator if the window were long enough... and if you left out the a... and the ds, too. But that's not a very good reason to give up carbs (or forsake spelling). Somebody please get Donna a Megaburger, stat. Where is Joe E. Tata when you need him?

The Fugs

Look, everyone knows I love The Hills. Never have I watched a show on which so little actually happens with so much pleasure. Also, the clothes are often cute.

Except in this case:

[Photo: Splash News]

Oh, HEIDI. Why? What are you thinking? Is this bizarro shorts/lingerie/boots outfit some subtle attempt at driving Spencer out of your life by assaulting his optic nerve until he can no longer stand the pain? If that is the case, I say, carry on and good luck -- I can't wait to see the episode where he runs screaming out of your apartment into traffic. But if you're just wearing this for kicks, my usual urge to shake some sense into you has just increased ten-fold. You look like you're sporting three-fourths of a moderately unsuccessful Sexy Robin Hood costume.

All that being said, thank you for appearing on the cover of US under the headline "REVENGE PLASTIC SURGERY." That was hilariously soap operatic, and I can't wait to see the sequel "REVENGIER PLASIC SURGERY"  -- after you and Spencer dramatically split on camera, obviously.

Random(ish) Fug: Jaime Winstone

When we got an e-mail this morning titled, "The Most Heinous Jumpsuit Of All Time," I thought to myself, "Well, that is coming up against some pretty stiff competition." It's like saying you've found the world's foulest-tasting Brussels sprout, or the douchiest-ever Chad Michael Murray facial expression: There's just too much competition to know for sure.

But, once I laid eyes on the jumpsuit befouling wee pixie Jaime Winstone (British actress, daughter of the actor who is currently trying to make us care about Beowulf on film despite the fact that 99 percent of people who had to read that in English class -- as I did, THREE TIMES in my life somehow -- wanted to hurl themselves off the nearest bridge), I had to concede that this one is probably pretty close to the top of the list:

Listen, we all fondly remember Madonna's crazy conic-bra phase. But the only person who should attempt geometric boobs in this lifetime or anyone else's is Madonna herself. Also, I am pretty sure that thing is made of 150 thread-count sheets she picked up at a Marks & Spencer clearance sale. The tailor presumably had donated his or her hands to science before getting around to finishing this with nothing but feet and his/her teeth to do it, and it's so waistless and borderline dowdy that it resembles nothing so much as wearable fashion for the incontinent -- Depends by Talbots, or something. And finally sweet god, she caught Stumpophrenia from Kristen Bell. It couldn't be worse.

Could it?

Not only is it ill-fitting, but it's got a BUSTLE. Or a bow. Or an ass-muffler. I'm not really sure, but I do feel confident that outside of on the body of some softly lit model with giant hair from that wickedly dated fashion soap Paper Dolls, that thing should never exist in nature. Poor old brother-of-Lily-Allen looks like he is trying to laugh off the ginormous fabric scrap heap on his girlfriend's hindquarters, because otherwise, he might burst into tears and then run home and sob all over a MySpace video-blog about how damaging it was to stand next to, if not THE worst, then at least one of the world's leading shittier-than-Winehouse heinous jumpsuits.

poll by twiigs.com

STOP THE PRESSES! Peldon Sighting!

It was just the other day that we were bemoaning the fact that we haven't seen hide nor hair of either of the Peldon sisters in forever. How nice of them to hear our pleas and leave the house! With adorable animals in tow, no less!

Have I gone crazy with longing for them since last we saw them, or do they actually look pretty cute, notwithstanding the concept that Brown is walking around town with her cat in her purse? They're obviously riding high on the glee that comes from having a job, as, according to IMDb, they're set to appear in something called 2001 Maniacs: Beverly Hellbillys as "Rome and Tina Sheraton."  The movie also stars Talan From Laguna Beach (now his legal name), in yet another attempt to best Stephen From Laguna Beach in the acting wars, and seems to be about...maniacs? Whatever, it's just nice to see them out and about. I was worried they were getting overly obsessed with their Etsy Store and we'd never see them again and it was totally bumming me out. For whatever reason, in the three and a half years we've been writing GFY, I've become strangely attached to our Peldons, and