Oscars Post-Party Fug: Tara Reid

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

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

Fuga Reid

[Photo: infdaily.com]

TARA: Roberto!

ROBERTO CAVALLI: Aiiiii, it's you, Blond Person! That party girl! Lindsay!

TARA: No, ha ha, no, you're... no.

ROBERTO: Your denials entice me. Are you the pregnant one?

TARA: Um, I... Nicole Richie? No. It's...

CAVALLI: ARE YOU SURE? We are touching. I must know. Fetuses are so hot right now!

TARA: Yeah, I think so. I mean, yes. I'm not Nicole Richie.

CAVALLI:  I can see it: Fetus hats, RESPLENDENT in my fall 2008 collection. Vests made of diapers. God, it's divine. WHERE is my moisturizer?

TARA: It's Tara Reid, Roberto. I was -- shit, I AM -- an actress. Are you listening? Dammit, I was sure this would work.

CAVALLI: Do not swear at me, stage jockey, or I'll be compelled to wonder if I should take my sunglasses off and shift away from your earlobe.

TARA: Listen, it doesn't matter, I just really love you and I'm happy to be here, and it's amazing that you're allowing yourself to be seen...

CAVALLI: And you're not pregnant? It's just a really bad dress?

TARA: I guess so, yeah, it's...

CAVALLI: Then it is time, Anonymous Blonde.

TARA: Time for what?

CAVALLI: SMOKE IT.

TARA: I'm not sure what you...

[Photo: infdaily.com]

TARA: OW! I... ca... heeee...

CAVALLI: YES, be sullied! Smoke it like a forest fire that only YOU can prevent! You really should have worn a bra.

TARA: I never thought I'd say this, but can I stop now? We're being watched.

CAVALLI: It's what you wanted, pet strumpet. Stop whining. I'll send you a pair of embryo pumps from next season.

London Fugshion Week: Tara Reid

I feel like we've asked this question before, but I'm compelled to pose it again: SERIOUSLY, didn't she supposedly get those things fixed?

And if she did get 'em taken care of, why is she not now taking care of them? We appreciate that she is trying to be perky, but the one on the left appears so embarrassed that it's trying to take shelter in her armpit, and the one on the right just looks too depressed to do anything but sulk. It was a fixable issue, too -- a better dress, a little underwire, and we'd have been off to the races. Obviously, the cautionary leaflet her surgeon gave her -- Don't Be A Boob About Your New Boobs, sponsored by Playtex -- is lying in a crumpled heap in her car next to the Us Weekly issue in which she exalted how all that corrective surgery changed her life.

Still, I can at least take comfort in the fact that, with Tara Reid back to being kind of a mess, the world is apparently back to turning properly on its axis.

American Fug III

Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't we read that she got those things fixed?

Girl, your legs look great, but Righty McBoob over there is making a run for the border, while Lefty Bazongastern is about to dash over to the open bar and get itself a G&T (also, I can see your underwear, but panties are in short supply these days, so you'll get a pass. For now. Like how we forgive burglars when there's a serial killer on the loose).

A closer, more horrifying look at Ms Reid's boobular situation after the jump. It's....not entirely safe for work.

Dude. This is why the rest of us WEAR BRAS.

Fugadise

"Hey guys, it's me! Tara Reid!

Do you like the new me? I've just entered my Grey Gardens period. I did the Sweet Ingenue thing, then I did the Drunky Mess, and then I did the boob-flashing -- way before any of these other dumb girls, thank you very much -- then I did the I'm So Sorry About The Drunk Boob Flashing, Hear Me Wail About My Bad Plastic Surgery thing, and now I'm moving into Quirky and Covered Up Headscarf-Lover. Kind of a little bit Mary-Kate, with a dash of Arden Wohl and a hint of Grandma! And sure, unlike Mary Kate, Arden and Nana, it doesn't seem like a look I've entirely come up with all on my own, like I probably didn't wake up one morning and think, "I need more things tied around my head," unless I was dreaming about how I can't keep my hair on. But it's less predictable than those other personas, and at least I'm all covered up and sort of adult looking, finally, right? Right? I think so. Now, I just need to date a sort of brooding, brainy shipping heir to squire me around, and I'll be set! See you inside -- I hear there's an open bar!"

Well Played, Tara Reid

Well, well, well. Looks like somebody's still striving to do right by that recent Us Weekly cover.

Not too bloated, nothing popping out, hanging out, or trying to escape, no mascara dribbling down her face like strained carrots from the mouth of a baby... Yes, okay, I still think she's lying about not getting a facial tweak or three when she went in to drain those godawful sandbags, but on the whole, it looks like her resolution to be less terrifying has indeed taken hold.

Ladies and gentlemen, let's start a slow clap for Ms. Tara Reid, potentially (please forgive my reluctance to go full-bore on the optimism) a guttersnipe no more.

Well Played: Tara Reid (!)

I know, we can't believe it either. But seriously, check it out:

We don't know what prompted the Tara Reid Tour of Contrition and Sobriety, but we'd like to take whoever convinced her to pull her shit together out for a drink. Heather and I wondered -- while she was hosting The View -- if maybe she'd had some work done on her face when she got her boobs fixed, and it's hard to say. I think it's possible that maybe she just finally got a series of decent facials and stopped smoking. No matter what she did, it was well done, because she actually almost looks like the last five years didn't even happen, like Taradise was hosted by her skeezy twin sister. This girl looks like someone you could conceivably see starring in a romantic comedy.  So never let it be said that we don't give credit where credit is due. That is an impressive change from this:

Seriously. Nice job, kid.

American Fug

Tara Reid has given up her acting career and picked up modeling. Next month, she will be appearing on the cover of Dead Eyes Monthly:

(This photo was also considered for the cover of Ima Kill You, Jessica, If You Don't Stop Being So Mean To Me weekly.)

In case you're wondering, she also appears to be really gifted at runway:

I admit that I am not an expert on catwalk style, but I am pretty sure two-handed waves are not particularly fierce.

Poor Tara Reid. Honestly.  She is such a mess, I can hardly bring myself to publish this post. I mean, I'm going to and all, but simply as a call for help on her behalf. Girl, FOR REAL: go to the Golden Door or Canyon Ranch or something for like TWO MONTHS. Dry out. Give people a chance to miss you. Give your hair a chance to regain a flimsy hold on life again. Try to PULL IT TOGETHER. GOD.

Wow, That Was Fast: A Refugging of Tara Reid

The Lord giveth, and then He taketh away.

Tara Reid should probably have that tattooed onto her pelvis. Not only is it an apt statement for her life in general, but she also wasted no time in undoing the gracious -- albeit skeptical -- unfugging bestowed upon her on Friday:

One thing that was givethed that He should have takethed away from her hot little spray-tanned hand was the Manic Flowbee of Terror she borrowed from Tom Cruise, and apparently refuses to give back. Now more now than ever, Tara Reid's hair looks like half of it was ripped out at the root in a horrific head-Hoovering accident, which clearly has left her dazed and unable to focus her eyes. It also has pulled up the right side of her face into an eternal stunned smirk. (Who knew Flowbees could do this? If she'd just done the other side, BOOM! Instant Botox, without the needles. Nicole Kidman-Cruise-Urban must be dying that she didn't think to extort this thing in the divorce.)

Alas, though, Tara's problems don't stop with her wan mane. Poor little Nips Akimbo, Child of Chestal Tragedy, has chosen yet another shirt that not only emphasizes the mesmerizingly shameful work of her plastic surgeon -- seriously, when he put in her implants, did he use ACTUAL sandbags? -- but which is also just sort of inexplicable. I'm not sure what those shoulder flaps are, but the way they drape on her shoulders looks like the shirt is pressing down on her, giving her a weird slouchy look that only enhances the fact that her expensive mounds of hell are already flying south for the winter.

Tara, Tara, Tara.

I'm Not Confident Enough To Call It An Unfugging, But Still: Tara Reid

Today is apparently the day I say nice things about people I usually slag.

Take Tara "Hot Mess" Reid:

Have I suffered a massive head injury, or is this better than usual? I really think it's better than usual. I mean, I am not wild about the shoes, and the scoop neck is a tiny little bit more scooped than it ought to be, and those roots are the sort pulled off only by Amanda Woodward, but overall she looks really kind of pretty. No, I mean it.

Which shouldn't be as surprising as it is, really. I mean, prior to the current era of drunken boob-flashing, T.R went through a period of being really pretty cute and fresh-faced. Remember? Like this:

I mean, I'm probably talking crazy here, but it is possible that this ho has, as requested, sacked up?

Fugga Reid

You know that poster from IKEA that hangs in the home or office of at least one person that you know -- the one that's a grid made of squares filled with different swirls, in varying hues?

Tara Reid took it a step further and turned it into a shirt:

I guess if you're basically a walking target, you might as well be a bit literal about it. And honestly, in many ways this is probably an improvement over most of what's in her wardrobe, excepting the fact that you can see right through the shirt, her shoes pick right up on that transparent theme by being complete plastic disasters, and it's likely she borrowed Tom Cruise's Flowbie to do her hair because she heard it gives bitchin' layers. And, she should go to her colorist.

But other than that, I suppose this could be worse.

The Fug's Daughter

Hot Mess of the Decade Tara Reid is getting messier, although absolutely not hotter:

This is just not...it's just...not....this is just so bad.  And it's not bad in, like, a fun, dumb, chaps-wearing, fur-turban-sporting,  Posh Spice way. It's bad in like a bad, tacky, sad, I Have To Stop And Pick Up Some Ointment, Barefoot in the Esso Bathroom Britney way. Tara, honey, there's a reason no one is hiring you anymore. It's because you're too old -- and look way too rough -- for teen roles, and you haven't fixed yourself up to look like you're suited for any kind of Rom-Com roles at all.

Now, listen, I've seen you deskeezed (okay, like, maybe twice, but still), and you're still cute! You clean up...better than one would expect! Look around! Do you see Rachel McAdams out and about dressed like she just crawled home from a foam party in Ibiza? Is your American Pie contemporary Alyson Hannigan photographed looking like she's been styled solely using cast-offs from streetwalker's White Elephant sale? Does Reese Witherspoon ever FLASH HER TITS? No, no, and she'd rather shoot Ryan in the kneecaps first.

And yet all you do is complain that no one takes you seriously, and why are people so mean to you about all your partying, and why can't you get a job? But here's the thing: you do have a choice. You can either: a) give up on acting, retreat into semi-obscurity, socialize solely with celebutantes 10 years younger than you are,  drink and tan your face completely off, and let your floo-flog hang out all over town, OR b) you can decide that you want to work again as something other than a punchline to a mean joke, and you can put on some sunscreen and some pants, spend a month in Promises, get your publicist to sell "TARA REID'S SECRET PAIN: And Her Triumphant Victory Over Low Self-Esteem" to People Magazine, start showing up places fully dressed like an adult woman, dig out your agent's number and get to work .

In other words, as Heather said to me once, "sack up, ho."

The Boss's Fug

Sometimes I look at Tara Reid and just wonder what happened in her childhood that made her think this whole plastic surgery thing was a good idea.

Those are not good implants. They kind of look like she's got two half-grapefruits shoved in there. And when your implants look like that, it's probably best to steer clear of any ensemble that resembles an embellished Warner Cross Your Heart bra, supported solely by weensy teensy straps, because it tends to scare the children. What if those things get loose? IT'S HAPPENED BEFORE.

Actually, I'm sure it's unfair to blame Miss Reid's unfortunate downward spiral of poorly done plastic surgery on her parents. I'm sure they're lovely. Let's just blame Carson Daly instead.

Fugadise!

Ever the mistress of subtlety, I present to you Miss Tara Reid:

If you have to write it on your ass, it might not be true.

Fug On... Anonymity

Nothing is more mentally taxing than a celebrity who has taken great and clever pains to avoid being recognized:

I mean... Now I have no idea... Who is this? Who could it be? Gosh, I SIMPLY CAN'T IMAGINE. I'm trying to add it up... the "I'm a Roman Hooker" shoes, the dress that looks like a disco ball caught in a fishing net... it's all adding up to something... Gosh, if only we knew someone who is of the habit of showing up places both hammered and dressed in glittering rags that look tailored by an axe-murderer. And if only this crafty siren weren't wearing a baseball cap!

Just who IS this pussycat? Who on EARTH would go out looking so "tara"ble? I'll buy one piping hot slice of American pie to anyone who cracks this DEVIOUS and PERPLEXING MYSTERY. Damn you, Hat of Great Cunning, for being the perfect disguise! A pox on you and your impenetrable shadow!  Obstruction of Fugstice is a crime! One punishable by... more mockery! And poxes! I CURSE YOUR AND YOUR DEMON BRIM FOR BESTING ME.

I am just stumped. That hat was a stroke of genius. Well played, Totally Unrecognizable Mysterious Boozehound Lush. Well played indeed.

Wild On Fug

Okay, Tara Reid. Take a seat, baby, because we need to talk.

You do realize that you have a problem, right? That when your behavior and appearance makes Paris Hilton look like Grace Kelly,  something has gone horribly, horribly wrong? Also, that your new fake boobs are really, really too big and, honestly, that smooshing them down like that is neither comfortable, nor flattering?

Do I have to be blunt here?

Okay.

You're THIRTY DAMN YEARS OLD.  YOUR LIFE SHOULDN'T BE A GIRLS GONE WILD VIDEO TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAMN DAY. GET A GODDAMNED GRIP.

And buy a shirt that fits. Jeezy Chreezy.  My boobs hurt just looking at you, kiddo.

At Least They're Covered, But...

There has been progress, but she's not quite there yet:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Tara Reid, who despite her small stature is of the biggest moving targets in the entertainment industry, has improved. She is wearing a classy dress, for one thing, and her makeup doesn't make her look like she's been hanging out on the benches between J.C. Penney and Champs Sporting Goods, waiting for some eligible young mallrats to swing by and show her the time of her life.

However, the dress... it looks like it's not supposed to swallow her feet, for one thing, and she probably should have gotten it fitted. But I'll leave that mostly alone, because I'm too busy staring at what this garment has done to her breasts.

We here at Go Fug Yourself are not fond of her boob job already, which is no surprise, but the way this dress hangs, Tara's chest looks three times flatter, droopier, and more pendulous than it probably actually is. Take a closer gander. She looks like she's birthed and breast-fed three children. She's... matronly.

So close, Tara. Keep going, though; you've at least made the turn onto Nicole Richie Blvd., heading north toward a less fugly place.

American Tart

Tara Reid has officially reached rock bottom. I know, I know, like so many people, I was convinced that the hard partying, the Carson Daly engagement, the sickening pelvis, the dead-end career, and the mascara tracks looked an awful lot like rock bottom, but apparently Ms. Reid one-upped herself -- two-upped herself, technically -- by getting gigantic new breast implants. Because nothing says "Look at me, please, I'm DESPERATE to be treated like a real young star" like heavy-looking implants that the photos, and her fugtastic outfit, depict as drooping, sagging silicone dumplings.

Props -- and at the same time, bitch-slaps, because this chick doesn't need to be encouraged -- to the Scrubs people for trying to make her feel culturally relevant, but even that show couldn't disguise her patent lack of talent, humor, and sex appeal. And then she goes and steps out in public looking like the guest of honor at a roller-disco rave gone wrong.

Can someone please put a mirror in front of this girl's face and show her that she is the senior-class president of Fug Valley High?