Met Ball Fug Carpet: Mischa Barton and Margherita Missoni

MISCHA: DUDE!

MARGHERITA: Hello!

MISCHA: Aren't we an awesome pair?

MARGHERITA: Could these sacks we're wearing BE any more festive?

MISCHA: What, so you're Chandler Bing now?

MARGHERITA: Who was your tailor? One of the Olsen twins?

MISCHA: Who was yours? Dolly Parton's bedding designer?

MARGHERITA: Is that bodice oozing down your front?

MISCHA: Did you know I found last night's panties hidden behind that dustruffle on your chest?

MARGHERITA: Did YOU know those sleeves are illegal in 30 states?

MISCHA: How did your dress get its manslaughter charges dropped?

MARGHERITA: What's your superhero theme -- the She-Hulk?

MISCHA: Feeling blind today,  Blunder Woman?

MARGHERITA: This was fun; want to do it again next year?

MISCHA: Should we agree to get our dresses fitted next time?

MARGHERITA: Would there be ANY fun in that?

MISCHA: Does this at least mean I can eat the canapes tonight?

MARGHERITA: Do you have to ask?

 

St. Fuggian's

"Yeah, that's right, I'm Mischa Barton and I'm wearing a bathroom rug as a jacket. What of it? You'd rather I had another greasepig boyfriend with me instead? A total clap-incubator who's about to pass out on a pool of vomit he freshly delivered onto my feet? I DIDN'T THINK SO. Bet the coat's not looking so bad to you NOW."

Fug or Fab: Mischa Barton

Whatever's going on with Mischa lately, at least she's in good spirits:

[Photo: Flynetonline.com]

And I almost think she pulled this off. My question is, what's with the stumpifying shoe choice? Has she recently developed a raging bunion problem? Because it takes a LOT to make Mischa Barton look short-legged and yet....here we are.

polls by twiigs.com...

Fug Or Fab: Mischa Barton

Oh, Mischa Barton. How the mighty have fallen, eh? Killed off The OC ....and no one really cared.  Offered -- allegedly -- a role on Gossip Girl and people freaked out. And not in the good way. Stick a little DUI in the middle of that and you've got a tasty, toasted downward-spiral sandwich. At least they're still inviting you to things, right?

[Photo: Splash News]

A word to the wise: you'd look about six hundred percent better in this if your posture wasn't screaming, "IS THIS TOO SHORT ON ME? I HAVE CONCERNS ABOUT MY THIGHS!" Your thighs are fine. The dress is great. Your accessories are....well, surely words wouldn't be failing me if I wasn't on day three of a raging fever. (Heather and I contracted the Death Flu simultaneously, which would be cute if we weren't both convinced we might lapse into a coma at any time. To the thousands of you who've already had this infamous Death Flu and survived it, I wholeheartedly salute you. Stupid germs. I hate them.)

What was I talking about? Oh, Mischa's accessories. My fever tells me they're totally adgoi3tgfsws@!1frf, which sounds pretty accurate.

polls by twiigs.com...

St. Fuggian's

I don't know who the dude is with Mischa Barton here, but I do know one thing: I wish his strange shirt had hypnotized her OUT of her shorts (ew, not in THAT way) rather than INTO buying a guitar and trotting it around town like she's part of the Von Trappuccinos, a Sound Of Music-inspired coffeehouse band that specializes in close-harmony angst-metal.

[Photo: flynetonline.com]

It's like my grandmother always never said: When the rise on your pants is that much longer than your inseam, you might as well just slap some suspenders on and call 'em lederhosen. Although either way, Mischa owes her midsection a heartfelt apology.

Fug the Cover: Mischa Barton

Could someone please explain to me what the deal is with Mischa's teeth here?

Right? I mean, she looks generically lovely here -- although not entirely like herself -- but....a bit rabbity, no? And I don't think I've ever thought that about her, not in all the years I spent complaining about how wooden she was on The OC. She almost looks like she's got a retainer in. And other than prompting me to waste twenty valuable minutes that I should be spending wrapping gifts or quaffing wassail on deep thoughts about Mischa Barton's dental situation, this cover has also led me to waste hardcore cookie-eating time on thinking about the 10 MASSAGES THAT'LL CHANGE MY LIFE. For one thing, that sounds dirty. For another, are there really TEN? I can't help imagining the poor writer assigned to this story, stuck on massage number seven and frantically asking her co-workers if they can think of ANY life-changing massages, AT ALL, so she can finish this thing and head down to the pub with everyone else. This wassail's for you, Tatler staffer.

Fug the Cover: Mischa Barton

It seems like as soon as I asked the internet about the whereabouts of Mischa Barton, she appeared all over the place and on the cover of everything. Like Citizen K, which, as far as I can tell, is a Spanish magazine (I brilliantly deduced that from the words  "Espana" on the cover) covering fashion and entertainment and the like:

Sadly, it seems as though she's been using her downtime to do something unspeakable to Oscar the Grouch, not even giving him the honor of being an entire coat, but simply making him into sleeves.  As a huge fan of the seminal tune "I Love Trash," -- truly, it's neck and neck with "Rubber Ducky" as the best Sesame Street song ever, in my opinion, with honorable mention going to "C Is For Cookie," which I hear has been replaced by "Cookies Are A Sometimes Food," which, I sorry, is bullshit, because cookies are an ALWAYS food, they're just not a MASS QUANTITIES food. Why you gotta play me like this, Sesame Street? - I must protest this terrible injustice. I wonder if PETA has a Muppet Division?

Things are just as bad, in a wholly different way, inside the magazine:

I'm going to come out and admit that I hate these kinds of photo shoots. I know that expression is supposed to be all, "ooooh, I am sooooo sexy.Come over here and ravish me," but it often reads as, "ooh, I really shouldn't have had that last taco." Which is....maybe not what you want splashed all over the pages of your glossy magazine, you know?

Closing the Fug

"I can't f'ing believe this,"  thought Mischa Barton (formerly Missing Mischa Barton. I wondered where she was, and she popped up right in front of me. If only I could make that happen with Patrick Dempsey, or sandwiches). "I had no idea when I signed that lucrative Keds endorsement contract that I would be reduced to THIS:"

"Standing around, holding a shoe. Like a CAR SHOW MODEL. But with shoes.  Wearing high-heeled Keds, like someone who's had some kind of head injury. I am a SERIOUS ACTRESS. I'm in a movie about the faux-lesbian Russian one-hit wonder duo tATu, for pete's sake. I hate being here.  I hate everyone."

Fugcha Barton

It's certainly possible that Mischa Barton was on her way to play Titania, Queen of the Faeries, in a Shakespeare in the Park production of A Midsummer Night's Dream.

But we're pretty sure this is just the Marc Jacobs show, and that Mischa poked her head through some bolts of fabric and wandered over in the hope that a spring-themed pagan ritual might break out.

The Sixth Fug

MISCHA: Do you think people remember that I used to have an acting career, or do they just think I'm one of those girls who hangs out with Nicole Richie a lot?

RIHANNA:...that's a rhetorical question, right? Because I'd hate it if we had to get all awkward.

MISCHA:  This dress is a little too short, right? I look uncomfortable, don't I? I have the same expression on my face as the time I found out they were going to make me wear that hat, don't I? I think that hat was the beginning of the end of my career.

RIHANNA: My dress is short, too, Mischa!

MISCHA: But you're WORKING IT. I look like I just realized that I left my hotpants in the back of the limo.

RIHANNA: I do look pretty cute, now that you mention it. Even with a cast on my foot! Does this mean we get to talk about me a little bit? Are you going to ask how I get my complexion so gorgeous?

MISCHA: Oh my God, are you implying that my FACE looks bad now, too? RIHANNA, SOMETIMES I THINK MY FACE IS ALL I'VE GOT.

RIHANNA: No, no. No. You're still pretty, Mischa. I mean, your hair is all kind of up in there, but...I mean, just look at your reflection in your dress, if you're really worried about it.

MISCHA: I knew there was a reason I bought this!

Virgin Fugatory

The other day, I was watching the reruns of The OC that they're currently airing on SoapNet, and thinking about Mischa Barton. Namely that even when she's dressed like a total nutjob or delivering a less than stellar line-reading, you can't escape the fact that she really is extremely pretty.  Which does help her get away with these sorts of pantsual shenanigans:

I think my feelings on super-high-waisted pants are very well documented, but the issue with these, as far as I'm concerned, is less "Ooh, if those are totally accentuating HER tiny saddle bags, I'd look like I was stocking up for a trip on the Oregon Trail in them," and more that they're total Mom Jeans. Not in the SNL Unflattering, Pleated Mom Jeans sense, but in the sense that I am pretty sure that my ACTUAL mother wore a pair like these when I was in pre-school. And so my reaction to them is very confused and visceral. On one hand, I think they're insanely unflattering and I hate them. On the other hand, I suddenly feel like I just had a nice long stint with finger paints, a peanut butter sandwich and a hug and I'm all ready for my nap. Which is quite pleasant really.

I think I shall resolve this quandary with a little Sesame Street.

Well Played, Mischa Barton

Clearly, Mischa Barton has unusual taste in clothes. That's about as controversial a statement as, say, "Peter Gallagher's eyebrows are kind of large," or, "Paris Hilton's not a virgin." And while oftentimes we don't think that taste serves her figure or our eyeballs particularly well, there are times when she steps out in something that completely works.

Here she is at a party during Paris Fashion Week:

[Source.]

It's a challenge to pose in that dress -- in that color -- and have the most lasting impression be, "Wow, Mischa Barton is gorgeous," but that's basically what my reaction is to this photo. Chartreuse is not a color I particularly gravitate toward, as it's bright to the point of being almost garish, and could threaten to cast a yellowish pall on even the rosiest of skin tones. But Mischa is rocking the hell out of it. I love, and covet, her sexy tousled hair and perfect eye makeup. And of course, the timing is particularly tasty -- The O.C., which unexpectedly killed her off last season, just limped to a tired, pathetic end; meanwhile, Mischa, totally unbruised and unaffected by that firm boot to the derriere, is gallavanting around Paris looking fantastic and without a care in the world. It's the greatest middle-finger she could possibly flip.

Of course, the appearance of nonchalance might go to hell in a handbasket carried by Satan himself once her movie with Hayden "So Wooden You Could Build A Barn Out Of Him" Christensen hits theaters. It's about the black plague, people. Mischa and Hayden and a deadly epidemic. And no, Hayden Christensen is not playing the part of the plague, although he will probably be a pox on the movie. But that's not my problem. As long as Mischa listens to these style instincts, rather than the ones that routinely tell her to wear tent dresses, she might at least look fabulous at the premiere -- assuming she doesn't run in the other direction.

Mischa Fugton

[Source]

Okay, Granny Barton, turn up your hearing aid and have a listen: When Julie Andrews tore down the drapes and made them into children's clothes for those crooning moppets, she had the benefit of some very high-quality fabric to use in her forced improvisation. Do not try to achieve the same effect by rip down your cheap-ass mangy old kitchen curtains. For one thing, it's completely unflattering. And for another, when you are skipping around a Swiss mountainside -- yes, we noticed your Frolicking Sandals in your hand there -- it's far too likely a gust of wind will catch your flimsy tent minidress and blow it up over your head, unveiling your girlie mysteries to whatever eager cows, goats, or roving bands of close-harmony singers might happen to be cavorting alongside you.

And chopping up your great-grandmother's good napkins just to make an ill-fitting vest seems a bit unnecessary. Is this all some kind of rage issue against your home decor? Perhaps you need to go stand in the time-out corner at your nursing home. Or be banned from Friday Bingo until you stop wearing flimsy household objects. I'm going to have a word with your minder.

Fugga Barton

When there's nothing left to believe in, believe in Mischa Barton. Because she will always wear something that cheers you up instantly.

Take this joke of a skirt, for instance. It's like a clown repurposed a blazer and wrapped it around her waist. Amusing, but not in a complimentary, deliciously whimsical kind of way; it's more of a hideous Fisher Price "Baby's First Buttons" kind of funny. Mostly, I just want to tug it down so that I don't accidentally get a view of her birth canal.

Still, at least we're laughing. Maybe for that, we owe her a debt of gratitude. Maybe we should all stand in front of her and join in a thinly harmonized chorus of "For She's A Jolly Good Fellow," led by Tim Curry, because the world needs more of him. And maybe, if we lavish her with enough giggles and praise, she'll back away slower than a gun-toting Mrs. Peacock, wary of our ulterior motives and never to be heard from in this capacity again.

Or, we could just wait for her to get bored with looking like a lunatic. That might be easier -- that, I can do from my couch.

Fugcha Fugton

Ladies and gentlefuggers, I give you Ms. Mischa Barton, demonstrating the latest in tourniquet-chic:

[Photos courtesyof X17 Online.]

I have questions.

1) At what point in her day did she say, "What this torn white tank really needs is a plaid diaper"?

2) Could she please have a chat with her pelvic bone? It's an awful camera-hog.

3) Does she travel with sanitary seat liners?

4) Don't you think Marissa Cooper would have worn those shorts... as a hat?

5) When will somebody tell her being born with beautiful eyes, skin, and hair, and bedding a string of gnarly boyfriends, is not actually a strategy for defying gravity?

Sigh. I guess we should just be thankful she's not parading around town with things tied around her head...

... Right?

Oh.

Huh.

Okay, one more question, then: When did "Modern-Day Flower Child With A Dash Of Bjorn Borg" become a personal style?

Teen Choice Awards: Mischa Barton

Last night, at the Teen Choice Awards, Mischa Barton represented the best and the worst of what her own closet had to offer.

On the red carpet, she was quite simply adorable:

I covet this dress. I COVET IT.  It's so simple, but it's so flattering -- hello, I think her legs are as long as my ENTIRE BODY -- and best of all, it looks so easy. I don't mean "easy" in the sense of, "Stay away from that Mischa Barton, Janie! Everyone knows she's easy, and I don't want you running around with her! She's pretty enough to be able to shake off that kind of reputation and still make a good marriage, but you? Not you. You must keep your image sparklingly pure!"  I mean it in the sense of, "Oh, this old thing? I totally forgot I had it until today. It's cute, right? I just naturally look this fantastic without putting in any work at all."  Which is perfect for the event. It's totally effortless.

(Unlike THIS particular get-up:

Why doesn't she just make a sign that says, "REMEMBER WHEN I TALKED ABOUT BEING A VIRGIN AND EVERYONE LIKED ME? LET'S GO BACK TO THAT." I hate to say it -- honestly -- because I sort of get what she was going for with this, but, as sad as it is, this dress is too young for the J. Simp. of 2006. She's a grown woman, not the prom queen.  This frock would be lovely on someone younger, like Jo Jo, or maybe someone very very petite and elfin, like Natalie Portman. If it were an inch longer, or another color, we'd be singing another tune. But as it is -- short, white, vaguely bridal -- it just looks like she's wearing something she's outgrown, something she last tried on four years and one marriage ago.  It just doesn't work.)

And speaking of not working:

MISCHA! Why did you change? That thing appears to be eating your face.

Well Played, Mischa Barton

Having just marveled at the ruffled fuggery of Ms. Barton, it would seem like overkill to feature her again; however, being as it's a Friday and that's the day of the week on which we're most likely to be gripped by invincible good spirits, we've decided to show you the other side of the Barton coin. The side that doesn't dress like she goes around chipping chewing gum off the sidewalk so she doesn't have to pay for her own.

Full disclosure: This dress isn't my absolute favorite thing, as the floaty pieces of tulle look a little bit like the birds taped the garment together in a mad rush to get Cinderella ball-ready, and didn't really think about whether that would hold all night. It looks a little unfinished.

However, she looks gorgeous. The color should probably wash her out, but instead, she's wearing that gown and not letting it wear her. Somehow your eye is drawn less to the bizarre contours of the dress and more to her lovely skin and striking eyes. Her makeup is flawless -- youthful and understated, yet unobtrusively dramatic in the right places. And Mischa has managed to find a strapless gown that neither hoists The Girls up into her neck, nor leaves them dribbling helplessly toward her navel. It flatters them, it accentuates the curve of her waist... all in all, it's a nice glimpse at Mischa Barton the way we prefer to see her, and it reminds me that I often forget how very pretty she is because I'm blinded by whatever crazy ensemble she's sporting. This, however, is classy, elegant, and adult.

Now if only she had a nice, regularly showered guy squiring her around town.

Baby steps.

Fugcha Barton

Sometimes, Mischa Barton is so very Value Village.

And I would be fine with that, in theory, because everybody appreciates finding a prime deal on something cute. But, that shirt would not be a good bargain at any price, possessed as it is of an embarrassing childishness that can only be pulled off by a very young girl in a nightgown or a very old Great Aunt who is playing bingo at her nursing home; for another thing, she probably did not unearth it on the discount rack at a local resale store, but in fact dropped a cool $150 on that ruffled fabric-blend fugtrocity, simply because some smart store owner figured that if you slap a hefty price tag on something, a celebrity will immediately decide it's Very Important and buy ten of them in different colors.

At least the hairy rocker boyfriend does look like he cost about $2.

Fug OC

You know, I should have known. We go on a little vacay, and everyone gets lazy. Mischa Barton, for example, decided to just start going out in her Garanimals:

Honestly, this would have been cute if she'd taken the five minutes required to swap the leggings for jeans. As it is, she looks like she just threw on the boots she'd left by her front door and tossed on a jacket to race from her cozy living room and down the driveway to grab the paper before racing back inside the house for coffee and scones, with her head down in the hopes that if she doesn't make eye contact with any of her neighbors, it'll be like she hasn't just been spotted in her front yard in her jammies.  We've all done that.

Except she's doing it in broad daylight, in public, and Cisco officially looks more put together than she does.  All I know is, it must be cold in hell right now.

The O Fug

INT.MISCHA'S BEDROOM.EVENING

MISCHA BARTON, a young actress, stands in front of her closet.

MISCHA:

What should I wear to the Ivy tonight? What to wear....what to wear....? The Jaclyn Smith Women's Collection caftan? No, that's so Mary Kate, and no one's seen her out and about in ages.  The argyle sweaterdress with the mukluks? No, too Ashlee Simpson. God forbid. I'd rather die. The gray twill jumpsuit? No, what if someone thinks I'm Maggie Gylllllenhallalalalll or whatever her name is? Like I would ever make a movie where I end up peeing myself just so some guy can spank me, or whatever happened at the end of that movie. God. I hate EVERYTHING I own. Everything! Except....

Yes! My BIKE SHORTS! I can even go to spinning class on the way to dinner. Excellent!

END SCENE.

The Sixth Fug

Well, naturally. What do you wear to walk the dog if not a belted tunic stolen from K-Mart's very exclusive Peter Pan Collection, and some slouchy rattan boots?

Seems like the obvious choice to me.

The Fugcameron

Mischa Barton, having finally popped the festering zit that was her relationship with the walking oil slick Brandon Davis, has been out and about quite a bit lately -- and in a series of unfortunate outfits.

It's unclear to me what this is. It certainly looks like a negligee tucked into a fug festival of a skirt -- one that's part artist's rendering of a Disney forest scene and part fashion Rorschach test, where your psyche is evaluated based on whether you see Frosty the Snowman down on that hem, or if you see an antelope skull, or a baseball, or all three -- but I suppose it could also be one of those suits where she's supposed to have a matching jacket on over the shell. God, can you imagine MORE of that skirt print? She is a paintball game at the Los Angeles County Carnival of Fug.

And yet, while she's suffering from shirtus interruptus up above there, in the next photo she has the opposite problem:

That thing is a misshapen, dumpy sheath that goes on way longer than it ever should. Also, those shoulders... this was made for a cross-dressing linebacker, not a waif starlet in the sweaty and unnecessary throes of Legging Fever. It's a KNEE-LENGTH SPARKLY GUNNY SACK, Mischa. Why leggings? WHY? Why any of it? Did you leave your mind in Italy? Did Hayden Christensen pack it in his suitcase by mistake? You're wearing something that even Krystle Carrington herself would've looked at and said, "You know what, that's really ugly, shapeless, and designed for a broad-shouldered man. Now bring me my satin nightdress -- I have to wait on the bearskin rug for Blake so we can kiss chastely." And if it's too drapey and outmoded for Linda Evans, well, then it belongs in your Goodwill pile.

The Fug.C.

On the Olsen scale, with 1 being "adorably quirky" and 10 being "homeless, deranged, and overly swaddled," Rachel Bilson is quickly approaching a 7 -- which roughly translates to, "Unauthorized use of layers/ill-advised dash of Brat Pack Envy."

Her co-star Mischa Barton isn't faring much better. Although she's eschewed  the popular "wear everything resemblng anything" approach to getting dressed, she has veered sharply into Don Johnson's closet:

The linen pants, were they the right size, could pass. But with those two matching, reedy suspenders that are about as helpful to the trousers as her skin is in covering up that collarbone... well, they are something of a baffling, baggy problem. Hopefully, the bags Brandon is pretending he enjoys carrying all contain garments that don't make her look like she is a pair of designer waders and a bait hook away from her very own bass fishing calendar.

Is This Because I'm a Fugbian?

Mischa, Mischa, Mischa. This is getting somewhat pathetic.

If you want my attention so badly, just email me. I'd love to chat with you! I have ever so many questions. How greasy IS Brandon? Do you want to kill yourself everytime you're forced to double with Jason Davis and Courtney Peldon? Or do you just want to kill her and dump her body in the river? Is she just impossible to talk to? What does she do all day? Could you find out for me? How do you feel about the direction The OC is going this year? Don't you think last night's episode was like a potential 9th season episode of 90210 that Aaron Spelling dismissed as being too hacky? And yet, at the same time, do you not love Julie Cooper-Nichol? Isn't she the only thing keeping you from switching over to Survivor? Do you actually wear Keds? What's the square root of 436? Seriously, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING? Did it come like that, or is it one of your own designs? Weren't you proud that your number wasn't in Paris's Sidekick? Is you hair naturally very fine, because it looks like it might be? If so, how do you get it to hold a curl, because I just can't do that? Did all the mirrors in your house break? Are you suprised that the more I fug you, the more i start to like you because you have such amusing facial expressions? Have you thought about using those expressions when you're acting? Can you believe that I like your shoes? Do you want to go to the Coffee Bean?

And so forth.

So, really, there's no call to try to get my attention like this. Because you really are just starting to look a bit deranged.

Califugia

Okay, Mischa, are you taunting me? Because you kind of look like you want a piece of me. Like you're saying, "come and get me, bitch. I'm ready for you. Bring it on. Let's see what you've got."

Is that what you're doing? Is this a conscious ploy for my attention? A cry for help? Or is this some kind of sartorial version of You Got Served? Is this like the part where the kid spins around on his head, except the spinning has been replaced by purple velour sweatpants worn -- sweet God, no -- with a RICK-RACK SEQUINED CARDIGAN?

Do you REALLY want to do this to yourself, Mischa? Do you really want to hurt me? Do really want to make me cry? Do you want to make my eyes bleed? What other reason could you possibly have for dressing like your boyfriend's grandmother,  Barbara Davis, from the waist up? Not to mention the fact that, according to W magazine, Barbara Davis raises kajillions of dollars for charity each year and when she sees you in those pants, she may very well think the you need some of that money to BUY YOURSELF PANTS THAT ARE APPROPRIATE TO WEAR WITH A CARDIGAN and, oh, will it be embarrassing when she tries to write you a check at brunch next week.

My only theory -- other than the I Am Going to Wear The Craziest Outfit I Can Think of Out Shopping So As to Taunt The Fug Girls HAHAHAHHAHA COME AND GET ME FUG GIRLS I AM SO READY FOR YOU SO BRING IT! Theory -- is that, at some point en route to the Grove, Mischa spilled a Slurpie on her regular pants and had to fish her old Lounge Around The House Watching Lifetime and Eating Peanut Butter With a Spoon grubbies out of the trunk so as to avoid going pantsless in public.

Look, Mischa: I am trying to help you out. I sort of like Marissa now that she's a lesbian, so I'd like to throw you a bone. BUT YOU ARE NOT MAKING IT EASY FOR ME. LOOK AT HOW SHOUTY I AM.

Couldn't you at least have bought some pants? WORK WITH ME,  KID.

Oscar Post-Party Fugshion: Mischa Barton

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Mischa Barton seems not to realize that when you're going to an Oscar party, you don't have to dress like Oscar's sister. Although maybe she got the dress from the gift bag -- it certainly looks like the kind of gold cellophane wrap that would line a vat of expensive freebies.

Mischa's sister, incidentally, looks amusingly humiliated.

Mischa Fugton

Somehow, in a way I can't articulate, Mischa Barton looks like something you might find in a Bed, Bath and Beyond:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Now, I like the color. I think I also like the shoes. But the dress has an unfortunate "tulle lampshade" look to it, which might not matter, if the dress didn't also add her to the list of people who put on strapless things that make their breasts look like they're sinking like stones. Not to mention that it exposes those kicky tan lines stamped on her torso.

At Least She's Not Wearing THE HAT

My dear Mischa,

I thought you said your New Year's Resolution was to wear fewer sequins.

Giving up so soon? Or was this photo snapped prior to the first of the year, and this is your Farewell to Sequins swansong? In which case, way to go out with a bang, sweetpea.

I admire your sense of adventure, fashion-wise, but don't you think this might be a little bit much, you know, for a beach cover-up? Maybe it's a little....clash-y? I mean, there's a lot going on there. You look a little bit like a slot machine, all bright blinking lights and distracting spangles and sparkly trim.

I must admit, however, that your ice cream cone looks divine. Chocolate-dipped cone? Well played, my dear. Well played, indeed.

Welcome To The Fug Blog, Bitch, II: The Fuggening

Thanks to the efforts of one our helpful -- and, in this case, extremely brave --readers, we can now present the entire horror of Mischa "Marissa Cooper Dresses Funny" Barton's misguided, bow-encrusted previously-mocked fashion atrocity:

Behold, the ill-fitting trousers. I've seen sexier pants on the PGA Senior Tour:

And the piece de resistance, The Bow:

As Summer would say, "ew."

Welcome to the Fug Blog, Bitch

Regular readers of Go Fug Yourself are aware that we generally only feature fugly ensembles that celebrities have put together for themselves, or with the help of stylists, for personal appearances or premieres or trips to the 7-11 for Cheetos, Britney. But sometimes there will appear on the televised landscape an ensemble so truly heinous, so utterly unspeakable, so completely ungodly that we can not, in good conscience, stay silent. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you Mischa Barton:

[Photos from http://www.theoc.blogger.com.br]

I only wish I could have unearthed a screencap which gave you a full length view of those pants. Which had tapered legs. And were basically jodhpurs. Jodhpurs! Paired with what appears to be Seinfeld's infamous puffy shirt, worn under a sweater vest (!!), adorned by an enormous broach. Be grateful, however, that I have spared you a full shot of the newsboy cap -- an accessory I considered a welcome casualty of the end of Sex and the City -- which featured an enormous green satin bow on the back. An enormous green satin bow so enormous and satin and green that I have no idea what Mischa Barton and the Yard Guy were talking about during the scene in which said bow was revealed, because I was so fixated on it's enormity, satinness and greenitude. [I suspect the dialogue was something along the lines of:

Mischa: I am incredibly wooden.
Yard Guy: I am the only actor in Hollywood more wooden than you are.
Mischa: I know, it's amazing they found someone with less affect than me.
Yard Guy: Am I supposed to look distraught here?
Mischa: I don't know. I just look as blank as possible all the time.

Yard Guy: Do we make out now?
Mischa: I don't care.]

There is but one explanation for this outfit, and it is that the costume person for The OC has a jihad against Mischa Barton, stemming from some terrible crime Ms Barton has committed against said costume person, like burning down the costume person's house, or killing her dog in a ritual sacrifice and drinking its blood in the middle of the FOX commissary. If this jihad is not addressed by the powers that be over there at The OC, I suspect we may eventually be forced to endure a scene in which Marissa shows up at an event wearing jams and a Fez.

Mischa Fugton

Did Mischa Barton's ankles misbehave? They must have aggrieved or otherwise embarrassed her in some way. How else to explain the fact that she's shackling them with her ankle straps and then making them suffer through tapered pants that bunch up at the foot and tuck into part of her shoe?

I'm also wondering why her grandmother's best beaded cardigan is making a cropped and ill-fitting appearance around her shoulders. The damn thing looks like a mortuary's powder-room curtains.

The Fug Sense

Judging by her sulky facial expression, Mischa Barton didn't think to look in the mirror until after she arrived at the party:

This is sort of a melange of fug. The frumpy purse competes with the frumpy cardigan, which is bedecked with the kind of cursory glitter you see on the sweaters of octagenarians. Vying with those two elements for attention: the see-through black undershirt with pink bra.

It's like she's a 90-year old stripper who's trying to prove she's Still Got It. Come on, Mischa, don't age before your time. Go back to being who you are: a young starlet who hilariously think she's Got It, but who actually has nothing but the VDs she probably caught from her oily boyfriend.

Brandon Fuggis

Mischa Barton, the weak link on The O.C., is quite the little fashion plate. She constantly puts herself out there in designer frocks, usually looks nice if a little bit on the Mary-Kate side of the Olsen line, and is generally fresh-faced and pretty despite having the acting range of the Post-It note I just pulled off the bottom of my shoe that says, "Jude."

Fresh face. Big smile. So why is she dating a giant tub of grease?

This is, unfortunately, the kind of fug that's hard to write without feeling a twinge of The Mean: The personal fug. Because although I have problems with his wardrobe above, I more often just generally wonder -- with complete befuddlement -- what the hell Mischa sees in this guy. He's usually sullen, and he looks like you could squeeze him and yield enough oil to run a KFC franchise for a week. When I come across a picture of him, I always think, "This person clearly smells like feet."

Sure, she's wearing a dress that looks like a bejewelled serpent is crushing her, but he's standing there like some sort of glam-rock lounge singer who can't open his mouth to speak because if he does, a giant gob of drool -- and maybe some chewing tobacco -- would drop out. His jacket there seems to be made of some weird scaly, shiny material -- and I will never get why guys try to wear neckties without buttoning their shirts. It's an "I Just Got Out Of Work, Am Nursing a Flask of Bourbon, And Am About To Roll Up A $20 And Put It Behind My Ear, So A Stripper Can Grab It With Her Vagina" effect.

But really, I have to call a spade a spade: Yeah, his jacket's kinda feh, but I just kind of think he, as a guy, is fug. Maybe if he ever acted happy, rather than carefully bored and superior...

... then I wouldn't be bothered about what he's got on, but when she generally appears to smell good and dress cleanly, it's very disturbing to see her hanging onto and constantly tonguing a guy who is as appealing as a walking pustule.

Paging Ms. Fugstrong...

I met Samaire Armstrong at a party once, and she was delightful; gracious, charming, well-spoken. She's adorable on Entourage. I even liked her on The OC, despite my tendency to back the bitchy brunette leg of any televised love triangle, including the one she was involved in [see also Walsh, Brenda versus Taylor, Kelly; Witter, Pacey versus Leery, Dawson]. However, as adorable as she is, the girl is obviously a vampire, unable to see her reflection in mirrors. How else do you explain this?

Or this?

Or -- sweet Jesus -- this?

Look, that is just not okay. The poor girl looks deranged. There's no excuse for unleashing such fugitude upon the land. It's not quirky or eccentric or free-spirited. It is ugly and unflattering.

Samaire, you adorable moppet, for the love of all that is holy and right, please fall into the Gap. Just once. You might like it there. You don't have to live there! Just invest in, say, something black. With two sleeves. And wear it with jeans. Don't pile a dress on top of that. Or use a disco ball as a handbag. Or decide to tuck the jeans into knee-high hot pink tranny boots.

More isn't always more. Sometimes, it's just too much.