Go Fug Yourself: The Fug Awards Old Fugs Got questions? Contact us About us Press Clippings Advertise with us Fug Merchandise

February 11, 2008

Grammy Awards Fug Carpet: Fantasia

I saw Fantasia with this hair earlier in the week, but I have to admit that part of me thought I dreamed it:

I am...not sure why she thought that was a good idea. The longer I look at this picture, the more I realize that Fantasia has gorgeous eyes, so maybe this kooky look is an attempt to highlight one of her best features, the way ladies magazines are all, "Got a great nose? Draw attention to it by using SUPER BRIGHT BLUSH! Make sure you make CONCENTRIC CIRCLES using a standard-issue paint brush!"  And just as effective, really, in that I HAVE noticed her lovely eyes, but only as a way-station toward noticing that this isn't exactlyt the best hair she's ever had.

But let's take a look at the full-body 'do, shall we?

Not bad! I mean, it's a little "I'll Take, 'Wrinkles or Ruffles' for $200, Alex," and I think there are a lot of ties and quasi-bows on it, but overall, she looks pretty dang cute. Too bad about the hair suit, really. Could it be for a part? Let's just decide it is, even if that's a damn dirty lie.

Posted by Jessica at 09:12 AM in Grammys | Permalink

February 14, 2007

Grammy Awards Fug Carpet: Imogen Heap

At first, we resisted the idea of fugging Imogen Heap. After all, looking insane is kind of her thing -- the Grammys weren't the first time, nor will they be the last. It's just sort of what she does. There are always big skirts and flowers and the fear that something might come wandering out of her head, only to discover the hard way that it no longer lives in an idyllic pasture. She's a British Bjork, but without that endearing Icelandic elfin quality that always makes Bjork seem a bit confused by all the regular-looking goings-on around her.

However, we've had a change of heart.

What caused us to relent? Well, it would be one thing if, like Bjork, Imogen Heap quietly and unassumingly owned her look and walked up the red carpet and did her interviews and that was that. But, in fact, we hear she paraded up and down and up and down that thing with relentless persistence for the entire two hours before the telecast began, just in case the staff photographer from Grandma Sally's Hicksville Gazette and Crop Report somehow missed her the first forty times she did a lap. That's not somebody who is inherently kooky and doesn't care what people think of it -- that's, "Oh, did you look at me? Are you sure? Maybe you should look at me again. Because, I mean, LOOK at me! Are you going to feature me on your show? Or on your site? Are you? Did you catch the stuffed frog I'm holding? What about the grass? It's real grass! And check the parasol! I look like a deranged and possibly drunk woodland Mary Poppins! Anyone want a spoonful of my sugar, baby? HAHAHAHAHAHA! I'm awesome! Look at me! ME!"

And that sealed the deal. Quirky for the sake of quirky isn't a natural personal style; it's just a big ol' calculated mess.

We would, however, recommend to the organizers that the next time the Queen of the Shrubberies is invited to any kind of ceremony, don't seat anyone behind her. It's sort of hard to see past her cranial topiaries, and on the offchance some creature does wander out from betwixt the reeds and become angry that it's been displaced from the forest, it's best not to run the risk that it'll take out that wrath on, like, James Blunt, or else we'll have to hear his new single "You're Rabieful" approximately 45 times an hour until the end of time.

Posted by Heather at 02:01 PM in Grammys | Permalink

February 13, 2007

Grammy Awards Fug Carpet: Mandy Moore

As I think we've mentioned in this space before, I love Mandy Moore. I think she's extremely cute, and I love all her recent statements about how she's not going to turn into a toothpick (and I hope she's telling the truth - I think she is). But I loved her long before recent pro-eating statements. I loved her in the under-rated Saved! and as the bitchy mean girl in The Princess Diaries. I loved her in Chasing Liberty (in which she gets kind of naked!). I loved her in How to Deal, which is a terrible movie confabulation of two very good YA books by Sarah Dessen (Someone Like You and That Summer, respectively, which are awesome). I couldn't blame Mands for the bad adaptation. It's not her fault! Besides, I had residual love for her thanks to A Walk to Remember, in which she tragically dies. I might watch that every time it's on cable, and I might also cry at the end. But beyond all that, I love her for recording one of the best Pop Songs With A Spoken Interlude In the Middle ever: "Candy." Now, of course, the very BEST PSWASIITM is arguably "Oops, I Did It Again," but it's hard to not be charmed by the words, "You know who you are/Your love's as sweet as candy/I'll be forever yours/Love always, Mandy," especially during this run up to Valentine's Day.  So it always really pains me to tell Mandy that her look sort of didn't work. Although, judging from her face, it sort of looks like she already knows:

Mands looked totally uncomfortable throughout the Grammys, and while maybe her belt is just pinching her, I think she's suddenly become aware of the fact that her dress is made of fabric most recently seen covering throw pillows at a Days Inn.

Posted by Jessica at 11:13 AM in Grammys | Permalink

Grammy Fug Carpet: John Legend

You know what, John Legend?

I'm probably supposed to think it's charming to show up with the bow tie undone, hanging languidly against your popped-open shirt which reveals just enough of what looks like a freshly waxed and/or lubed-up chest; I'm sure you expect me to think it's all just effortlessly cool, suave, and macho. But here's the thing: I don't. I find it pretentious, John Legend.

That's right. I said it. You're trying very hard not to try, and it shows. Your paradox bores and annoys me. I feel like you're standing there quietly urging me to think you delicious and sex-on-legs because you couldn't be bothered to do up the tie, and yet, all I can think of is how smarmy you were in your red-carpet interview and how much thought I suspect you put into this, and how many man-hours you spent staring at yourself in the mirror cocking your finger guns at your own reflection before you decided that leaving your second-storey barn door halfway open (with the deadbolt undone to boot) was really tantalizing.

But, the thing is, I don't want to lay you down; I want to pin you against the wall long enough to do up your buttons and make a bow-tie out of those lazy flaps. And I further suspect I am not the only one who feels this way. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for deviating from the classic cool of a tuxedo, but not by simply failing to put it on completely. On purpose. Because you thought it looked really bitchin'. That feels way more like a greasy old nugget from Jeremy Piven's bag of tricks than the kind of stunt you would pull, John Legend. Reload and fire those finger guns again, sir. Be smooth, not stupid.

Posted by Heather at 08:23 AM in Grammys | Permalink

February 12, 2007

Grammy Awards Fug: Carrie Underwood

Carrie Underwood has a habit of showing up at award shows looking like a million bucks on the red carpet and then changing into something that makes her look more like five bucks. Behold:

Red Carpet:

"What a cute girl," you might say. "I love things that are sparkly. She looks sexy and age-appropriate!"

And then:

"Interesting," you might say. "Why did that cute girl change into a morose lampshade? How loud do you think that skirt is when she tries to sit down?"

And then:

"That cute girl looks like she's wearing her nightgown. Why is she wearing her nightgown? She's not at home, watching the Grammys in bed, eating bon bons and painting her toenails, like we are. Could she have had some kind of head injury backstage leading her to believe that in fact she was singing into her hairbrush in her bedroom? How very sad. How very sad, indeed. Maybe they should give her an award to snap her back into reality."

Posted by Jessica at 03:12 PM in Grammys | Permalink

Grammy and Grammy Pre-Party Fug Carpets: ANTM Edition

We should probably just be content with the fact that Jay Manuel is not as orange as a cheddar omelet, nor clad in enough pleather to render costuming The Matrix IV: Mo' Matrix, Mo' Problems nigh on impossible.

But you guys know by now that we're never truly content, right?

Wicked leopard moccasins, Jay, but no matter how hard you try, the post-party won't get moved to the heyday of Studio 54 -- the design for the flux capacitor got lost forever when Dr. Emmett Brown disappeared on that flying Wild West-era train with Mary Steenburgen in tow. [Oh, God, we wish we could erase that movie from our minds, but every so often it burps itself back up in our brains like chunky, rancid mind vomit.]

Maybe in these flared, leisure-suited times of distress, we can turn to Tyra Banks for a sweet dose of sanity -- don't know if you've heard, but apparently she's deemed herself the voice of a few generations of women, so I personally am dying to hear what it is that we're all trying to say. Take it away, Tyra.

Huh. Apparently, our generation is trying to convey that  today's variety of satin bathrobe/kimono hybrids need only a hearty dose of 1980s Demi Moore in order to be party-ready.

Thank God we have Tyra to show us the way.

Posted by Heather at 01:12 PM in Grammys | Permalink

Grammy Awards Fug Carpet: Nelly Furtado

"Hey guys!

What's up? I'm totally running late. My ice dancing recital ran WAY over because I couldn't find my left boot and all this other drama happened behind the scenes, like, you have no idea how crazy it is on the ice-dancing circuit, man, and I totally didn't have time to change out of my outfit so I'm here at the Grammys in a costume designed to convey the drama and glamour of  Swan Lake if it happened at Xanadu, because that's what our routine is -- my partner Fabrizo made the most awesome mash-up called Xanadu Lake and I play a duck that's also a Muse and I die at the end, it's totally touching, and we would have won if I actually knew how to skate, which I don't, as it turns out -- and, anyway, I really hope no one realizes that I was actually supposed to be here in a totally different outfit. Also, I might have gotten my bangs caught between the blades of Fabrizo's skates one of the times I fell down. Do you think they have any alcohol inside?"

Posted by Jessica at 10:04 AM in Grammys | Permalink

February 10, 2006

Celebrity Terror Watch: Grammy Edition

The Go Fug Yourself Celebrity Terror Watch squad is commencing a Sternum Watch for Sheryl Crow:

It doesn't help that this dress is enforcing a high waistline on her that gives her lower half a bizarre dumpyness, but that torso is a frightening thing. Dating a professional and highly competitive cyclist probably sent her over the fitness edge; now we're worried that breaking up with said professional cyclist might have driven her away from the fridge. That's not cleavage -- that's a cutting board.

We consider this a high alert situation that needs to be monitored and, as quickly as possible, repaired. Somebody please make her some fried chicken, or take her to Jack In The Box for some meat and cheese between slices of butter-soaked sourdough. Britney? Where are you, dear? You're needed. Sheryl can hold Sean Preston on her lap (if she has the strength) while you take her through the drive-thru.

Posted by Heather at 05:48 PM in Celebrity Terror Watch, Grammys | Permalink

Grammy Freaky Fug Friday: Well Playerd, India.Arie

I thought India.Arie looked lovely at the Grammy's, and here within the snug, safe confines of Freaky Fug Friday -- where a girl's cold heart can warm up a tad without fear of it being permanent -- I'm not afraid to admit it.

Apparently, her mother made this dress, and not long before the event. What a wonderful job she did for her daughter -- hopefully she'll get some business out of it, if she wants it, because certainly she could do a great service to other starlets and musicians who don't know the half of how to dress themselves.

I mean, look at her: She glows. The dress hugs her bust and gently cuddles her curves without pinching anything, exaggerating things to bizarre proportions, and the detailing is both interesting and graceful without being over the top. The neckline flatters her and doesn't look like -- or look like it feels like -- a harness. She matched it with low-key earrings, a gold bracelet, and that's all she needed.

[Okay, so there are colorful bangles and two odd, massive slab rings, too, and they don't look like they go with this outfit -- but I'm willing to overlook that because your eyes still go to the dress long before they go to either of those things -- indeed, if you can tear them off her face and body in the first place.]

In all: bravo, Mama.Arie, for enhancing your daughter's lovely, healthy body, and proving that women who look like women -- and not like they just snapped off a tree trunk -- are the real idols.

Posted by Heather at 03:15 PM in Grammys, Well Played | Permalink

Grammy Fug Carpet: Whither the Pants?

That's a cute shirt Tera Patrick is wearing.

"Shirt" being the operative word in that sentence.

Posted by Heather at 02:45 PM in Grammys | Permalink


eXTReMe Tracker