February 25, 2008
Oscar Fug Carpet: Well Played, Jennifer Hudson
"This performance goes out to my grand old frenemy, Andre Leon Talley. It's all for you, A.L.T..."
"And I am TEEEEELLLLING YOOOU,
IIIIIIII AM NOT CALLLLLING.
You're the WORST STYLIST that I'll ever know.
What the HELL was that gold bolero?!?!?
No, no, no, NOOOOO way,
IIIIIII'M letting you clothe MEEEEE.
I don't want to look CRAZY.
I'm free, I'm free!
And you, and you, and YOU,
You're gonna RUE MEEEEEEEEEEEE."
Oscar Fug Carpet: Colin Farrell
Listen, it's hard enough to get up and get into that suit. Clean hair is JUST TOO MUCH TO ASK.
Oscar Fug Carpet: Renee Zellweger
Oh, look, it's Renee Zzzzzzz......
Sorry, I nodded off there for a second. Not that there's anything empirically wrong with this; it's a pretty cut, a dazzling fabric, and a lovely cool metallic hue. But doesn't it feel like we've seen this a thousand times before on her? Okay, maybe not with that exact haircut -- which Renee has GOT to grow out before someone comes up to her and asks what it was like to be one of the Von Trapp sons -- but the rest is so cookie-cutter Zellweger. It has such a strong aura of been-there-done-that even Carolina Herrera herself probably had to take a No Doz to finish the assignment. Try some sleeves for once, Renee. Or a wig. Poke your legs through a stuffed Simba. Hell, at this point Renee could wear Bjork herself, and I'd applaud her for being refreshing.
Oscars Post-Party Fug: Sharon Stone
"HELLO FRIENDS. I am SHARON STONE. And I am FABULOUS. BEHOLD my white suit, a tribute -- nay, a glorious homage -- to my peep John Travolta. Admit it. I look kind of rad in this. You know I do. For I can do anything: I had a brain thingie that exploded in my head...and LIVED. I had a husband who got bit by a dragon...AND THEN I LEFT HIM. I was the FIRST actress to show people my vagina -- THE FIRST! Well, sort of. Okay, that's a total lie. But for the purposes of my current argument: THE FIRST! I AM LEGEND. And yes, I look like a tapping-dancing maitre d' in this. I KNOW THAT. But I'm an AWESOME tap-dancing maitre d'. AND YOU LOVE IT. You'd look like a refugee from a college production of one of those Busby Berkeley musicals where people twirl around in concentric circles holding giant coins. But I look GLORIOUS. BEHOLD ME!
PS: I AM WEARING A RABBIT'S FOOT, IT'S TRUE. Watch out, I'll use as a swizzle stick in your cocktail if you displease me, HUMAN"
Oscars Fug Carpet: Cameron Diaz
Last year I wrote that Cameron Diaz's white Oscar gown "inspired me to plug in my iron." Which I remember not because I am so amused at myself, but rather because her gown this year felt like an equally dusty "before" shot from an ad extolling the glories of spray starch.
Last year it felt like a linen napkin; this year, it's a bedsheet, and -- it must be said -- possibly a very low thread-count bedsheet she bought from Target because her old linens smelled like Justin and so she had to burn them.
It doesn't get much better from the back:
That is so messy and unflattering. Not to mention that I think she did her hair while in the act of surfing. You know, Cammy is reportedly shacking up with John Mayer again occasionally, and this nightmare feels quite like the kind of up-yours subversion he'd want to engage in if he were invited. I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn he draped this for her as a joke, using nothing but a staple gun and a mickey of rum, which would account for that strange patch that's practically begging everyone to stare right at the business end of her derriere. The easy explanation could be that the dress ripped and had to be patched, but it certainly looks more like a functional window, which she can retract at will to enable quick trips to the bathroom between awards. I guess we'll never know unless we hear her wailing from inside the stall, "DAMMIT, the LEVER is broken. Does anyone have a sweatshirt I can tie around my waist? Anyone? Come on, Ellen Page HAS to have a hoodie in the car."
Oscar Fug Carpet: Tilda Swinton
Okay, full disclosure: when Tilda here won, both Heather and I clapped with glee. Sure, she dresses like a nutjob some of the time, but she seems really coooool, and, like, authentic somehow. You know, she's got that crazy living situation where she and her ex and her current boy toy all live together and she never wears make-up, but it doesn't seem like an affectation and she and Intern George love each other, and if she's good enough for Intern George, she's okay by me. Plus, there's something to be said for someone who's a reliably crazy dresser: I might hate what she's wearing, but at least it's interesting.
I mean...let's just say that Jessica Simpson wore this somewhere. If I'm being honest, I would so let her have it. There would be so many garbage bag jokes, Hefty would cut us a check. And she does look totally uneven, like she caught one of her arms in the limo door on the way over and had to leave it behind as a casualty of war. Or like one half of her body is going to the nunnery to take the veil (after her true love dies in the war, of course, and she will spend all her time in the convent looking radiantly beautiful as a heartbroken-yet-brave bride of Christ, and it will be SO heart-wrenching when it turns out her lover is ALIVE, and yes, I watched a lot of movies about nuns as a child, so what?), and the other half looks like she's going to the nunnery to take the veil, but it was really hot that day. So, yeah, she is not at all wearing what I would wear to the Oscars (two words: turbans!), but it's....Tilda Swinton. This is totally what she wears, like, grocery shopping. I can't totally ding it for her.
March 01, 2007
Oscar Post-Party Fug Carpet: Natalie Maines
It's a shame Natalie Maines was not ready to make nice with her stylist; if she had, she might have avoided this red plague. The top makes her look so wide and enormous that she almost appears to be standing on only one foot -- as if she had actually been wearing the largest, most ruffled trousers on the planet, until a very aggressive man named King Arthur came along on his phantom horse and hacked off her right leg when she wouldn't let him past her into the forest.
So I guess the lesson here is, tip your stylist. Or at least let her hold one of your Grammys for more than two seconds.
Oscar Fug Carpet: Well Played, Rinko Kikuchi
I admit, I was hoping that Rinko Kikuchi would show up to the Oscars wearing something crazy -- a dress made entirely of bubble wrap, maybe, or couture legwarmers, or a turban. I wasn't alone. On the E! preshow, they ran a crawl along the bottom of the screen featuring text messages that viewers had sent in. Typically, they said things like, "Jennifer Hudson RULES! -- Sarah in Chicago," or "Where's Rachel McAdams?!?! - McGosling Lover in Houston" or "Ryan Seacrest is so HOT -- Ryan in Los Angeles." But one message caught my eye in particular. It said, "Wear something crazy for us, Rinko!" (Sadly, I did not catch the name of the sender. If you're out there: well played, sender.) And yet, I can't say I'm disappointed with Rinko's lack of Oscar crazy:
Because she looks awesome. This is what I imagine Chanel couture SHOULD look like, when I am imagining having the kind of money it takes to buy Chanel couture. I don't want to spend my bazillions on ankle spats. I want to spend them on something like this: exquisitely fitted, chic, a little sparkly, and very glam. And yet I hope this is not the last we'll see of Rinko Kikuchi. For one thing, her name is cool. For another, I suspect she has not worn the last of her out-there outfits.
Oscar Fug Carpet: Tracey Edmonds
In the end, Tracey Edmonds turned out to be Eddie Murphy's most necessary accessory on Oscar night. When he peered into her reflective sternum after he lost and realized he wasn't a good enough actor to hide the burning, seething, frothing rage shooting like lasers from his eyes and nostrils, he quickly hightailed it out of the Kodak Theater lest the producers spend the rest of the evening gleefully cutting to furious closeups during everyone else's golden moments.
Unfortunately for Tracey, she was the one stuck wearing the thing, which managed to give her the illusion of flesh rolls she almost certainly doesn't really have. So really, neither of them were winners here.
Oscar Post-Party Fug Carpet: Joy Bryant
They're called camisoles, Joy. It almost rhymes with areola, which is what I can see because you're not wearing any kind of undergarments. Although, actually, you'd probably need something strapless, since when you stapled your flimsy translucent fabric together, you were determined to do it in a way that thwarted anything strapped. So perhaps I should say, "They're called undergarments, Joy." And they result in your boobs not being entirely visible to the rest of the world. Do you have a friend who can take you to Victoria's Secret -- you know, the giant pink panty palace in the mall where 40 photos of Gisele in tiny underwear stare down at you as you wonder whether you can handle that much lace in your nethers? Yes, that place. You might want to go there.