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December 04, 2007

The Fug Girls

It's finally here: The Glorious Ladies of High Camp are back together, dancing, singing or making sounds that approximate it, and no doubt making innumerable amazing costume changes.

[All photos by Splash News]

I loved the Spice Girls the first time around -- who didn't think Geri was rather amusingly cheeky, pinching Prince Chuck's bum like that? -- and am, naturally, beside myself at the prospect of seeing them in L.A. on Friday night. There are few acts that would inspire me to scream gibberish like "ZIG-A-ZIG-AAAAH" in public at my age, and yet that's what I will be doing. Hopefully with a beer in my hand. It's going to be like attending a college party all over again, except with tiered seating, less snow on the ground, and zero chance of me accidentally finding myself in the middle of a keg stand. If I had a Union Jack minidress, I would wear it.

Despite my affinity for Ginger, though, the main event is always going to be Posh -- she who clearly has an awesome sense of humor despite the prevailing perception that she's a sullen cow, she who cracked in her book That Extra Half An Inch that she's always known Joan Collins is her real mother, and she whose clothes are such an amazing source of amusement that I secretly (well, until now) hope that a thousand years from now, aliens discover Earth, dig up a time capsule that's been filled with the entire contents of her closet, and benevolently decide to resurrect the human race on the assumption that we were all that entertaining to behold.

Based on stills from the Vancouver show, I have this to look forward to:

I had a Sindy doll when I was younger -- she was Britain's stab at making a Barbie, I believe, but she had a brown bob, a way larger head, and wasn't endowed to the point where you were pretty sure she'd topple over if she ever became real. Anyway, my Sindy was a ballerina with glittery tights, and that's the first thing I thought of when I saw this outfit: that Posh was a Sindy all grown up and come to life, with poseable limbs and everything; and, much like my Sindy, it's possible Posh's feet are permanently stuck in the tiptoe position. Hopefully Vicky will not meet the same fate -- Sindy, I believe, turned into a kind of punky she-man who bred My Little Ponies and gave my lone Barbie romantic fits -- but it's only fitting that a woman whom everyone accuses of being plastic would trot onstage in something that evokes my childhood toy.

And do my eyes deceive me, or are these STRETCHY GOLD STIRRUP PANTS?

AND it's complete with matching fingerless gloves. Bless the sweet fashion alchemy that brought us this gold-plated Fembot Spice, for Posh never disappoints. She looks like a Rockette performing a song-and-dance ode to Dot Matrix. I can't wait until she gets to the part where she meets the mog -- half-man, half-dog -- named Barf; that is going to be one heck of an interpretive dance.

Posted by Heather at 10:04 AM in Posh & Becks | Permalink


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