Housekeeping Note

Good morning, all -- just a note to say please check your bookmarks and make sure they all point to www.gofugyourself.com, rather than simply gofugyourself.typepad.com. Thanks!

Project Fugway

If the afore-complimented Jennifer Hudson is the yang of gold metallic fabric, then Christian Siriano (whose personality, along with Chris Marsh's, totally salvaged Project Runway's last season for me) is her yin.

Seriously, there is "fierce," there is "ferocious," and then there is, "This was shoved on me by a FIERCE salesgirl at Groom And Doom's Discount Tuxedo Emporium, FEROCIOUSLY marked down to $5." I am pretty sure this shirt falls into the latter category.

Well Played, Jennifer Hudson

Dear Andre Leon Talley:

[Photo: Splash News]

THIS is how to make Jennifer Hudson wear a metallic. Not some tweaked gold bolero with a popped collar that looks like it was made out of Wonka Golden Tickets.

Kisses,

Heather

P.S. Okay, so maybe her makeup is a little too shiny in combination with the dress, but otherwise, I think she looks great. Much as revenge is a dish best served cold, her cleavage is a meal best served HOT.

P.P.S. Also, the figure she cuts is totally badass. If J.Hud were almost any other young star, she'd have wasted away to a size two by now -- even America Ferrera keeps needlessly shrinking -- so I'm thrilled she's healthy and sexy and wearing clingy clothes.

P.P.P.S. And I love her sassy bob.

P.P.P.P.S. "Sassy Bob" sounds like the name of a really terrible hair salon that has a karaoke bar in the back. Which actually automatically makes it a hilariously amazing hair salon. Can someone please open that?

Fugright, Still

Look, ordinarily I would have second thoughts about posting a photo of Lily Allen when she is probably out running errands. Because -- and I know I've said this before, but still -- we have ALL been there, where we realized there was no Jif and no Diet Coke and nothing in the house with salt in it and PEOPLE SHOULD NOT LIVE LIKE THAT and so we ran out to Ralph's with no regard to what we had on or whether we had shaved our legs. It's just life.

However, we don't usually do any of those things in sweatpants overalls.

[Photo: INFDaily.com]

And I might even have let this slide as an off day (yes, I DO realize she's carrying a Nobu bag, but the image provider caption claims she was using it as a purse, so... yeah, never mind, it's still weird), if Lily hadn't recently caused a stir in Cannes by getting so drunk she couldn't hold up her head. It's all making me wonder if the booze and the peroxide are seeping into her mind somehow, and she's become convinced she's a nine-year old circa about 1987 who believes she's going to grow up to marry Richard Marx, and that they will hire an entire STAFF of people who are to do nothing but make sure her romper legs are rolled up evenly. Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Jay Manuel a walking testimonial to the perils of turning your hair an alien silver hue? Please tell me his common sense did not die in vain.

Well Played: Kristin Davis

Or, What She Should Have Worn To the Premiere:

Parenthetically, does anyone else suspect that Kristin Davis has got a portrait of herself shoved under the bed, doing all the aging for her? Because she looks about six months older than she did that time she cracked her head on the side of the Melrose Place pool and then proceeded to haunt Billy for like 36 hours, until she got bored. That was twelve years ago. (You know, just in case you were feeling spry.) At the very least, her moisturizer deserves a high five. Or even a congratulatory chest bump.

Fug and the Fuggy: Part Bajillion

Far be it from us to let Cynthia Nixon be the only Sex and the City star to escape our microscope.

Nicole Kidman taught us all a lot of valuable lessons about fair skin and blonde hair and white dresses that look like nightgowns. I wish Cynthia had been paying attention. She looked so good at the other events, and while this isn't, say, a DISASTER, it also looks like she's waiting impatiently at the bus stop for her friendly son Casper to get off the Ghost Bus and tell her all about his day at school.

Sex and the Fugly: A Well Played, and a Not So Much

I secretly -- except not, apparently, since I just said it on my blog -- love Sarah Jessica Parker's dress.

I know it looks a tiny bit like spacesuit material, or that it's been covered in cling film, but she just looks so pretty in it. Everyone is watching; why NOT go big, right? There are photos where she's walking around while playing with the skirt and stretching it out, and dammit, I would do the exact same thing if I were Princess For A Day in that gown. [Incidentally, I would also take Matthew aside and be all, "Listen, Ferris, would it KILL YOU to act like you are proud to be with me?" His left meathook is plopped onto her waist like it's radioactive, and his facial expression is saying to me, "Shoot, there's that girl whose best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend who heard from the guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw me pass out at 31 Flavors last night. She is totally going to bust me for being here instead of being at home dying of some mysterious wasting disease. How much longer do I have to do this?" SNAP TO, BRODERICK. Or else, to put it in WarGames parlance, you are going to be at DEFCON1 when you get home.]

But while she gets to swan around like the bride, it's a tad unfortunate that Kristin Davis is stuck in something that makes her look like Sarah Jessica's eternal handmaiden:

I can't even tell if it's that bad. I'm too fixated on how she's got the possessed smile and forced jollity of a bridesmaid who's just been told the bouquet is being tossed in ten minutes, and the bride just got on the mic and screamed that she expects ALL THE SINGLE GIRLS TO BE THERE, FRONT AND CENTER ,with a huge wink in her direction, while oily Uncle Warthog and his halitosis just caught the garter and is stretching and twiddling it between his fingers while panting openly at her, AND the open bar just closed so she's got no liquid courage in her glass to help her through the horrible events that will doubtless ensue.

So it COULD be a nice dress, I guess -- the crumpled-paper-in-a-trashcan hem reminds me of Zac Posen's show-closing gown from the Spring '07 show, although apparently this is Donna Karan -- but next to what the Queen Bee got to wear, it's a bit of a flop. Or, to quote Tyra Banks as she delivers a sensitive monologue to a contestant with bad photos, "Wah-WAAAAAAH."

Mannefug

Every time I look at this, I feel differently about it.

She looks great! She's over 50 and she's still got it! Good for her! versus The hem looks like someone attacked it with tape twenty minutes ago and the trim on her dress was inspired by an armoire versus But it's a hot armoire! Good for her for working the taped hem! Live it up, lady! Great cleavage! versus I think I need a drink versus It's barely lunch time. Should you really be drinking? versus Shut up. Don't judge me. I can have a drink if I want versus I think I need to stop looking at this dress.

Fug or Fab: Ashley Olsen

I do at least get what Ashley Olsen was going for here...

[Photo: Splash News]

... but I can't help feeling like she might have pulled off the whole female-tuxedo thing better if she'd, say, washed her hair. And removed and replaced last night's eye shadow. And not worn the cummerbund. And hemmed the pants. And picked a blazer that fit. Or, say, not picked a blazer at all. She seems to be aiming at business-chic, but jerked her arm at the last minute and hit the "exhausted blackjack dealer at The Champagne Pit" spot on the target instead.

But, you know, she's an Olsen. Should she get points for having a clear intent that doesn't involve evoking the homeless? Do we give points for that sort of thing? Personally I don't like grading on a curve. But I know a lot of people who'd have flunked freshman chemistry without one, so let's give it a whirl here.

poll by twiigs.com

Fugsip Girl

So, for those of you who don't watch Gossip Girl, Lydia Hearst here showed up in the final episode as the highly unrealistic impetus for smitten skeeze Chuck Bass to ditch out on Blair Waldorf and screw his way back into ill-repute. Aside from him doing a total 180 in the span of five minutes of TV, thereby making it feel slightly pointless to get him together with Blair in the first place, it was also a really unsatisfying ending -- and totally unrealistic, because seriously, Blair Waldorf could eat this chick for lunch, if Blair Waldorf ate anything but yogurt.

I mean... that corset looks like the rat traps all got set off before Cinderella's party posse finished making her dress. Should this ever happen to you -- and really, who hasn't had their army of tiny tailors accidentally tempted by fatal peanut-butter traps? -- my advice is to wear something else, rather than divert attention from your unfinished bodice by attaching every piece of costume jewelry within a two-mile radius to your boobs and then hoping for the best.

Maybe this is a spoiler for next season -- maybe Lydia's character returns, and Blair Waldorf exacts sweet, hot-glue revenge on her entire wardrobe. (And then, I pray, packs her off with Georgina Sparks to that reform school, never to be seen again.) The lesson here: Do not fondle Chuck's turtlenecks or you WILL pay.

Sex Fug the City

You guys? I think I'm over the Sex and the City movie already. And I really liked the show. I mean, I'll totally still go see it -- if only for the clothes -- but right now I feel like I can not escape it. Its endless media onslaught is crushing the sides of my skull in a sparkly, pink vise and I am about to crack. I feel like I'm two minutes away from Kristin Davis showing up on the cover of my neighbor's copy of Bonsai Today, about 90 seconds from opening my door to find Kim Cattrall standing there to personally remind me to pre-order my tickets, a minute from Cynthia Nixon appearing as a vision on the back of my morning Pop Tart and approximately 10 seconds from Sarah Jessica Parker ripping open my shower curtain while I'm in the middle of deep conditioning to inform me that Carrie Bradshaw's story isn't over yet. I KNOW. I KNOW THE MOVIE IS COMING OUT. I SWEAR I WILL GO SEE IT. LEAVE ME ALONE. GOD.

It seems, however, that Giuliana DePandi/Rancic is feeling no such tiresome waves of ennui:

She was so stoked to find out what happened with Mr Big that she ran out to the premiere without even noticing that she's totally covered in toilet paper! I feel like that has got to go against all the tips in her dating book. Did you know Giuliana has written a dating book, by the way? I didn't either, but the internet has set me straight. Apparently,  it's called Think Like a Guy: How to Get a Guy by Thinking Like One and while I have not read it, Amazon has tagged it with, "Key Phrases: granny panties, Paris Hilton, Angelina Jolie, Ultimate Love Jams," so it has to be doing something right. I mean, Ultimate Love Jams are awesome. Very SATC:TM, no? 

Fug the Cover: Scarlett Johansson

This is just sad, I'm sorry. I mean, I guess I'm kind of glad to see her trussed up in something new -- even if it is pleather leggings and a vest and hideous lipstick and a painfully fake-ass pouty expression -- but COME ON. ScarJo. You are not a rock star. We all know that this album of yours is nothing but a vanity project.  Period. If it isn't, then why does the video to your first single basically seem to be about how depressed and truly pensive you are while people are putting eye make-up on you? Ooooh, poor  sad angel clown. Life is so hard when you're the center of attention. NO ONE UNDERSTANDS YOUR PAIN. There, there -- dry your professionally made-up eyes with a hundred dollar bill. It IS hard to be a beautiful, successful millionaire. You feel all ALONE, despite being newly engaged to someone totally dreamy.  You just sit alone and stare at your reflection in your black AmEx card and you cry cry cry in your lonely heart, I get it. But can't you just make these little videos and dress up like an erstwhile emo frontwoman and prance around with instruments in the privacy of your own backyard and leave the rest of us free to live in peace without having to likewise pretend you can sing?

Fugbe Price, Please Be in a Movie So We Can Call These Posts Something New

Don't kid yourself. Don't kid me. I know what you've been thinking. I know what was on your mind this entire weekend. It wasn't, "am I allowed to eat potato salad for breakfast?" It wasn't, "I wonder if that cute boy will call me." It wasn't even, "Oh my god, what am I going to do without Lost for the next six years or however long I have to wait for the season after this one." It was, "I wonder what that Phoebe Price person wore to Cannes?"  The good news is, dear reader, that I have answers to all those questions, and they are: yes, he better, cry, and this:

Not bad, considering her past, right? A little Most Expensive Gift Bag at The Container Store, but in comparison to her usual get-ups, kind of nice and understated.

But she was just warming herself up.

One of my favorite things about all these photos is how totally uninterested the photographers behind her are. If you look at pictures of like, Angelina and Brad, ALL photographers within a ten mile radius are screaming hard enough to induce a stroke. These guys are thinking about lunch. Or maybe just looking away from her kissy-face because they've heard the old French proverb, "If P-Squared thee kiss, thy wallet ye will miss." (How else do you think she affords the vast amount of patterned silk required for her Cannes wardrobe? It's all artful pickpocketry of one kind or another.)

This one is just eye-crossing, but I must applaud her artful use of the bikini top at a red carpet event. Clearly, she's avoiding the bottoms due to recent bathing-suit-related traumas:

But this -- though she clearly should be commended for artful recyling of Steven Tyler's old mic stand scarves -- was just the warm-up for the P-Squared Cannes Pièce de Résistance:

She's blossoming! Like a deadly nightshade or a hungry Venus flytrap! 

The best part is how she clearly just tossed her clutch aside to go for the dramatic pose. I have to admit her commitment to the cause. The "cause," of course, being  "shameless self-promotion and the continuing effort to perplex society in general as to her purpose." And full-time support of the sale bin at Joann's Fabrics, of course

Who Fugged It Up Most: Mischa, or... Mischa?

Apparently Mischa Barton had a busy night this weekend. She started off in this:

[INFDaily.com]

The head-to-toe matchy brown thing doesn't really ice my cake, particularly, but the dress might be cute and the cut of the jacket is really flattering to her waist. If I changed anything, I think it'd be the tights.

Mischa disagreed with me, evidently.

[Photo: INFDaily.com]

Apparently this was what Mischa was wearing when she returned to her London hotel the same night the other picture was taken. Which begs the eloquent question: Huh? Where did she have the other dress? Was it balled up in her pocket? Was her boyfriend keeping her spare moccasin-pump-hybrid shoes in his pants? Did someone dump a beer onto her head and force her home to change? Did she stand behind someone in line for the ladies' room and suddenly burst forth with, "If I could just please borrow your peacock-print sheath in a Warm Urine palette, then I'd FINALLY know what it means to be happy"? Does she remind anyone else of the Crunchy Frog sketch by Monty Python, where the owner of the Whizzo Chocolate Company explains that his gourmet Ram's Bladder Cup confection has been lovingly garnished with lark's vomit? And is any of it really an improvement? I must know.

pollbytwiigs.com

Dare To Fug Me

I'm pleased Lindsay Lohan is apparently booking a few jobs that give me headline material for whenever we want to feature her. And I think I'm supposed to settle for being pleased that she is not wearing leggings here.

However, I'm distinctly NOT pleased that she's forsaken the Spandex Scourge in favor of looking like somebody dug her out of their attic, shampooed her, and then brought her to Antiques Roadshow to find out if Marie Antoinette ever sat on her at a state dinner.

I would suggest that maybe her mom could stop gallivanting around being gross and trying to turn her youngest kid into a new meal ticket, but alas, I'm pretty sure Dina's influence would only cause Linds to streak on some leg bronzer and throw on some even CLUMSIER makeup, all part of the Lohan Matriarch's effort to make sure her kids look so prematurely old that she could pass as their younger sister. Sigh. Maybe Lindsay learned her lesson about unflatteringly short skirts when she wasn't allowed to sit down anywhere without a cater-waiter performing a panty check; however, in the wrong hands that could be interpreted as a dating strategy, so I should probably just give up hope and go meditate on lunch.

Happy Fugging Birthday, Joan Collins (And a Lovely Long Weekend to the Rest of You)

Today, dear readers, is a very special, precious, glorious day. Not only is it the kickoff of Memorial Day weekend here in America, and thus the official beginning of summer, it is also marks the 75th anniversary of the birth of one Ms Joan Collins, a woman from whom we have learned everything there is to know about dramatic entrances, giant hats, cutting remarks, and blackmail. In celebration of this glorious event, we leave you with the following instructional photographs:

1) When forced to wear hideously twee earrings and giant puffy sleeves (perhaps at a wedding), the best way to keep from screaming is to grit your teeth and throw your champagne flute at the help.

2)  If you suspect your ex-husband plans to attempt to choke you out, make sure your bracelets match your earrings for maximum accessorial impact during the big moment.

3) And, most importantly over the long holiday weekend: There is no lady-like way to eat fried chicken.

Have a good one, readers! See you on Tuesday. Bring your bitch pants.

 

Fugdoche, New York

Catherine Keener, taking one for the team and proving once and for all that there IS such a thing as too much houndstooth. And too-giant bell sleeves. And not enough lipstick. Thanks, Catherine! I think we've all learned a valuable lesson from this, don't you? Now, go back to the hotel and change before you knock someone unconscious.

Fuggity Fug Fugalamadingdong Oh My God I'm Out Of Ideas For Titles With Her

And what's more:

[Photo: Splash News]

YAWN. Check, please.

Cannes Fug-or-Fab Carpet: Natalie Portman

Much as Gwyneth got roughly to third base with her obsession with microminis, Natalie Portman has been doing heavy flirting with ruffles this year at Cannes. And I'm doing a lot of waffling on whether I think they're pretty and flirty, or kind of crazy. Don't get me wrong, I love waffles. Just not mind waffles. So you, dear readers, need to put on your special baby-soft clicking glove of judgment and prepare to be the jury.

Exhibit A for the prosecution:

The defense argues that this is quite pretty and elegant on her, and is an amazing color. But the prosecution wants you to know that the ruffle flipping up around her chest could have been a valance in another life. Or in this one, until twenty minutes before Natalie left her hotel.

Exhibit B:

The prosecution whispers furiously with each other -- one of them was heard to say, "You're telling me you wouldn't try that on if you had her figure? PLEASE" -- and then feebly suggests that a strong breeze would expose Natalie's portman to the world. The defense raucously chest-bumps each other and stars singing "Livin' On A Prayer."

Exhibit C:

 

The prosecutors are momentarily at a loss for words, because this is another really lovely color, but they're about to recover long enough to note that this is the sort of thing -- and, indeed, the red number as well -- would ONLY look good on someone as tiny as Natalie Portman. Anyone with an inch to pinch and real-woman hips would look like a very cold Christmas tree.  Meanwhile, the defense is making margaritas and toasting the fact that, really, who cares how it would look on a normal person if Natalie looks cute in it? The prosecution responded by passing them a note that said, "STOP LAUGHING AT US. It's sort of old-looking! Right? What if she's giving someone bad ideas? Also, can you pour us one on the rocks with salt?"

And finally, Exhibit D:

The defense stops licking salt off each others' necks long enough to wonder if five shots have caused some hallucinations. Gleefully, the prosecution screams that this could be considered the conceptual origami version of Bjork's infamous swan dress, and wants to know if it was created at a wedding shower with nothing but Angel Soft and some high-quality printer paper. When the defense warbles that it's still sort of dramatically effective and that it makes the notoriously short Portman look tall, the prosecution snorts, "Great, can you diagram the physics of that, please, and then FAX IT TO US ON PART OF HER DRESS?" The defense screams, "Fax THIS, desk monkey," and chucks a martini shaker at the prosecution's head.

poll by twiigs.com

Fug Ranch

According to our friends at IMDb, our beloved Bai Ling here has completed photography on SIX FILMS coming out over the next two years, is filming another, and is in pre-production on yet another. Girlfriend works her ass off. When does she have time to create/procure the likes of this?

Wait! I want you to see the back (speaking of asses, especially):

Whee! It's like....a leotard with the human equivalent of saddle bags attached? At least she has somewhere to store her lip gloss, her house key, and her copy of The Interplanetary Guide to Human Interaction: Intrigue, Involve, Inveigle.

Jagged Little Fug

What happened to Alanis Morissette?

[Photo: Splash News]

She used to be kind of an edgy rocker type, or at least, someone who seemed sort of amused to get to play an edgy rocker type. Now she's your coworker at Kinko's who wears polyester pants and sensible trainers with her large vests, and keeps guilt-tripping everyone into coming to see her wicked-awesome Bangles cover band, Ovarian Love Bracelet, only to get them all to a show and then humiliatingly dedicate "Eternal Flame" to the dude who takes the passport photos. I've got one hand in my pocket, Alanis, and the other is covering my eyes. ZING. Thank you, good night! Tip the kid replacing the ink in Copier #2!

Edited to add: Yes, I know the rumor is that she's pregnant, but that's beside the point. I know plenty of pregnant women who don't wear that outfit. Particularly those pants. ESPECIALLY those pants.

NYFug.com: The New ‘90210’ Commits the Ultimate Sin: Bad Fashion

So, as you can imagine, we were STOKED about the new 90210. What's not to love? But judging from the recently released promo for the spin-off/sequel/update/remix/whatever we're calling it, it's going to be more of a case of, what's not to love to hate? First off, the clothes are terrible, albeit in a potentially hilarious way. For another, it already feels deeply boring:

"Not even Tristan Wilds, a.k.a. Michael from The Wire, can explain why his character is interesting except for "the way he adapts to Beverly Hills." (Couldn't he have tossed off something like, "Oh, just the way he sold a baby for a Dior phone"?) On 90210: Days of Yore, Emily Valentine slipped drugs into Brandon's drink, then poured gasoline on a parade float and threatened arson when he dumped her. You want this to be appointment television? Give us the sense there's something comparable up these people's designer sleeves."

Join us in predicting what we're going to hate about the show after a mere 120 seconds of exposure to it over at NY Mag.com!

PS: Just so we're clear -- we're obviously going to watch it. You know that, right? We haven't suffered identical head injuries or anything.

Denise Richards: It's Fug

I don't know about you, but every time I see an ad for Denise Richards: It's Complicated, I fly into a foaming rage. It's NOT complicated. You had a brutally wretched and acrimonious divorce during which both you and the MaSheen said incredibly disturbing things about each other, and then you hopped into the sack with your best friend's husband before either of you were even legally single. That isn't complicated. Physics is complicated. Brain surgery is complicated. Figuring out what color shoes to wear with a navy blue dress is complicated.  I would have accepted Denise Richards: It's Embarrassing, or Denise Richards: It's Awkward or even Denise Richards: I'm Disgusting, but Denise Richards: It's Complicated I reject wholly. Don't pretend your life is gloriously and fascinatingly complex in a way that wasn't totally engineered by your own actions, and I won't pretend I don't hate your hat: 

I hate your hat. And those shoes with that dress. And this entire look. And the fact that someone decided we all wanted to watch Denise Richards in her day-to-day life. Not everything needs to be on camera, and I say that as someone who actually watched all of Paradise Hotel 2.

Indiana Jones: Kingdom of the Crystal Fug

There are times when I wonder if Cate Blanchett is actually incapable of bowing her head, because she always looks so supremely confident in everything she wears. On occasions like this, I keep expecting her to snap to consciousness and do what any of the rest of us would do: look down at herself and jump ten feet in the air and go, "AAK! DISCO BATHROBE!" and then borrow the doorman's coat and hide at the open bar. But no.

[Photo: Splash News]

Instead she's standing there quietly transcending it, like she does with everything she wears: "Yeah, I'm awesome-looking. And talented. I could be wearing a mother'f'ing disco bathrobe and it wouldn't matter. Wait, I am? Whatever. Have you seen my skin?" Not that I think Cate Blanchett is a cocky beeyotch -- just that, you know, she COULD be. I would be.

Fug Candy

GUY: Um, Madge...

MADONNA: Yeeeeees? Will this be quick? I'm busy. I have to look happy, and married. I would advise you to do the same.

GUY: Aren't you forgetting something?

MADONNA: It's a bit too late to tell me you don't like my dress.

GUY: That wasn't what I was going to say. But also, I don't. Up close it's see-through, and you look like a chocolate-dipped disco ball.

MADONNA: But, like, a happy disco ball? A happy disco ball who is married, and happy about it, and happily married?

GUY: It also looks like someone was changing the color and got bored halfway through and just quit on you.

MADONNA: ... because I'm so happily married and you were jealous of his work?

GUY: And the necklace is too much, and the shoulder cutouts are ridiculous. It's like what you'd wear in an overly formal aerobics video.

MADONNA: Aerobics for people who love being married!

GUY: Listen, if you want people to think we're so happy, you could've at least remembered to wear your wedding ring.

MADONNA: I... really? I did? How do you know?

GUY: I've seen other pictures.

MADONNA: What a weird thing to say.

GUY: Let it go. The point is, people are going to NOTICE that you're not wearing your goddamn wedding ring if you're so happily married.

MADONNA: ENOUGH. Touch me. SELL IT.

GU: Fine. FINE. And your face does at least look nice.

MADONNA: SEE? SEE, PEOPLE? EVERYTHING IS FINE. LOVE! SO MUCH LOVE.

GU: You've still got it. You even almost sell the crazy dress. Maybe I DO still love you. And maybe I even love that dress.

MADONNA: Now shut up and smile.

Carrie Underfug

If we had a GFY Suggestion Box, it would have been stuffed to the brim this morning with little pieces of paper suggesting, "CARRIE UNDERWOOD ON AI LAST NIGHT!" See, I was irritated with American Idol this morning. Not because of who won -- in fact, I really like Cook -- but because when I fired up the old TiVo and fast-forwarded through all the yadda yadda to get to the big reveal, this is what greeted me:

RYAN SEACREST: "And the winner...of American Idol... 2008....is.... David......" DING! Would you like to delete this recording? ACK! What? NO! SHOW ME MORE! I NEED TWO MORE MINUTES! (I actually think Seacrest is very good at his job, but the dramatic pausing is going to get him killed. POTENTIALLY BY IRRITATED TIVO OWNERS.)

Anyhoodle,  I was in no mood. But I crabbed to Heather, "I guess I need to look at Carrie Underwood," and she said, "Oh, no. YOU WANT TO."

And I did:

As ever, I apologize for the poor quality. You'd think the combination of me kneeling before my ancient television with my camera would produce better photos. Clearly, I need a 60 inch flat screen HDTV immediately. IT'S FOR WORK.

But yes. That is....a floaty shawl-like item attached only to the sleeves of her jacket and flittering around behind her like some kind of twee, toilet-paper-cape-esque accessory. Confused? Me too. Let's take another look at it:

In fairness, she IS singing about a drunken Vegas wedding, so perhaps we can excuse as being a rather literal costume. After all, you'd have to be drunk to wear it.

Fug Or Fab: Spencer Grammer

I think I've mentioned how much I love Greek before. And I do. It's so funny. Just this week it actually featured a "Donna Martin Graduates!" joke that made me laugh out loud. Seriously, it's like my favorite new show. Other than The Amazing Adventures of Chuck Bass, I mean. Anyway, Spencer "Spawn of Kelsey" Grammer here is the female protagonist and she is really very charming:

But while I actually think the dress is quite summery and fun, I don't know if I would have quite gone so matchy-matchy with the shoes.  On the other hand, I like a bright shoe. On the other hand, there's a lot going on in the dress itself. On the other hand, I need to stop dithering here.

polls by twiigs.com...

Well Played, Julia Ormond

Damn, Julia Ormond is back to looking like a total bombshell.

[Photo: Splash News]

Of course, the last time we shone our fug light on Julia she was sporting a crocheted bathing cap, so -- short of hemming this at the ankle and putting on jeans underneath -- things had nowhere to go BUT up. Hopefully she's given up the dream of land-based synchronized swimming in homemade knitwear once and for all.

Eva Fugzigova

It seems famed lingerie model Eva Herzigova might also be the unofficial Gams of Cannes. With the exception of last year, in which she was pregnant, Eva generally always shows up at the French film festival at least once in something that openly begs for your vote for the coveted Gams d'Or.

Like, say, this little number from 2006. Or this, from now:

Not that she doesn't have the bod, and I congratulate her on her consistency. But I'm a bit less enchanted by the fact that I suspect these are the widow's weeds the Playboy bunnies will wear when Hugh Hefner is finally, irreversibly tempted by the big pillowy sex swing in the sky (where I hear you can get super-strong Viagra without a prescription -- so, like Mexico, but without the threat of dysentery). Why steal their thunder, Eva? They're going to be sad enough as it is.

Jamie-Lynn Fugler

I guess.... sigh. There's nothing crazily, glaringly, bikini-waxer-promoting, panty-compromisingly, Leggings McCameltoe-ishly wrong with this.

But... she appears to have had some trouble with the lining bunching up under there, and it's not doing her hips any favors. Also, I know we mention bed linens a lot, but it's distressingly apt again here: I swear, I knew a girl in college with this exact duvet set on her bed, and it's not such a great idea to walk around like the embodiment of the thing 18-year olds crawled under to devour an entire box of (fat-free!!!) Snackwell's cakes, barfed on after a case race, and balled up in the bottom of a cardboard box every year when she packed up her room for the summer.

Fuggity Kane

Okay, if that's how you want to play it, Aubrey:

Personally, I would have gone for something a bit less Malibu Barbie Whips Up a Little Something Apres Shower and Decides to Wear It Out, but what do I know? I'm not even wearing shoes right now.

Random (To Us) Fug: Corinne Touzet

When I saw this dress from afar, in a wee photo thumbnail, I expected that when it enlarged I'd see a wig-wearing Phoebe Price in it:

Because if there is anyone in this world likely to wear a gown one of the nominees would sport at the Circus Animal Tamers Banquet and Awards Gala -- or CATBAG -- it is our girl P-Squared, who has never met a cutout she thought was too small. Or maybe Bai Ling, whom I imagine actually does wrangle leopards in her spare time. This does not bode well for Corinne Touzet, whose reasonably long resume indicates she might be an actual working actress, and therefore would probably prefer to avoid speculation that she is secretly operating an old-timey brothel -- which, if you think about it, is not that different than lion-taming, but possibly with a smaller whip. Then again, she did wear the dress, so maybe she WANTS people to think she's about to run off and publish a salacious semiautobiographical novel called Petting Zoo.

Million Fug Baby

I thought Hilary Swank was making a movie about Amelia Earhart, but it seems I was wrong. She's clearly making a Lifetime movie about a small town local news anchor with big dreams of becoming the next Katie Couric:

But of course her well-ordered life of supremely sensible hair and cotton-blend pantsuits is turned upside down when her fiance, the local police chief (played by Grant Show), is arrested for murdering a young prostitute who turns out to be the child Hilary Swank gave up for adoption years ago, and her comfortable suburban life goes up in FLAMES! It's called But First: Reporting Live: Not Without My ING Sweater Set: The Mary Katherine Elizabeth Houlihan Story and it's premiering right after they show both Menendez brothers mini-series in an eight-hour block. I can't wait!

One Fug Hill: THE NEXT RETURN PART II

And so another season of One Tree Hill comes to an end. I can barely see through my tears. You think I jest, but I actually mean it. Well, I'm not really CRYING, but this was a seriously satisfying season -- full of: near-drownings; kidnappings; people being left at the altar; people finding out they need a heart transplant and then proceeding to stalk the comatose body of the person ahead of them on the transplant list and also purchasing for themselves a giant headstone (complete with headshot!) proclaiming them to be a great husband, father and brother when in fact they were none of those things and then also arranging to have themselves buried next to very grave of the brother they murdered -- a grave they also accidentally set on fire that one time; shirtless bartenders beating up junkies; and people who were just paralyzed because they were lazy. And, of course, a rich and varied history of REALLY BAD DUDE HAIR. What am I supposed to do all summer without copious infusions of man bangs?

At least the finale took that history of crappy man 'dos and BROUGHT IT TO THE NEXT LEVEL.

For one thing, we opened with this:

Okay, so no one is even looking at his hair. But CMM drinking shirtless next to a dog that has its own drink is simply too awesome to ignore. And apparently once you go drinking with a Labrador retriever, you might wake up with this:

Wait, let's take another look at that:

That's right. And it's AWESOME. Thank you, One Tree Hill writers, for giving CMM a mohawk. Damn, it feels like MY BIRTHDAY. It's almost as though you crazy kids got together and brainstormed what else you could possibly do to his head, after all the years of the straw and the wind tunnel and the porn 'stache. And the only thing left was a mohawk. And for that, I thank you. May I suggest that he open next season with long, Bo-Derekian cornrows?  Think of how awesome they'll look flying around when he's chewing the scenery!

And while it's tough to top a mohawk, then we have Dan, the heart-transplant-needing convicted murderer who spent most of the finale considering murdering a man of God in order to steal his organs, and who was last seen with heeeedious Pete Wentz-ian emo man-bangs. This new look is....not an improvement:

But Dan paid for his newly square head.  And he paid for it IN BLOOD:

How's your hair now, dude? NOW THAT YOU'VE BEEN RUN OVER BY A CAR? Tree Hill, by the way, is one of the vehicular incident capitals of the world: Dan just got run over (right as a new heart became available, of course), Rick Fox ran over Haley a few years ago (to punish her husband for not fixing a basketball game, obviously, and therefore causing CMM to have a heart attack and go into a coma. AGAIN), and then of course three years ago one of the tertiary characters hijacked a wedding limo with his on-again, off-again underage cheerleader girlfriend and accidentally drove it off a bridge into a river, where Nathan and the ghost of his murdered Uncle Keith had to fish them out of the drink. Stay off the streets of Tree Hill!

AND AWAY FROM THE HAIR SALONS. Damn.

Fug the Cover: SJP

We have gotten A LOT of email about this one:

I don't full-on hate it. Other than the fact that her expression is totally blank and she's kind of working the Dead Eyes and she appears to be mid-sentence, I have to appreciate the fact that Vogue's Photoshop henchmen didn't completely erase all of SJP's wrinkles the way every other magazine covering the Sex and the City movie has. Just, you know, a vast majority of them. Look, SJP is hardly a wrinkly old hag. But she's got a line here or there -- because of something we call aging -- and you'd never know it from all the covers she's landed on lately, in which she looks as smooth of forehead and supple of cheek as a wee baby.  I think my main issue with this cover, actually, is that it's sort of unflattering and boring and if ever there were an occasion to stick Sarah Jessica Parker in a giant hot pink tutu, a gold-plated bodice, knee-high lace-up moonboots covered in fur, and a giant, peacock-feather headdress, THIS IS IT. Why'd you let me down like that, A Dubs?

Fug or Fab: Gwyneth Paltrow

She's not in Cate Blanchett territory -- at least not for me -- but despite my general boredom and underwhelmed feelings when it comes to Gwyneth Paltrow, I have to admit that she is good at pulling off clothes that are unusual. So I've been staring at this picture throughout an entire One Tree Hill rerun (seasons may change, but Chad Michael Murray's accidentally vacuous Squint Of Deep Thought is forever) trying to decide whether this is a good risk or a bad one. And so far all I've come up with is that I'm not quite sure, and that I hope Sophia Bush really is dating James Lafferty, because he's way dreamier than her skeevy ex.

Pros: I love navy. It's very sleek and streamlined. And the neckline is sort of sweet.

Cons: The seam in the front bisects her weirdly and I keep thinking it's because someone cut open a jumpsuit sewed it into a skirt; it's pulling around her groin; she looks SO barely-there-slim that she's almost a bobblehead, and the bow tie and ribbony bits actually seem to walk the very wobbly line between "sweet" and "twee," and may have passed out in a whiskey-sodden stupor on the wrong side.

poll by twiigs.com

Fuglien

Has Sigourney Weaver got Tilda Swinton on speed dial?

She was on the right track with the dress, but then it's like the little alien that's usually on Tilda's shoulder crept over to Sigourney and told her that nothing would class up a navy evening gown QUITE like a neon satin nightshirt in the same hue as lead-based pea soup -- ESPECIALLY without a lick of eye makeup. Honestly, you'd think Sigourney had enough experience with aliens to know when they're pulling her leg.

Academy of Country Music Awards Fug: Sarah Buxton (with back-up from Keith Urban)

Something about this is SO WRONG, it's come around to being awesomely right, by which I mean, totally hilarious:

I mean, what can I say that will add to the hilariousness already inherent in this dress? That it looks like something a starfish would wear to a formal dance in an episode of SpongeBob SquarePants? That it's a item of clothing that will provide hours and hours of gleeful chuckles and bad jokes to the drunk? That it appears to be a sartorial salute to the body's major arteries? No. You have to just look upon its majesties and enjoy.

Academy of Country Music Awards Fug: Criss Angel (also featuring Poppy Montgomery, who looks fine)

CRISS ANGEL: You seem to be having a good time.

POPPY MONTGOMERY: Sure! I just had a baby and I look great! I have no idea what I'm doing here, but at least I look good doing it. Why are YOU here?

CRISS: I'm MAGIC.

POPPY: No, really.

CRISS: I AM MAGIC.

POPPY: Do you have a show on CBS now, or something?

CRISS: A MAGICAL SHOW.

POPPY:...okay, then can we talk about what you're wearing?

CRISS: Is it not magical?

POPPY: It is not. Unless "magical" is a synonym for "frighteningly reminiscent of the contents of a hormone-fueled nightmare I once had about being chained to Nikki Sixx at a biker bar while being haunted by Lord Voldemort's Dark Mark." In which case: totally.

Academy of Country Music Awards Fug: Carrie Underwood

Oh, Carrie Underwood. I know I spent years and years railing about your habit of wearing formal shorts to perform, but I have to say, I rather prefer the shorts to this:

You're adorable and in great shape and very young. Now is not the time to dress like you're the headliner on Carnival Cruises' Nifty At Sixty Salute to The Golden Girls as interpreted by someone with a long-term Barry Gibb fetish. You are doing your bum a disservice -- which is not to say that your bum looks bad, merely that your bum would probably prefer to be encased in something less agonizingly cheesy. But maybe the front is better:

Or not.

Academy of Country Music Awards Fug Carpet: Sara Evans

Note to Sara Evans:

You're allowed to go up a size.

Fugoes

I am mildly concerned that Dania Ramirez appears to be wearing a dress cobbled together from wrapping paper I saw at Target and a hot pink tutu.

And I am really rather perplexed by the fact that her right boob apparently needs to be thrust up so much farther than her left. Did it win something?

But above all, I can't help being VERY worried that her presence at Upfronts parties this spring means we are stuck seeing more of her annoying character on Heroes. And I can't handle that. I would take an entire season more of Ali Larter and/or Lovestruck Hiro Mooning Around Feudal Japan (Not To Be Confused With 'Mooning Feudal Japan,' Which Would Be More Of An HBO Show) if it meant not having to watch Wonder Twin #1 act like a complete idiot and then gasp awkwardly while the special-effects guys turn her eyes black. Granted, none of that is necessarily Dania's direct fault, but she is the one who dredged up all those feelings by attending Happy Fun Fall Schedule parties in a dress that I'm pretty sure is something Paris Hilton would've worn to a birthday party -- or, indeed, even as pajamas -- when she was ten. And possibly twenty.

Fuggled Out

Jenny McCarthy has kind of grown on me. I must be mellowing with age, but whenever she's on The View -- I know, I KNOW, but the squabbling is sort of addictive -- she usually makes me laugh, and I dig the blonde bob she's been working lately. Her coif is a foul temptress, the kind of hair that cruelly entices me to consider chopping mine off likewise, until I remember that it would end in tears because we have very different hair, so while she looks sleek and cool, I would look like Carrot Top.

Or sort of like this:

It's not that the curly bob is so bad, actually. It's just that this ENTIRE look feels ripped from Va-Va-Voom: The Jessica Simpson Story, about that awkward time when Jessica was so desperate for us all to LOVE HER that she over-bronzed and wore horrible curly short wigs that probably cost $1 and tight plunging necklines, to the point that if anyone asked you what color her eyes were, you'd say, "Uh... boobs." (I know that sounds like every time with Jessica Simpson, but it is one PARTICULAR phase more than any other.) Jenny McCarthy deserves better than to make me think of Jessica Simpson when I look at her.

And more than that, Jenny deserves better than to make me think she's a hungry cougar. Seriously, I half expect her to announce that she's spending the summer at the Catskills, where she'll have rowdy sex and do the cha-cha with her hunky dance instructor during the week and then coo over Jim Carrey when he comes up for his weekend poker games. By which I mean, it's retro in a creepy/desperate kind of way -- you know, that special, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner, but they are more than welcome to put you there, and in fact, I would encourage it, especially because we all know Baby's sister caught you in bed with her waiter boyfriend" aura.

poll by twiigs.com

Lady Fugtoria Hervey

A lot of people have e-mailed us asking why the hell Phoebe Price gets invited to Cannes every year. One of our pet theories is that people are egging her on, because laying bets on what percentage of her body will be exposed is both fun and lucrative, and also everyone just wants to see if The Crimson Nutbar can top herself.

I'm starting to think Lady Victoria Hervey falls into that category as well.

[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

Like, I'm pretty sure next year someone will say, "Hey, do you think Lady Victoria Hervey will be wearing anything that's actually sewn together?" And someone else will reply, "Who's that, again? Princess Sparkle Panties? Nah, she clearly hates a seam." Say what you will about Victoria Beckham and her love of the skimpy and dramatic, but she does stop short of bedazzled illusion netting. (SO FAR.) If we could just get Lady Hervey, Phoebe Price, and Bai Ling together in a movie, we could call it Fuglie's Angels -- plot TBD, and also, totally beside the point -- and then maybe they could all show up at Cannes for an actual REASON sometime.

Fug the Future

"Oh, CRAP," Gillian Anderson seems to be thinking, "I'm still wearing my towel, aren't I?" I'm sorry, Agent Scully, but it seems that you are. But take heart! It appears to be a very, very expensive towel, and you can just tell everyone that you were forced to wear this as part of a black ops government experiment involving  black oil, guys with bionic arms, super soldiers, your ova, a chip in the back of your neck, a guy with a wicked nicotine addiction, and a variety of little green men. That sounds like a pretty good excuse to me.

Fug Fug

At first, I thought Paris Hilton might have been allowed to attend one of the many global horse-racing events that encourage crazy hats and wonky poses like you are deeply drunk on Pimm's Cups.

But, no. She's just promoting her fragrance, "Can Can," which a) I am afraid might be so named because it smells like Paris does after a night of dancing at the clubs, and b) is apparently aimed at girls who piss off their cousins by going to their country weddings wearing white dresses and hats that resemble a contemporary-art take on bird excrement; cozying up to the cute young vicar at the reception after pouring vodka into his tonic; and then dragging him under the head table to make out until they are discovered midway through the father-daughter dance, at which point he's got lipstick on his forehead and his pants are on his head.

Sigh.

Fug or Fab: Eva Longoria Parker

There is nothing Eva Longoria loves more than a nice, subtle understatement.

Although there is a part of me that appreciates this drama -- kind of the way I thought it was deeply ridiculous in a HILARIOUS way that Celine Dion gave all her wedding guests a large photo album full of glamour shots of herself, and then a while later had a second wedding that I believe involved riding elephants -- I just can't help wondering if Eva thinks that every time she sets foot in France, she needs to remind us all of her lavish wedding. Cannes is a big, fancy deal, sure, but did she really need to deprive every ballet academy in Europe of its tulle supply? I would suggest Eva is the female embodiment of Bobby Trendy, but frankly, Bobby Trendy is already sort of the female embodiment of Bobby Trendy. And somewhere out there, looking at this photo, he is having an aneurysm of pleasure.

poll by twiigs.com

Fuginator

In total fairness, I bet this IS comfortable:

Like my grandma's housedress, or a hotel robe, neither of which I would willingly wear out of the house. In addition to that fact that it's a vaguely Hammer-Pantsian jumpsuit romper, it looks like a rather cheap Hammer-Pantsian jumpsuit romper. The sort of thing you grab when you're in Urban Outfitters picking up some wacky summer sunglasses and hold up and wave at your friend while making a, "can you believe they're selling this?!?!" face, and then she makes a "Whoa!" face and then you both go back to trying on sunglasses and end up buying ones that you suspected would make you look like an asshole, but it turns out are actually kind of cute. But no one really BUYS that Hammer-Pantsian jumpsuit romper from Urban Outfitters. It ends up in the back left corner of the store under deep, deep discount along with the hemp culottes and the fringed hotpants. And if someone DOES buy the Hammer-Pantsian jumpsuit romper, she probably just wears it around the house. OR SHE SHOULD.

For A Good Fugging Cause II: YOU Are Fugging GREAT

We have really awesome, big-hearted readers. Seriously, go hug yourselves. Because since we posted about our National Doodle Day drawing on eBay, with all proceeds going to charity (if you missed it, click here for details), our strange but sketched-with-love drawing has managed to work its way up to a $255 price tag. Take THAT, Goldie Hawn's Doodle! Eat our dust, David Cassidy! How do you like the truth that's out there NOW, Chris Carter, huh?

No, no, I jest. It's so thrilling to see so many bidders on ALL these doodles coming out and doing something generous for charity; we're just blessed to have a blog with supportive and lovely readers. And have we mentioned you're attractive? Because you are. Very much so. And you will look even MORE attractive next to this:

Bidding ends on Sunday at 6 p.m. Eastern, so you still have time to scour the sketches (there are some really good ones) and see if there's something that catches your fancy. Hey, it's for the children!

And because we're so delighted that our... let's call it "rare" ...  piece of artwork is able to contribute to this great cause, we've decided to match as much of the winning bid as we can, in a separate donation to Neurofibromatosis Inc. Which basically means we're matching all of it -- unless there's a mysterious benefactor out there about to slap down $5,000 for it (and if there is, you are both deeply fantastic and possibly blind), I'm pretty sure we can swing the whole amount.

So go forth and bid while you can! We're coming for you, Candice Bergen... oh yes, we are.

Scrolldown Fug: Rachel Bilson

Most of Rachel Bilson is at a party for Target.

[Photo: Splash News]

But her feet are at a brown-bag-themed high-school party, where everyone is required to swig their wine coolers, Long Island Iced Teas, or Colt 45 from a bottle hidden in a paper sack. But monitor them carefully, Rachel -- you don't want them to end up drunk in the bathroom, wailing for a friend to come in and help them re-snap the crotch piece of their spandex bodysuit. Because I've seen that party before, and it always ends with vomit in the bathtub.

Fugmantha Jones/Well Played, Cynthia Nixon

"You know, screw it. So WHAT if I lost the coin toss and had to be the one separating Sarah Jessica and Kim. BIG DEAL if Kim's fingernail is making my back bleed because she is digging into it, thinking it's Sarah Jessica's hand. Who cares? I look fantastic. AGAIN. This is my revenge for how they never let Miranda be as fabulous as the other three. Although, Kristen and Sarah Jessica look nice, too, but WHAT is going on with Kim? It's like she has a satchel sewn to her hip, and the dress is all pulled and strange... I wonder... I mean, I don't want to point fingers, but I DID see Sarah Jessica's assistant trying to bury a hot glue gun in a planter, although Kristin told me Patricia Field was just trying to decide whether it would work as a last-minute headpiece. But she might have been kidding... Oh, whatever, I can't keep up with who hates whom these days. All I know is, if I look like a million bucks one more time, they're all going to hate ME. And I'm going to LOVE IT, because I EARNED THIS, bitches. Take that, breast cancer. You lose, and I am hot, and every man here is bummed I'm not into putting sausage on the grill. RECOGNIZE!"

dBfug

Oh, Vicks. There IS a reason why your dBv trousers aren't selling:

I mean, honestly, darling. Would YOU buy your pants if you weren't already contractually obligated to do so? Obviously not, as you can't even be bothered to hem them.

Fug Out

Apparently, this dude, Jesse Brune, is a trainer on Work Out. I don't watch the show, so I have no beef with him.

But I will, if he keeps wearing this shirt around Hollywood. What if Kirsten Dunst sees him? PLEASE, sir, think of the boobs.

Cannes Fug Carpet: Well Played, Angelina Jolie (OK, and Lucy Liu)

LUCY: I kind of wish I wasn't standing here.

ANGELINA: Hmm?

LUCY: I mean, you have no right to look that hot. You're having twins!

ANGELINA: Mmm-hmm.

LUCY: And you're wearing a color! You almost never wear color. And it's a GREAT color.

ANGELINA: Mmm.

LUCY: I thought I looked pretty cute, but seriously, no woman in her right mind should ever put herself next to you.

ANGELINA: Mmm.

LUCY: I kind of want to make out with you.

ANGELINA: Mmm!

LUCY: Damn right.

NYFug.com

Well, ANTM X is officially in the books, and although there was nary an endearing/terrifying/jaw-dropping nutter like C6's Jade in the bunch -- tranny-lite Dominique came closest, but get back to us when she's writing beat poetry in the confessional -- the cycle yielded three fairly well-matched finalists who actually TALKED to each other instead of sitting around eating breakfast in sullen silence. Over at New York's site, we debated the merits of the big finale.

Jessica: I especially enjoyed the moment when Miss J was like, "OF COURSE WHITNEY HAS ISSUES! SHE SO FAT!" And Tyra had to step in and be like, "She is only MODEL FAT. Not REALLY fat."

Heather: Now that's a PSA in the making.

Jessica: I do think I've learned a valuable lesson. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's valuable.

In a show of love for our overseas readers, we won't say who won, because we're feeling charitable today. But if you want to catch the rest of our impressions of the victor, her two bounced competitors, and the overall episode, click on over to read the full column.

Fuga Malone

Coming soon to a stage near you:

Jena Malone IS Little Orphan Velma, the plucky girl whose passion for jazz and betting her bottom dollar prompt her to poison the proprietress of her Chicago orphanage and convert it into a casino/nightclub. Follow her as she serves prison time for sneaking into the White House to leave a demo tape with the president and "accidentally" murders his housekeeper! Root for her when her fellow orphans testify against her on the stand! Weep with relief when a wealthy billionaire springs her from the pokey in exchange for agreeing to live in his guest bedroom and tap-dance on his back patio three times a week! Co-starring Donald Trump.

Fug Tree Hill

Dear Hilarie Burton:

Love the dress, but you are starting to worry me.

Seriously, that would be so much prettier if it didn't look like it was falling off your frame. Listen, I know the noxious fumes from Chad Michael Murray's pomade are generally enough to scare away any girl's appetite, but please do not let that keep you from exploring the wonders of carbohydrates. You are too pretty to waste away. Just have one of your other co-stars make you a cheesecake sandwich, or something, and then maybe invest in some scented noseplugs so that further CMM-related air-quality issues are less likely to cause nausea. After all, that Chocolate Fudge Ripple hoagie needs time to stick with you.

Fugholland Drive

Naomi Watts' belted toga makes her knees look like they're about two inches above her ankle bone, and gives the impression that she's hunched over in bladder-suppressing agony.

I'm telling you all that now because once you see the picture, it's entirely possible your eyes will not travel far enough south to notice the rest of it.

She really should have sold ad space on those nipple flowers.

Cannes Fug or Fab Carpet: Julianne Moore

Oh, Julianne Moore! Part of me is just in love with this. I love it when you go all John Singer Sargent on us:

And part of me feels like there's just too much happening on the bodice, in a way that screams, "I literally just walked off the set of the film I'm currently making, based on a previously undiscovered Henry James novel, in which my character makes a lot of minor but horrifying social errors, eventually marries a mean nouveau riche man for money in the hopes of making her enemies pay, but still suffocates under the far-reaching demands of Polite Society and instead of running off to Italy, eventually drowns herself in a lake." Plus, then it's sheer from the knee down. THE SCANDALE!

polls by twiigs.com...

Cannes Red Carpet: Well Played, Cate Blanchett

Do you think Cate Blanchett ever wakes up and thinks, "Damn. I am awesome"? She should:

If nothing else, I wish she'd teach a class at the Learning Annex called, "How To Wear A Dress Exactly The Same Color As The Rest Of You Without Looking Like A Whacked-Out Blood-Thirsty Zombie." I need to know her secrets.

NYFug.com: Handicapping the Top Model Finale

We KNOW you're prepping for tonight's Top Model finale the usual way: plucking your brows, practicing your fiercest walk and preparing your signature eggplant dip, Banksa ghanoush. Care to make it....interesting? Yeah, that's right. Are you, like Kenny Rogers, a Gambler? Because we're laying odds at NY Mag.com:

"You know Tyra has been itching to anoint a girl with curves, and frankly, we're similarly rooting for Whitney to pull the upset — if for no other reason than to imagine the outrage from beanpole advocates like ex-judge Janice Dickinson. After all, if the show can’t produce an actual top model, the least it can do is stir up a little tabloid drama."

On the other hand, do we really think she'll win? Not entirely. See how the handicapping shakes out at NY Mag.com. (But BE WARNED: The comments to this post already contain alleged spoilers, so don't scroll down to read them if you want to go in fresh and clean!)

Why Did I Get Fugged?

"Hello. My name is Janet, and I'll be your hostess tonight here at Ombre's Fabulous Caftan and Sushi Emporium.  Your table is ready. We have two specials tonight: a spicy tuna roll with avocado and mango, and this spectacularly fabulous/totally f'ing crazy caftan-gown which handily doubles as a parachute if you happen to get pushed out of a plane and yet is still dramatic enough to work if you wake up in an alternate universe where you are starring in Dynasty:Intergalatic. It also transforms into a really fantastic window treatment. Can I get you folks a drink to start?"

Beverly Fug, 90210

This is Shenae Grimes,  who has been cast as the Brenda-esque character in the 90210 sequel:

And just when I thought we were running out of starlets to talk about! I think it's fair to say that a backless micro micro-mini with side boob and a mysterious rib-cage tattoo is perhaps just a wee too much skank for a CW promotional event. 

In fact, I feel the 90210-Redux ast may soon inspire their own category, as Grimes' castmate AnnaLynne McCord (whom you may recognize as Portia DeRossi's freaky wackjob daughter from Nip/Tuck) appeared at upfronts in this:

Is she a part-time cocktail waitress at a vampire-themed restaurant/bordello? Just wondering.  I'd like another blood orange margarita if she's still on the clock.

Lydia Fugst

I know Posh didn't write the book on wearing Marc Jacobs, so it's not like Lydia Hearst donned this with the intention of walking a mile in Lady Becks' hot pants.

But Posh did at least contribute a series of short stories to the book on swanning around town in bizarre designer gear while looking  hungry and sultry, like you are game for a meal IF AND ONLY IF medium-rare man-flesh is on the menu. Still, Lydia deserves some credit for packing some brass balls underneath her "Sex In The Kitchen" Barbie apron (now with buttered rolls and "Restaurant Closed" sign!).  Because it takes balls to repeat an outfit that Victoria not only wore on the red carpet, but famously donned for an actual Marc Jacobs ad campaign -- especially when that outfit makes you look like a pep squad leader for a high school whose team is called The Fighting Pink Togas.

poll by twiigs.com

Fugvieve Fugs

I just don't know, Genevieve.

[Photo: Splash News]

Except that's a lie, because I totally do know: YIKES. The shirt would've had a chance with different pants, but oh, MY, those trousers are a sad mess. Not only do they appear to be pleated around the stomach, but they look like expensive knockoffs -- a phrase, by the way, that is fundamentally plain wrong -- of the kind of elastic-waist track slacks that grandmothers wear back and forth to their water aerobics classes. There'