November 30, 2007
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.
Posted by Heather at 12:58 PM | Permalink
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.
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.
Posted by Jessica at 11:07 AM | Permalink
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:
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?
November 29, 2007
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.
Posted by Jessica at 12:17 PM | Permalink
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:
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.
November 28, 2007
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?
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.
Posted by Heather at 11:19 AM | Permalink