Your Fugment of Zen

It's been another long week here at GFY HQ, what with the Oscars, and blogging about the Oscars, and then complaining about how boring the Oscars were... but, at long last, TGIF. Which around these parts stands for Thank George It's Friday.

What better way to end the week than to borrow again, with respect, a gimmick from The Daily Show and sign off for the day with something that brings us inner peace. After a random conversation with a friend about Reba McEntyre songs, it came to my attention that she'd never been exposed to the sheer brilliance that is the video for that old duet, "Does He Love You?" I remember seeing this when the song came out back in the 90s, and it plucked every soapy heartstring I have.

Behold the glories of what Reba is wearing in the very first shot! Of the hat she so boldly wears in extreme close-ups in Act 2! Of the hugeness of her hair in Act Three!  The total generic himbo they're fighting for, and all the associated top-notch acting! And that ending. The ENDING! (Ignore the stupid tag with Rob Reiner; I don't know what that's there for, except perhaps to comfort the world that It Was Acting, and that if you happen to have misplaced Linda Davis since this video, it's not because Reba is an actual Love Terrorist.)

All I know is, if this video ever mated with one of Joan Collins' legendary on-screen catfights, the world would be a better place. Have a lovely weekend.

Fug The Cover: InStyle and Eva Longoria

Admittedly, I haven't bought or read InStyle in a long time, because it's a little too rich for my blood -- I don't walk by Banana Republic and think to myself, "Aw, how sweet, a bargain-basement store" -- but this past weekend I snapped up the March 2008 issue with Eva Longoria on the front, because it was wickedly hideous and I had to have it.

Inside she says, "It makes me feel old, but I love it," and she's referring to being called "Mrs. Parker" when they're in Texas, but it might also refer to the cover photo.

Seriously, that doesn't even really look like her face to me. It's so... sharp. In my mind's eye, that's actually a Miami Beach socialite in her late thirties who just got fresh cheek implants, and is about to start a gig on a cruise ship opening for Kathie Lee Gifford at the Lido Deck Lounge.

Even InStyle clearly felt so concerned that you wouldn't recognize the pursed lips and cocked brows that the designers chucked any reference to the story inside (a peek inside her closet, which offers almost nothing interesting or surprising except MAYBE that she owns an entire wall full of black shoes and a minimum of $7000 in Louboutins), in favor of slapping her name over the picture in the biggest font size possible, as if to be like, "No, SERIOUSLY, it's HER. WE'D GET SUED FOR THIS IF IT WEREN'T, SO IT HAS TO BE." Although frankly, if I were her, I might sue them for it anyway.

Fug Quiz: Busey or Nolte?

Many moons ago, back when Britney washed her hair and we didn't know what a Kim Kardashian was, we amused ourselves with a little game called "Busey or Nolte?" It involved distinguishing between Gary Busey and Nick Nolte in photographs -- which wasn't always that hard, but certainly used to be much tougher. Time and plastic surgery have torn them apart like Shakespearian lovers.  Also, I'm pretty sure the game is up forever because there is no way Nick Nolte is going to berate Ryan Seacrest at the Oscars and then try and chug a pint of Jennifer Garner's blood. 

But the spirit of celebrity doppelgangers remains, born for us in them but living on in others. Today, we're honoring its manifestation in two slouchy, sloppy blondes with crappy taste in men. I present: Miller or Moss?

Waif-watchers in the UK know that Kate Moss and Sienna Miller inhabit a similar style, which some might suggest -- and have suggested -- Sienna cribbed off the Queen of Heroin-Chic. Why anyone would WANT to do that is beyond me, but honestly, I'm okay with living in a world where I don't understand what's going through Sienna Miller's head. I don't need to be haunted with dreams in which I am ENJOYING Rhys Ifans dancing naked in my living room with a shoebox on his head, or whatever it is that he does when they're together.

If you are stumped on whether that's Bedhead 2.0 or Original Flavor, this might help -- as it happens, both Miller AND Moss were in attendance at this party, and here they are pictured together:

Does that help? Which one do you imagine would shove her hands in the pockets of her wrinkled shorts and appraise the other with a smirk on her face, while the other laughs it off and tries to pretend they're The Best Of Friends and that it's just a COINCIDENCE that they have the same hair and highlights?

Aha, yes, you got it: Sienna on the left, Kate on the right. And hairdresser James Brown in the middle, but that doesn't matter, because he's probably way too well-adjusted and hygienic to belong to either woman.

This does at least answer my question about whether Kate and her clone coming into contact would somehow rip a wormhole into the fabric of the universe. So far I think we're safe, and a swarm of locusts is not about to alight on The Ivy, although I'm withholding judgment on whether anything is awry until Sienna's next movie comes out. Whatever it is, if anyone actually likes it, we might be through the looking glass.

Fug the Cover: Lindsay Lohan

The Setting: The offices of Paper Magazine

The Players: Two staffers: a stylist, and an editor

The Topic: Lindsay Lohan's upcoming cover shoot:

THE EDITOR: Do you really think she'll wear this?

THE STYLIST: Sure!

EDITOR: Is this a robe, or a tunic?

STYLIST: Sort of six of one, half-dozen of the other.

EDITOR: It's knee-length...

STYLIST:...with this crazy high-slits up the side. Cute, right?

EDITOR:  Yeah. I'm just worried it might be too...

STYLIST:  Modest?

EDITOR: Yes. Considering the subject.

STYLIST: Have you ever worked with Lindsay?

EDITOR: No.

STYLIST: Oh, honey. Don't worry. She'll find a way to make it look like she hasn't got any pants on, come hell or high water.

EDITOR: I don't know whether to be relieved by that or not.

The Fug Whisperer

I caught an eyeball or two of Aisha Tyler at Fashion Week and thought to myself (as opposed to thinking to someone else. I haven't mastered that yet), in the following order:

"a) Damn, she is tall and good-looking. I hate her.
b) Is that Aisha's boyfriend? Hot.
c)  Is that GWYNETH PALTROW OVER THERE? No, that's a dude.
d) La Tyler's been dressing so well lately.
e) I just really love bagels."

And then this had to go and happen:

Yeah. This was not her wisest decision. I'd wager this hurts her more than that time the plane landed on her head on Ghost Whisperer and killed her off.

All I Want for Fug Is You

So, get ready for me to blow your mind. We're entered an alternate universe, one where up is down, black is white, salt is pepper, Salt is Pepa, and cats and dogs are lying down together. I think Mariah looks cute here in her Sandy Olsson from Grease shiny black leggings-esque get-up, although TECHNICALLY, I think these are more like....pleather skinny jeans:

I know, I know: I've spent the last sixty years (more or less) whinging and whining and wailing and crying and tearing out my hair about the leggings and leggings-esque pant-like items, and don't get me wrong.  This is not what I would have dressed Mariah in, myself, although....you know, she is kind of working it. Let's just say that I just like them better than this:

Oh my god, honey. Listen. No. A mesh tank top over a sparkly bra is a bigger miscarriage of justice than Glitter ever was. I mean, at least Glitter provided us with the immortal line, courtesy of a douchey and hilariously-weirdly accented "European" music video director: "Is she black? Is she white? I do not know! She is exotic. I NEED TO SEE MORE OF HER BREASTS!"  You can't keep listening to that man, Mimi! He's no good for you!

Oscar Fug Carpet: There Will Be Fug

REBECCA MILLER: Darling, you look so dapper.

DANIEL DAY-LEWIS: Thanks, sweetness. I thought it was about time; I'm tired of lumberjack plaid. You look gorgeous, too, of course.

REBECCA: We're so in love.

DANIEL: Although...

REBECCA: Wait, what? I never said anything before about the plaid or those silly earrings, and now you're giving me an "although"?

DANIEL: It's just... you're marvelous, but the dress is a bit Death Of An Accessories Salesman.

REBECCA: Daniel, if you want to throw my father's work in my face, he ALSO wrote a radio play called The Pussycat and The Plumber Who Was A Man, which is what we USUALLY look like when we leave the house. Well, minus the cat. But you get my point.

DANIEL: No, I...

REBECCA: Maybe I wanted a turn being the wacky one. Did you ever think of that?

DANIEL: All I'm saying is, what if  someone comes up and tries to use the door-knocker on your breasts? Then it's all "knockers" puns, all the time, AND I'll have to punch someone. And I'm just not that guy.

REBECCA: No. You far prefer to be wearing your wood-cutting loafers than starting fights.

DANIEL: At least I might have made these myself.

REBECCA: Well, maybe I made this, too. You don't know. You're not the only crafty one in the family.

DANIEL: Let's not squabble. Let's just agree that we're both a little crazy, and then go home and recreate that scene from Ghost but with my cobbling equipment.

REBECCA: You naughty crumpet! I can't wait. Make your acceptance speech short.

Lilo LeggingsWatch2008: A Ray of Hope

It's been a head-scratching time for all of us, trying to figure out exactly WHY multiple Razzie Award winner Lindsay Lohan persists in squeezing herself into The Lycra Scourge during every waking and/or daylight hour. Is she ashamed of her legs, somehow? Are they nocturnal?

Apparently we can cross both of those off the list. Behold her leaving traffic school:

[Photo: Splash News]

Maybe she realized wearing leggings in a classroom would be an impediment to anyone else learning anything about driving, as all they would do is ask her nosy things like, "Seriously, how many pairs of those do you own? What is wrong with you? Have you fired your mother yet?"

However, now we have a potential new slippery slope to monitor. Remember when Britney Spears did nothing but wander around town in crinkled, ratty, miniscule denim cut-off shorts, replete with Cheeto crust and Federline residue and the muck of a thousand gas-station bathrooms, and it looked like they hadn't been laundered in about six years? These shorts of Lindsay's are rather evocative of those. Hopefully there is no kind of filthy, deranged thrall that jean-shorts can cast over a young mind. At the first sign of an orange fingerprint or a backup dancer, someone needs to intervene -- although if she shows up on TV with a flesh-toned bodysuit and a giant snake, let's wait and see how it plays out, because that could get interesting.

Fug the Ad: Hayden Panettiere

I first saw this ad on a plane trip, and it was all I could do not to turn to one of the strangers on either side of me and say, "WTF? Have you seen this?"

[Photo: Splash News]

I mean, it's not like Candie's is known for deeply artistic and emotionally evocative ads that art, art history, theatre, English and photography students are going to rip out of their copies of W and stick on their dorm room cork boards between black and white photo spreads of Morrissey and the complete collection of those infamous Calvin Klein "Wow, These Turned Out Pornier Than Usual" ads, or whatever artsy college students are putting up in their rooms these days. (In addition to these cultural touchstones, my dorm-mates played a lot of Rent. I presume that slot is currently being occupied by Once soundtrack. Ah, college. Smoke all those cloves while you still can.) I mean, this is the company that ran an ad featuring Jenny McCarthy on the toilet:

And as much eye-rolling I did at that one back in the day, I'd venture to say that the McCarthy ad is almost cuter. It's a youth-oriented brand, and at least Jenny looks sort of fresh-faced and charmed by the fact that you're snapping a photo of her on the can. Hayden, on the other hand, looks like a Paris Hilton impersonator on her way to the 7th Annual Slap-Off, an event at which local entertainers compete to see who can put on the most make-up without his or her face actually sliding off. If I were feeling particularly bitchy, I might add that she also looks like she might be tempted to earn her Slap-Off entrance fee by putting in an extra hour on her regular corner. But that just seems mean.

Fug Or Fab: Rachel Bilson's Bangs

As I'm sure you've heard, there's HUGE NEWS in the world of foreheads: GFY HQ Girl Crush Rachel Bilson has CUT BANGS?!?!11111!!! BANGS!

 

We've heard from readers waxing both pro and con re: THE BANGS, and as we've been sort of run ragged by the delicious Oscar shenanigans of this week (looking up how to spell Marion Cottilard multiple times can be tiring!), we thought, let's put it to a vote:

polls by twiigs.com...

Fugapline

Dear Miss Janet Privacy Control-Jackson (I understand that is your full name),

I must thank you for your body of work. What other artist has provided more opportunities for both car-dancing and elementary school roller-skating parties? And yet, I suspect your body is not thanking you for this particular piece of work:

Yeah. Call them whatever you want: genie-trousers, blouson-pants, harem-suit bottoms, pouffy leg-sleeves, pirate breeches, capri-bloomers, parachute-knickers -- I'm sure our friends at the glossy magazines will think of some more palatable euphemism for what you're wearing. When, let's be honest, they're actually about twenty minutes away from being Hammer pants. That's not a Behind the Music you even want to approximate.

Independent Spirit Awards Fug Carpet: Eliza Dushku

You know, I'd been wondering what Eliza Dushku has been working on lately, so it's refreshing to know the answer at long last:

She's been moonlighting on the other side of the Phantom Tollbooth as Plussy Galore, by day the  High Priestess of Operational Voodoo and leading Symbols player in the Mathmagician's marching band, and by night the Dodecahedron's nimble mistress. No wonder she didn't have the energy to change her clothes.

Independent Spirit Awards Fug Carpet: Kerry Washington

If you're trying to decide whether a tight, shiny, stretchy turtleneck is a good or a bad idea, allow Kerry Washington to aid in your pro/con list.

Pro: No chance of a nip slip.

Con: Unsightly, unexpected perspiration in the face of flashbulbs. Am I crazy or does it look like her nipples are sweating?

Fortunately for her, it took me a while to notice that little problem, because I was wholly engrossed in the children's book illustration that is her outfit. I keep expecting The Very Hungry Caterpillar to pop out of that thicket and take a greedy bite out of her skirt.

Oscars Post-Party PELDONS

Because we are nothing if not committed to keeping you up to date on the movements of the Sisters Peldon:

They're alive! They're attending Oscar parties in outfits which may have been purchased at Forever XXI, but hey -- a girl needs to save her coin sometimes! They're at an Oscar party partially sponsored by something called Tummy Tuck Jeans, which would have prompted me to hiss, "WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING?" at the invitation. And most disturbingly of all, Brown appears to be going blonde, an alarming development that surely signals some kind of Single White Female/Kelly Taylor's Friend From Rehab Who Tries to Steal Kelly's Life And Also Murder Her situation. I'm just saying, if we start seeing but one Peldon around town -- one sort of unidentifiable, blonde-ish Peldon -- the authorities should probably be alerted.

Oscars Post-Party Fug: Tara Reid

Wondering what Tara Reid's been up to, other than gracing the pages of our book, in which we might be a leeetle mean about her propensity to be, as Heather once said, "too often Wild and not nearly enough On"? Well, someone invited her to an Oscar party!

And she remembered her spray tan! Is it me, or is this dress way too big? I know La Reid has lost weight -- I've been reading my Star Magazine! -- but the droopy dress + the tan + a sort of aggressive expression + the blonde + a resemblance I never noticed until now = Rachel Zoe. I don't mean that she appears styled by Zoe, I mean that if you squint and shake your head and move ten feet away from the computer, she sort of LOOKS like Rachel Zoe. Though surely Zoe would have accented this with giant sunglasses and a fur stole -- and would kill me if she knew I were comparing her to Tara Reid -- but you know what I mean. My question is: does this mean that Tara Reid is on the road to producing a book about style, perhaps titled From A to Reid, all about the stylistic merits of denim minis, excessive boozing and drunk-dialing Alyson Hannigan at midnight to yell that SHE should be the one in a sitcom? I certainly hope so. I would be first in line to buy it.

Oscar Fug Carpet: Intern George's Date (Sorry, George)

Being the employers of one of the country's sauciest bachelors and smoothest-sailing dreamboats, we understand Sarah Larson's pain: All eyes are on her because George brought a date, she's the only one of his string of brunette-bots that he's brought to something like this, the magazines are screaming that she's the lucky girl who'll get him to commit again, and she knows we're all wondering why Clooney is making out with a girl who once ate a scorpion on Fear Factor.

But dating Intern George has its plus side -- you know, one or two -- and that is the fact that designers were probably throwing gowns at her by the dozen in an effort to woo her into their camp for the Oscars. She must have had an entire room at the villa full of options, and she picked this:

It's apparently a Valentino couture dress, but it looks more like Jessica McClintock passed out one night on top of a book of Monet paintings and woke up with drool on her cheek and a jones for wearable water lilies. We complained about a lack of interesting colors at the Oscars this year -- it was all red and black, making me wonder if there was a poker theme we didn't know about -- but I'm not sure I can get behind a crazy melange of pastels that may once have upholstered a couch in the lobby of my grandmother's condo building in Florida.

Oh, George, don't be like that. You know we're right. We're not saying she's not NICE -- not that we'd know, though, since we never heard her say anything all night and you never bring her around for dinner or Diet Coke breaks or donuts, but WHATEVER. So chill with the skepticism. Also, you've never seen that couch.

That's better. Now come home! We want to hear more stories about Tilda Swinton.

Oscars Fug Carpet & Ceremony: Diablo Cody

Today, we encountered several people who said one of the following to us:

1) "Oh, GOD, are you actually HAPPY Diablo Cody won for writing Juno?"

2) "Oh, GOD, are you one of THOSE people who are PISSED Diablo Cody won for writing Juno?"

Personally, and shallowly, I'm stoked for her -- everyone loves a stripper-to-screenwriter tale (or at least I do, especially if she has an evil twin lurking somewhere), so I say let her have the bronzed naked dude. It's just a trophy. And if it turns out she's secretly the daughter of a wealthy oilman who only stripped out of self-indulgent fascination with her own nipples, well, whatever. That's between her and her therapist.

Who, it's worth noting, may be getting paid overtime to counsel Cody through her Oscar fashion debut.

Objection #1: This feels a bit off-the-rack, which is fine when you're at an Oscar viewing party but not when you're viewing it from your awesome seat at the Kodak alongside the people you're about to beat. It has no shape. It's billowy. I'm pretty sure someone's slutty grandmother in Boca Raton wore this to Red Lobster on Unlimited Shrimp Night in the hope that she could eat all she wanted and still get groped by Original-Teeth Jim. If she didn't use a stylist, she should have -- most of them were probably clamoring to clothe her; she was the unanimous choice to win in our GFY HQ office poll (Intern George abstained because he was busy, or something), and you know she's going to make it in Us. GIVE your services to her, folks.

If Diablo did have a stylist, here's Objection #2: That person is BORING. Like, Cold Mountain boring. Ivanhoe boring. Or, more relevantly, 80th Annual Academy Awards boring. I like a good animal print, but when you're outfitting an unusual and rebellious sort, it's the laziest and easiest choice (except for black, possibly) if you are trying to say, "Hey, CHECK IT OUT, this woman is unusual and rebellious!" Diablo could look bitchin' in a bunch of colors and cuts that wouldn't blunt her edge, so stop sleeping on the job, people.

Objection #3: Yes, there is something really charming about a woman who clearly didn't pick her dress by thinking, "Okay, but how's it going to look when I win?" However, seriously, you're at the OSCARS. Even if you're Entertainment Weekly's 100-1 shot, you HAVE to pick your dress by thinking, "Okay, but how's it going to look when I win?" Otherwise, this happens:

AWKWARD. How do you NOT do a quick crotch-check before you leave the house? As she strode up to the podium, Diablo tried uncomfortably to hold her hand over The Area. As she walked offstage, she tugged at her dress while doing the same. And when she hugged Harrison Ford, she probably said, "Oh my GOD, Han, I think the front row just saw that my bikini line is waxed in the shape of Jason Bateman's face." And listen, we all loved David Hogan, Derek from Silver Spoons, and Michael Bluth, but a woman's genitals are her own private kingdom. So WALK in the dress. Take it for a test-drive. Practice your acceptance speech in the mirror, and make sure that your birth canal isn't inviting Jack Nicholson for a pleasure cruise while you're dedicating your award to the producers and The Children and what-have-you. It doesn't make you an egomaniac if you say to your neighbor, your boyfriend, or your Dynasty commemorative plate, "Hey, when I walk, do my genitals wink at you?" And it's worth it to forestall Jack arriving at your house with an oar in one hand and a life-vest in the other.

Oscars Post-Party Fug: Jeremy Piven

Hey Jer,

What's up? Not a lot going on right now, huh? Kinda just bored at home? Doing a lot of "chillaxing" with your bros? Yeah, us too. You know,  just doing our thing. I feel you.

One thing, though:

I know it was The Most Boring Oscars EverTM, and everyone -- except Marion Cotillard, whom I've decided upon reflection that I might be in love with -- looked Totally Boring, but do you really think it's wise to attempt, once again, the old I'm Too Cool to Bathe, Dude, I Just Show Up And Do My Thing scuzzathon? It's possible no one told you, but Colin Farrell JUST did that.  And he actually made me laugh during a leaked sex tape (not that I watched it, I totally just made that up, but if I had watched Colin Farrell's sex tape -- under duress obviously -- then I might have laughed when, whilst manning the camera, he commented that his cinematography was REALLY terrible and embarrassing.). So I think it's apt to note that he might be the more skilled man at Charming Scuzzery. You know?

Oscar Fug Carpet: Hilary Swank

Hilary Swank is someone who should probably avoid making statements -- I wasn't a fan of the navy backless dress the year she won for Million-Dollar Baby, and of course there was that pre-GFY Academy Awards to which she wore a pink minidress wrapped in full-length tulle. It's like she thinks we still don't Get It that she's attractive and womanly, but in fact, we do.

So I was relieved she stayed away from statement dressing -- for her sake, of course; OBVIOUSLY we were hoping she'd show up in a piñata. But in the end I still don't think I'm entirely on board with what she picked.

The translucent skirt is sort of fine, but I'm not wild about the way she's woven into it, nor how the design makes it look like the cross-hatching is slowly coming undone and will eventually leave her semi-nude in a big swinging, filmy black drape. And my early interest in the bodice wore off the longer I stared at it, at which point it began looking like arachnids on parade.

And then, of course, there is the close-up.

Girl, you have GOT to keep the side-boob in check. Your gown has to stand the test of, oh, at least FIFTEEN MINUTES of posing and throwing elbows to get through the throng before your chest makes a run for it. Strap those suckers in, tape 'em down, and put your assistant on Ooze Watch all night. It's why you pay him or her, and also, it's great fodder for his/her eventual memoir, which puts mortgage-caliber money in his/her pocket. So really, screeching for boob tape at 2:58 p.m. -- mere minutes before you're supposed to burst forth from the limo and try not to become hypnotized by Lisa Rinna's lips of putty -- and then shrieking, "You'd better not take your eyes off my boobs ALL NIGHT or you're FIRED," is actually a GENEROUS act.

Oscar Fug Carpet: Heigl vs Hathaway

In a year when a lot of people showed up in red, I half-expected Katherine Heigl to whip out a shiv and shank the hell out of Anne Hathaway for arriving earlier in a jazzier, more romantic version of her tomato gown. Not that it's Hathaway's fault; I just feel like if a girl is so annoying as to complain about her husband and married life every time you shove a microphone into her face, then she's the type of pill who will sneak up behind Anne at the post-party and husk, "You know what the devil wears? HOSPITAL SCRUBS, bitch. Sleep with one eye open."

So let's compare the dresses. First up: Katherine Heigl, because maybe by putting her first she won't leave a flaming bag of manure on our doorsteps.

It's nice. And it fits snugly. Her makeup is a splotchy hot mess and I'm a little tired of her trying to morph herself into Marilyn Monroe -- which, speaking of pilfering, I wonder how Christina Aguilera feels about her aesthetic being snatched out from under her nose while she was doing her laamaze breathing. But otherwise, there's nothing really overtly wrong with it.

However, although the dresses aren't identical and certainly there's room for both of them in this world, we're guessing Katherine Heigl took one look at Anne Hathaway and immediately ran for the bar:

An asymmetrical neckline with a peekaboo opening in the shoulder, a rich hue, red lipstick.... check, check, check, but better, and all the while proving it doesn't have to be tight to be flattering. Anne hasn't befriended the Marchesa girls for nothing. They're very good at what they do -- specifically, making girly, flowy dresses for deployment on the red carpet, the better to get more stars to come crawling to them for girly, flowy dresses to deploy on the red carpet -- and they can take a floral detail like that and give it just enough glamour that it's not as "I Just Got Lei'd In Maui" as it could've been.

But the crowning achievement of the above dress just might be that it's NOT this dress. Anne had nowhere to go but up, and fortunately, she went straight to the penthouse -- or at least to one of those floors right underneath it that still has decent views but lacks an in-house bowling alley. Which is too bad, because I'd love to see the equally pompous Heigl and Hathaway duke it out on the lanes, Big Lebowski-style, for the right to a spot on Us Weekly's best-dressed list. One of them would end up with a pin in the kisser for sure.

poll by twiigs.com

Oscar Fug Carpet Fug or Fab: Ellen Page

Oh, ELLEN:

I know, I know. You love the Converse. You live in an old converted whorehouse. You're a smart kid and a bit of a tomboy. I like you. You seem smart. I think you're adorable. If I lived next door to you, we'd be hanging out, shooting the shit all the time. And if that were the case, today I would go shuffling over some time after noon with Tito's Tacos (for the hangover) and the papers, and we'd eat six or seven bags of chips and then I'd say, "Ellen, WTF?" And you'd roll your eyes, and then I'd say, "WHY DIDN'T YOU ASK ME?" and you'd say, "because you would have told me not to wear it." And I'd said, "And?" And you would say, "and you would have been right."

Oscar Fug Carpet Fug or Fab: Marion Cotillard

On one hand, it looks like what might happen if fish scales and lace mated. On the other, it's French and so is she, and she's so pretty and she was so, so lovely and adorable when she won, and you know what? I think I might sort of....like it.

I mean, for one thing, it's certainly very flattering on her. She looks like a sexy fish-lady on her wedding day, which I know SOUNDS weird and rude, but I mean it in totally the most complimentary way. You feel me, right? Tell me you feel me:

polls by twiigs.com...

Oscar Fug Carpet: Well Played, Jennifer Hudson

"This performance goes out to my grand old frenemy, Andre Leon Talley. It's all for you, A.L.T..."

"And I am TEEEEELLLLING YOOOU,

IIIIIIII AM NOT CALLLLLING.

You're the WORST STYLIST that I'll ever know.

What the HELL was that gold bolero?!?!?

No, no, no, NOOOOO way,

NOOOOO way

IIIIIII'M letting you clothe MEEEEE.

I don't want to look CRAZY.

I'm free, I'm free!

And you, and you, and YOU,

You're gonna RUE MEEEEEEEEEEEE."

Oscar Fug Carpet: Colin Farrell

Listen, it's hard enough to get up and get into that suit. Clean hair is JUST TOO MUCH TO ASK.

Oscar Fug Carpet: Renee Zellweger

Oh, look, it's Renee Zzzzzzz......

Sorry, I nodded off there for a second. Not that there's anything empirically wrong with this; it's a pretty cut, a dazzling fabric, and a lovely cool metallic hue. But doesn't it feel like we've seen this a thousand times before on her? Okay, maybe not with that exact haircut -- which Renee has GOT to grow out before someone comes up to her and asks what it was like to be one of the Von Trapp sons -- but the rest is so cookie-cutter Zellweger. It has such a strong aura of been-there-done-that even Carolina Herrera herself probably had to take a No Doz to finish the assignment. Try some sleeves for once, Renee. Or a wig. Poke your legs through a stuffed Simba. Hell, at this point Renee could wear Bjork herself, and I'd applaud her for being refreshing.

Oscars Post-Party Fug: Sharon Stone

"HELLO FRIENDS. I am SHARON STONE. And I am FABULOUS. BEHOLD my white suit, a tribute -- nay, a glorious homage -- to my peep John Travolta. Admit it. I look kind of rad in this. You know I do. For I can do anything: I had a brain thingie that exploded in my head...and LIVED. I had a husband who got bit by a dragon...AND THEN I LEFT HIM. I was the FIRST actress to show people my vagina -- THE FIRST! Well, sort of. Okay, that's a total lie. But for the purposes of my current argument: THE FIRST! I AM LEGEND. And yes, I look like a tapping-dancing maitre d' in this. I KNOW THAT. But I'm an AWESOME tap-dancing maitre d'. AND YOU LOVE IT. You'd look like a refugee from a college production of one of those Busby Berkeley musicals where people twirl around in concentric circles holding giant coins. But I look GLORIOUS. BEHOLD ME!

PS: I AM WEARING A RABBIT'S FOOT, IT'S TRUE. Watch out, I'll use as a swizzle stick in your cocktail if you displease me, HUMAN"

Oscars Fug Carpet: Cameron Diaz

Last year I wrote that Cameron Diaz's white Oscar gown "inspired me to plug in my iron." Which I remember not because I am so amused at myself, but rather because her gown this year felt like an equally dusty "before" shot from an ad extolling the glories of spray starch.

Last year it felt like a linen napkin; this year, it's a bedsheet, and -- it must be said -- possibly a very low thread-count bedsheet she bought from Target because her old linens smelled like Justin and so she had to burn them.

It doesn't get much better from the back:

That is so messy and unflattering. Not to mention that I think she did her hair while in the act of surfing. You know, Cammy is reportedly shacking up with John Mayer again occasionally, and this nightmare feels quite like the kind of up-yours subversion he'd want to engage in if he were invited. I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn he draped this for her as a joke, using nothing but a staple gun and a mickey of rum, which would account for that strange patch that's practically begging everyone to stare right at the business end of her derriere. The easy explanation could be that the dress ripped and had to be patched, but it certainly looks more like a functional window, which she can retract at will to enable quick trips to the bathroom between awards. I guess we'll never know unless we hear her wailing from inside the stall, "DAMMIT, the LEVER is broken. Does anyone have a sweatshirt I can tie around my waist? Anyone? Come on, Ellen Page HAS to have a hoodie in the car."

Oscar Fug Carpet: Tilda Swinton

Okay, full disclosure: when Tilda here won, both Heather and I clapped with glee. Sure, she dresses like a nutjob some of the time, but she seems really coooool, and, like, authentic somehow. You know, she's got that crazy living situation where she and her ex and her current boy toy all live together and she never wears make-up, but it doesn't seem like an affectation and she and Intern George love each other, and if she's good enough for Intern George, she's okay by me. Plus, there's something to be said for someone who's a reliably crazy dresser: I might hate what she's wearing, but at least it's interesting.

See:

I mean...let's just say that Jessica Simpson wore this somewhere. If I'm being honest, I would so let her have it. There would be so many garbage bag jokes, Hefty would cut us a check. And she does look totally uneven, like she caught one of her arms in the limo door on the way over and had to leave it behind as a casualty of war. Or like one half of her body is going to the nunnery to take the veil (after her true love dies in the war, of course, and she will spend all her time in the convent looking radiantly beautiful as a heartbroken-yet-brave bride of Christ, and it will be SO heart-wrenching when it turns out her lover is ALIVE, and yes, I watched a lot of movies about nuns as a child, so what?), and the other half looks like she's going to the nunnery to take the veil, but it was really hot that day. So, yeah, she is not at all wearing what I would wear to the Oscars (two words: turbans!), but it's....Tilda Swinton. This is totally what she wears, like, grocery shopping. I can't totally ding it for her.

polls by twiigs.com...

Thank Fugging God, It's The Oscars

To celebrate the fact that the Night of a Thousand Stars is coming to us as originally scheduled, we'll be live-blogging the red-carpet shenanigans for New York's Web site, starting when the festivities do at 6 p.m. Eastern time and continuing right up until they shove the last desperate, gowned celebrity inside for the ceremony.

If you want to read along with us, this link will -- at the appointed time -- take you to us, and of course on Monday we'll have our usual coverage right here on GFY. We are so excited we might plow through TWO wheels of Brie.

And at least one of these.

Chris Gorham not included. Tragically.

Fug or Fab: Katie Holmes

Actually, I'm fairly sure I know how I feel about this.

Love the pattern, but unless Katie is planning to carry Suri in that thing until her high-school graduation, wearing a dress with a gargantuan built-in baby sling is a tad over the top. Perhaps that's where she keeps Tom when he gets cranky and needs a nap.

But, what the hell. It's Friday! The Oscars are upon us! I just had an awesome peanut-butter, banana, honey, and nutmeg sandwich! Everything's coming up roses. So I'll put Katie's hellacious houndstooth hammock to a Fug or Fab vote, because there's nothing like a little democracy to start your weekend right.

poll by twiigs.com

Pussycat Fugs

I guess Kimberly Wyatt here is one of the Pussycat Dolls:

I really hope she shows up on Girlicious --which I hope you're watching, as it is CRACKTASTICALLY entertaining, in a completely shameful way --to explain to the cast why over-the-knee boots paired with a strapless spring dress ganked from the costume closet of your local junior high school's production of Bye Bye Birdie REALLY enhances your confidence, your sexiness, or your sexy confidenceness. I just want to hear how she would explain it.

Fug's Next Top Model

Oh my god, Jaslene. Girl. You know I love you. Of all the Top Model winners, you might be my favorite (although who doesn't like Danielle?). But COME ON:

Peep-toe wrestling shoes....with tights? A belted....I don't know what to call it? A pillowcase? From the thighs up, you look like a mannequin at Forever XXI, from the bottom down you look like Sienna Miller's next outing to the pub. What would Tyra say?

Cashfug Mafia

So, I might be watching Cashmere Mafia. Trust: it's not good. But it is kind of fun in its badness, and the clothes are predictably Pat Field-y, which is to say, totally irrational for the real world but evoking a sort of delightful WTF? This is FANTASTIC/TERRIBLE! feeling in the television viewer. For example, this past week, Lucy Liu went for a jog with her super-hot neurosurgeon boyfriend:

IN A FUR COAT. In nearly four years of writing this website, I have become slightly better at maintaining my poker face, but I turned the TV on to see this and actually said -- aloud, to the empty house -- "WHAT IS SHE WEARING?"

Later, Lucy Liu was sort of stalking this dog (don't ask. It was a metaphor), and went to the dog park in this:

Obviously. What you can't tell -- because my technology here might be slightly low tech -- is that her sleeves are made....of chain mail. Yes. Awesome/terrible!

But be that as it may, what's the point of a nighttime soap without crazy outfits? Dynasty would have been nothing without its giant fur turbans and ear-level shoulder pads. It's when the show's stars start getting used to being trussed up like a wacky couture turkey (...a couturkey, if you will) and begin showing up in real life looking completely wacked-out that it all falls apart. Like Bonnie Somerville for example:

Oh honey, no.  Somerville is sort of the show's weak link to begin with -- her character has a very bizarre Nu YAWK accent that comes and goes randomly, and she...might have Mafia ties? Or not. And she's kind of a lesbian, but not really? But really. But no.  But maybe. And her makeup is always terrible, despite the fact that she does something non-specific BUT IMPORTANT for a make-up company -- and this is certainly the Weakest Link version of some of the nutbag-but-at-least-interestingly-nutbaggish stuff Lucy Liu has been wearing around town. I dare say that a fur jogging suit would be an improvement on this.

St. Fugmo's Fire

DEMI: All right, everyone, this is it.

RUMER: Whatever.

ASHTON: Hey, chill, pretty baby. Be fly like a hep cat.

RUMER: I just can't believe YOU got to wear the hat. The hat is MY THING.

DEMI: God, stand UP straight, Rumer! Miss Golden Globe does not slouch.

RUMER: Well, fine, THANKS FOR THAT, 'cause I never got to BE Miss Golden Globe, remember?

DEMI: Then you will damn well use the dress I bought you tonight and smile and look interested for a change. Will it kill you?

RUMER: I AM NOT YOUR ACCESSORY.

ASHTON: Chill, honey-mama, all this arguing is making my face-lace twitch. Let the spawn do her thing and we'll catch her on the flip-side, dig?

DEMI: And what the hell is up with you in that zoot suit? What is that stupid scarf?

ASHTON: I think the word you're looking for is "snazzy," baby.

DEMI: God, all I wanted was an old-school glamorous night on the town. NOTHING WORKS OUT FOR ME.

RUMER: WELCOME TO MY LIFE!

ASHTON: You broads are churning my bread basket. I need some giggle water.

NYFug.com

We're all for Miss Tyra torturing a fresh crop of girls every cycle on Top Model, but some glories need to be experienced twice. Like Jade, that batshit leftover lady who assured us that elephants are in the dinosaur family, or Questionably Blind Amanda. So we put together a list of twelve girls we'd love to see face off in an All-Star season. Essentially, if you ever wanted to hear Elyse give a confessional about Jade, this could make that dream come beautifully, condescendingly, eloquently true.

Jade, Cycle 6: Too old to compete, too crazy to ignore: Jade is the cream of this show’s deluded crop. Remember her in-house rampage with panties on her head? The beat poetry? That dragalicious Cover Girl ad? The hideous aging-poodle-style makeover with shockingly fierce pictures? Jade once told housemate Furonda, “One day I’m going to write a book, and you should read it, because you might learn something.” Please, God, if ANTM won’t have her back, just publish that book.

To check out the other eleven we picked, check out "Our ANTM All-Star Dream Team" on NYMag.com's The Cut.

FugO, FugO, Gossip Girl

I'm not opposed to a good love triangle when it's done right -- why, hello, Brenda/Dylan/Kelly! -- but as fans of the Gossip Girl books know, the TV series has drawn its characters just differently enough that the entrance of dreamy Dan's "best friend" Vanessa has been pretty unwelcome. In the books, she's kind of punky and cool, he's moody and pretentious, and Serena isn't as grounded; in the show, though, Dan and Serena are mostly adorable, and so being asked to swallow a duller incarnation of Vanessa is a bit like washing down your cheesecake with a glass of curdled milk.

And of course, in life, it's kind of hard to follow Blake Lively no matter WHO you are. She's so pretty.

Even when she's evoking a special performance of "You're The One That I Want" as costumed by the late Fred Rogers, Blake makes it all look very cool and comfortable, as if she could as easily wear this out to the video store as to a party. It's not quite my favorite outfit, but by and large it works on her and she elevates it into something more interesting than its component parts.

So the deck was kind of stacked against poor Jessica Szohr, who, in addition to playing second fiddle to Serena on Gossip Girl, on this night was also fifth chair in the clarinet section while Blake nailed her solos. Check it:

We have:

1) A freaking LEOTARD, which is...

2) ... cut to her ribcage, thus whipping up a fresh batch of boob pancakes;

3) A jacket that is actually sort of cute, but probably extremely bitter at being brought into this whole mess and currently dreaming of a bespectacled laundryman named Mr. Bundles who might help it escape this fresh hell;

4) No, seriously -- a LEOTARD. Is this where we're headed now? Having to get TOTALLY NAKED in order to use the bathroom at parties? I never thought I'd wax nostalgic about crotch snaps, but at least that's a SEMBLANCE of an escape hatch. When she has to remove everything she's wearing in a grotty public restroom, where exactly is she going to put it? On the floor? Atop the toilet paper dispenser? Folded up and tucked in with the seat liners? It makes no SENSE.

Oh, and in case that weren't enough:

5) No feet. Look, I need a pedicure, too, but there are other solutions besides giving off the impression that you hacked off your toes in an embarrassed tizzy.

So, Serena 2, Vanessa 0.

Actually, it's more like Serena 17, Vanessa 2, because as much as I dislike the character, I did enjoy V's crack about using Chuck's blackmail money to start a fund in his name for teenage girls with herpes. In fact, maybe Chuck is just what the script-doctor ordered. While we wait for Queen B to come to her senses, V and C could squabble their way into a wicked hate-hookup in which she attempts to rip off one of his turtlenecks, but it's too tight and gets stuck on his ears and they take five minutes to wriggle him free, and by then his hair is all jacked up and the moment is gone. Still, any girl who wrangles Chuck's turtlenecks could probably wangle her way into my heart. Take it under advisement, V.

XOXO,

Fugger Girl

poll by twiigs.com

Fuggifer Missoni

Socialite Jennifer Missoni (of the Missoni Missonis. Wow, that word has lost all meaning for me after writing it three times) is really very cute, right? So cute:

I think the dress is cute, and I even rather like her Ceremonial Breastplate Necklace. But I have one question for you: are thick old-school pantyhose back?! PLEASE SAY NO. Thick, ice-skater style hose remind me of several moments in my life I'd rather forget: my horrible first job out of college, at which I was not ALLOWED to wear pants, despite the fact that I had to do a lot of climbing of ladders and such; a church function I was dragged to against my will by an individual who will remain nameless, because I truly believe that she had no idea the event was going to include a long talk about how everyone should be trying to convert the "heathens"; and the summer I was experiencing a life-crisis which culminated in my making a list of pros and cons as to whether or not I should join the FBI, which was recruiting at the time. On the "pros" side were perks like, "when I go to pick up my friends, I can pound on their door yelling, "OPEN UP, MOTHERF'ER! IT'S THE FBI!", and the possibility that my partner might be David Duchnovy-esque. On the "cons" side was, in addition to the possibility of my being shot, "probably have to wear pantyhose."

I can not bear to revisit those dark, strange, frustrating days. Please tell me they're not upon us once more.

polls by twiigs.com...

Fugtourage

Dude, green IS gold. I am WITH you.  I totally recycle. I make the kids at the market pack my groceries in unbleached cotton bags and then get annoyed when they half-ass it and place my six-pack of organic spring water (read: Bud) on top of my delicate bananas (read: Doritos), and then feel like an asshole about it. I've replaced all my light bulbs with those other light bulbs that look sort of like DNA that Domino magazine told me to use unless I wanted the world to burst into flames. If I had a yard, I would TOTALLY be composting, because I am kind of obsessed with composting and think it's fascinating. I am a full-on treehugger with you, man. But you know what else is gold? TUCKING IN YOUR SHIRT.

Brit Awards Fug Carpet: Kelly Rowland

Kelly, Kelly, Kelly.

Bjork's had an actual face. And illusion netting. And an EGG PURSE. Were you even trying?

Brit Awards Fug Carpet: Two People Whose Names Will Escape Most Of Us Tomorrow

So, it seems pants were in short supply at the Brit Awards -- by which I mean, trouser-pants, and not underwear-pants, and it's important to clarify this point because of the great and almost impassable cultural chasm between this mighty nation and our parent country. Apparently when they landed here, "pants" took on a whole new meaning that didn't make it back across the pond, and suddenly merely saying something innocent like, "I'm just wearing pants and a sweater to the bar," became equivalent to dropping a ticking time-bomb of accidental nudism onto the kingdom that begot us. I don't know how we have managed to be conversant with them since. Fortunately, our t-shirt works in both languages; thank God we are fluent in both.

At any rate, leg-and-crotch coverings were  at times absent from the proceedings -- Abi Clancy being one instance and Alesha Dixon of girl group Mis-Teeq being the other.

It's here that Alesha learned that "Brit" refers to the country in which she lives, and not to Britney Spears -- and that, ergo, this ceremony was NOT an homage to the fabric-to-flesh ratio our cherished, troubled singer so frequently employs. I am pretty sure that dress is made of the foil lining from a box of Valentine's chocolates. Would that Alesha had shared those with us instead.

TV personality Fearne Cotton, it turns out, is TECHNICALLY wearing something trouser-adjacent. At first I thought it was a miniscule skirt, but no:

It is in fact a SHORTS-SUIT. A red, SATINY shorts-suit that's one part Little Rumpus Room On The Prairie and two parts cocktail waitress at Lucifer's House of Hate-Pies.

But hey, at least she's passionate about it. We can see through the jollity, though -- sure, we may be sitting at home in pajamas, but at the end of the day, she's stuck in a scarlet romper slinging Satan's rhubarb crumble for next to nothing and a lousy pension. Between being enslaved to the Prince of Darkness' satin shorts-suit and wearing flannel while watching Prince Humperdinck in The Princess Bride, I'm going with Buttercup's pig-fiance for sure. 

Brit Awards Fug Carpet: Abi/Abigail/Abbey Clancy

In light of this photograph, it shouldn't surprise you to learn that Ms. "Make Up Your Mind, Please" Clancy is: a) a former lingerie model; b) a runner-up of Britain's Next Top Model, dinged by the judges for being too "glamour," which is essentially UK modeling code for "soft-core porn"; c) a WAG, or more specifically, the on-off G of toothy giant Peter Crouch; d) was allegedly dumped once by Crouch via fax; and e) tried to solidify her career by allowing herself to be taken under the musty wing of professional exhibitionist and gold-plated nutter Janice Dickinson, purely for televisual purposes.

Given all that, it may surprise you that she bothered wearing panties at all. Didn't Janice teach her better than that?

Say You'll Be Fug

Oh my god, you guys. The LohanLeggingitis has mutated! It's turned from Leggings As Pants to...NO PANTS AT ALL.

Seriously, Geri, a Man's-Shirt-As-Outfit works only on very specific occasions: the Morning After scene in a romantic comedy; as a costume for the Sexy Rumpled Woman Who Just Loves a Clean-Shaven Face in a Gillette Mach3 ad;  and those actual real-life occasions when you decide to pretend you're in a razor commercial while your boyfriend shaves.  Two of  these events are fictional, one of them is personal, and neither of them involve being escorted places by boy back-up dancers while wearing a pelt.

His Fug Materials: The Golden Fugpass

You know, whether it's fair or not, I feel like if Cate Blanchett wore this I'd be sitting here thinking, "Oh, that crazy Cate, always trying something endearingly wacky." Maybe she'd even pull it off. But when fellow Aussie Nicole Kidman attempts things that are off-kilter, it just makes me tired.

It's like, "Remember me? From that movie I did a long time ago that you liked? Well, this movie didn't really work out, but hey, I'm still acting! Still here! My younger husband waxes his chest and I brush his hair! It's what all the kids are doing! I'M HIP AND RELEVANT! PAY ATTENTION TO ME! " Meanwhile we're watching her old face stare smugly at all those sheer panels on the sternum, the thighs, and the ribcage, relieved that it is not the one dressed like an overly treated art-deco window in a Victorian funeral home. Although I'll give her this: At least it's distracting us from fixating on her bump. Or her allegedly missing Botox.

poll by twiigs.com

Semi-Fug

I secretly wonder if this is a "Well Played, Will Ferrell" in disguise -- albeit a very good disguise.

Sure, his vest comes down to his knees, and yeah, it makes his legs look two feet long. And the turtleneck gives off the vibe that he's partly in traction. But don't you think that, at the premiere of his movie about basketball, Will Ferrell intentionally showed up looking like he'd borrowed clothes directly from Shaquille O'Neal? Or that he was styled by Charles Barkley? Used Dwayne Wade's tailor? I know he didn't show up at the Blades of Glory premiere in junk-cradling spandex, but that doesn't mean he isn't trying to distract everyone from how bad this movie looks by doing something amusing at the premiere. It's like a loving tribute to a Big & Tall store.

That's got to be it, right? Because I would hate to believe that Will Ferrell has suffered a head injury and woke up thinking he's Karl Malone, or that he's got some sort of bizarre elephantitis of the torso that's caused it to take over three-quarters of his body. Those things are sad. The idea that this is a fashion gag makes me much happier. And because I can't handle trauma without having had my caffeine yet, I need to cling to the latter.

Fug Harbor

I was talking to someone the other day about Pearl Harbor and how, when you saw it the first time, you thought things like, "Josh Hartnett is the only good thing about this movie," and now, you reflect back on it and think, "JOSH HARTNETT? Wow. That movie WAS bad." And it was. I mean, I love Ben Affleck but I think even HE would agree that he was god-awful in it, albeit god-awful in a period piece which found it historically accurate for his flyboy character to have HIGHLIGHTED HAIR. And then you have poor Kate Beckinsale, who was not truly terrible in it, but who was hamstrung by the fact that she was dressed like a quasi-porno version of a World War II nurse the whole time. But the fact is, I'm pretty sure she must have thought that movie would catapult her into the Hollywood A-list, and it really did not. So apparently she's dealing with her currently perhaps-less-sterling-than-anticipated-at-this-point career by going out and catching a raging case of LindsayLohanLeggingitis:

GIRL. I don't care HOW MANY sweaters you wear. You're still not wearing pants. Has that worked well for Lindsay, I ask you? Exactly.

Fug or Fab: Katherine Heigl

Full disclosure. I love this coat. I love a kitschy, costume-y coat, especially if it looks like something Auntie Mame would wear to brunch to talk about all the money she's not leaving you until you clean up your act.

In fact, I have to be honest and admit that I might -- nay, totally would -- wear this whole thing, with sluttier shoes and different accessories. But I was discussing this very look with some people recently, and there seemed to be the thought that there's something about the huge string of pearls and the hair and the Giant Proffered Cig that pushes her right into Wackadoo Old Broad territory. Wackadoo Old Broad Just Exiting Manhattan Divorce Court, if you will. And while I unironically can't WAIT until I can legitimately be a Wackadoo Old Broad, I am.

polls by twiigs.com...

Random Fug: Eureka

So, I tried to figure out who this Eureka person is, but Wikipedia could not help me -- unless I am mistaken and she IS, in fact, Dorothy Gale's cat from The Wizard of Oz, a large-scale business-plan competition in India, a town in Nova Scotia, or a WWII paratrooper beacon. Otherwise, it's never a good sign when you are a performer but you don't have a Wikipedia page. Surely she has a friend who could get on that, or a few hours in her schedule.

All that may change soon enough, though. This mysterious "Eureka" person is performing at an NBA All-Star Weekend event, and based on what she's wearing, she may soon get her own entry under "Eureka (singer, Lil' Kim impersonator)":

[Photo: Splash News]

This is not an outfit. This is that page in the Victoria's Secret catalog that you come upon and the snort at, because normal people don't lounge around the house -- or a club, or a formal party, or any event that doesn't involve seducing the pool boy -- in itchy-looking sparkly sweatpants and a shiny, swirly bra that's barely holding in your goods. Only Lil' Kim, our favorite nudist sprite of yore, would have the tenacity to wear this outside and call it clothes -- and frankly, Latter-Day Lil' Kim, who got sprung from the pokey after spending all that time in full-coverage orange jumpsuits, would probably snort that this is "too obvious." So this is either a touching homage to the tiny exhibitionist we came to love back in 1999, or just Eureka's desperate attempt to get Diana Ross to grab her boob. Either way, we're pretty sure a Wikipedia page might be born today. Go stick a candle into a cupcake and celebrate with her.

However, I'm still not convinced the beacon entry wouldn't partially apply. You could probably see those pants from 30,000 feet, although they certainly would not make me want to jump toward them.

Fug the Cover: Drew Barrymoore

So, this went badly:

So, let me see if I've gleaned the correct message from this cover: this Spring, it will be the height of chic for women previously renowned for their cute, off-kilter spunkiness and sexy regular-girl charm to re-envision themselves as stoned-looking, moderately greasy mannequins with quasi-80s hair, wearing a scrunchie as a top? Good to know.

Eli Fug

Can we discuss Natasha Henstridge for a moment?

She looks really pretty on Eli Stone, right? I mean, I assume she does. I haven't watched it yet, though it's waiting for me on the TiVo. But she looks pretty in the commercials, so I assume she looks good on the show. But when she's out in the wild, as she is here, she looks....kinda rough. Sorry, Natasha, but you're wearing a bath mat as a shawl. You smell what I'm cooking here.

Of course,  said roughness may also be because NO ONE ON THE WORLD can pull off WIDE-LEGGED PLEATHER PANTS.

Okay, maybe Grace Jones. But that's it.

Fab AND Fug: Diane Kruger

So, there's a part in the book where we talk about Diane Kruger, and how sometimes she looks AMAZING, and sometimes she looks like she woke up in an alternate universe where everyone wears trash compactors as hats. That happened again this weekend.

First, we've got the fantastic:

I love that. I think she looks so chic and unusual and....you know, very Dramatic Gorgeous European Actress who bathes in alpaca milk and owns a leopard. In a good way.

But then, the next day the pendulum clearly swung into the other direction. The fully batshit crazy direction:

Well, the shoes are good, at least, right? And the skirt is great for those evenings when Big Bird really wants to go formal. But I  can't get behind the concept of Formal High Fashion Uptight Schoolgirl Maitre d'. I just can't. I feel like she's about to seat me at a crappy table right next to the bathroom and then smack me with her geometry book, and not in the sexy way. On either count.

The Other Boleyn Fug

SCARLETT JOHANSSON:  Thanks for taking the fall this time, Natalie. It's nice of you to step up to the plate and get all crazy looking, right after I made that big fuss about how imperfect you make me feel.

NATALIE PORTMAN: Huh? I mean, excuse me?

SCARLETT: You know, you totally took the pressure off me by showing up to this event wearing a complex array of curtains. It's nice of you.

NATALIE: What?

SCARLETT: I'm saying, I hate what you're wearing, and THANK YOU for that. God. You went to that fancy college, you'd think you'd have better aural comprehension.

NATALIE: I understood you, I was just perplexed and distracted by your unusually ratty hair. For your information, this dress is extremely significant.

SCARLETT: So was Bjork's swan outfit.

NATALIE: Well. I never! I had no idea that you were pure evil.

SCARLETT:  I am NOT evil. I am GRATEFUL that you are taking the pressure off me! Why has this conversation gone so terribly wrong? No one understands me!

NATALIE: My significant dress and I are going to go over there and stand next to Eric Bana now. I'll talk to you when you feel ready to apologize.

SCARLETT: BUT...oh, never mind.

Fugtourage

I think it's about time Adrian Grenier reconsidered the beard.

[Photo: Splash News]

I don't know if it's for Entourage, or something else, or if nobody told him that strike beards are so January 2008 because that whole thing is over. And I'm not an anti-beardite, I swear. Lots of splendid people have beards, like Santa, and my dry cleaner, and sometimes Judd Apatow. But the one-two wallop of bushy hair plus facial shrubbery give off a whiff of Adrian having been sequestered in a woodland cabin, scraping bark off the trees to make his own paper, foraging for berries to turn into homemade jam, and preparing for when the aliens come to get us by building a rocket-sidecar he can use to transport more people to the promised galaxy.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm sure that whoever is on the receiving end of bath soap made entirely out of leaves and spit will really appreciate the gift, and I bet Adrian needed the detox after hanging out with Paris Hilton so much. But it also might be a good time for him to rejoin civilization. It's not worth missing Lost episodes just to become one with nature and make your own coasters out of fish heads.

Aeon Fug

When I saw this photo of Charlize Theron, the second thing I thought -- after wondering if she's slightly over-tweezed, or if it's just me -- was, "She is pretty. Stuart Townsend looks like he just realized he has a piece of spinach on his teeth and he's desperate to keep it hidden, but she seems happy and she's probably wearing something cute." Then I concluded, per usual, that she could probably poke her legs through a giant handbag and pull it off with, if not ease, something approaching aplomb.

Of course, then I saw the full-length photo.

And indeed, she totally looks like she ripped apart a giant metallic purse and fashioned it into a dress. Her ACTUAL purse blends into it so completely that I barely notice it's there. It's proof positive that just because you're eleven feet tall and genetically blessed, you can still look like a linebacker when you wrap yourself in what's essentially a leather towel. Her genes must be so irritated right now. Everyone thought SAG could be the next acronym to go on strike but I'm pretty sure Charlize's DNA might beat it to the punch.

Buffy The Fugpire Slayer

When I was in seventh grade my class did one of those weekend trips to York, and all the girls got so excited to be away from home that once we got to the hotel, we all dumped out whatever makeup we'd managed to get our hands on and dolled ourselves up but good. By which I mean, like teenage hookers. We had no clue what we were doing, and add to that the fact that our rooms and bathroom were dimly lit so we couldn't even really tell how much we had on; when we couldn't see any difference in our faces we'd slap on more, and more, and more. Looking back, I now understand why our teachers took one look at us and practically passed out cold.

But, looking back again, I DON'T think Sarah Michelle Gellar was in that class, or on that field trip, or in York at the time watching a flock of painted pre-teens drift past all proud of themselves. So I'm not sure what's going on here:

She doesn't even look like herself. Especially at a Vaseline event about keeping skin amazing, where you'd think a minimalist approach with makeup would've been more logical, as opposed to creating the illusion of two black eyes and a frostnipped mouth.

Smidge also might've wanted to reconsider her minimalist approach to boob support -- sticky bras, altering the dress, wearing a different one altogether -- but perhaps she thought with all that stuff on her face nobody would recognize her. She should've just told photographers she was Ivanka Trump. By the time they noticed that those aren't Ivanka's boobs, Sarah Michelle would be long gone.

Fug Or Fab: Kerry Washington

In theory, I think Kerry Washington's dress here is cute:

But am I crazy, or does it all seem about half a size too small? I want to both yank it down and pull it up. It's the Catch-22 of cocktail dresses.

polls by twiigs.com...

NAACP Awards Fug Carpet Scrolldown: Christel Khalil

This picture of Christel Khalil from The Young and the Restless -- who played the daughter of crazy-hat-wearing Victoria Rowell, made out with her current boyfriend at her own divorce party, and had a whole storyline where she got gonorrhea, although everyone seems to have forgotten about that -- is technically not a scrolldown, because it was better at the bottom than at the