Go Fug Yourself

#76
Oh, Anne Hathaway. Generally, I have no beef with you. You have lovely, shiny hair and seem to have no problem sharing the screen with older actresses who rock harder than you do (see Streep, Meryl and Andrews, Julie). You did the best you could in The Devil Wears Prada, even though your part was basically Whiny Entitled Girl Who Doesn't Know How Good She Has It. I also appreciate that, by all accounts, you seem to understand what "adequate" means, and you probably know how to spell it. So I feel a little bad about this:
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From the waist up, you look lovely. But the balloon skirt is problem. You start to look a little....well, a little:
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My grandma had a doll that sat on top of her toilet. Her crocheted gown belled out to cover the extra roll of toilet paper that lived up there. As a child, this fascinated me. Why didn't the toilet paper in my house have outfits? Why didn't everything in my house have outfits: the spatulas, the drinking glasses, the cat? "Because that would be tacky," my mother told me. "But Grandma's toilet paper has an outfit," I protested. "Your grandma is an eccentric and fascinating woman," my mother replied, "but my toilet paper does not need a dress."
Between you and me, I think if my mother could find a black satin cocktail dress in the appropriate shape to cover a roll of Scots -- as seen here -- she might change her mind.
 
#77
Wild horses couldn't keep Amy Smart away from this party.
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I'm serious. Even the cold, hard, irreversible reality of being seen in public wearing a beige silk blouse adorned with galloping stallions somehow did not deter Amy Smart from leaving the house.
Hell, throw in the pants -- droopy at the waist, yet simultaneously managing to give her a nice package for Christmas, if you get my drift -- and the fact that she still hasn't figured out how to make up her face, and Amy really ought to spend the entire WEEK at home eating popcorn and watching She's The Manon DVD. There's nothing like a little inspirational teen comedy to clear the mind. I mean, if Amanda Bynes can overcome gender discrimination -- not to mention strapping down her breasts and wearing a hideous brown wig in order to pose as her brother, evading her brother's persistent and somewhat needy psychotic girlfriend, convincing her classmates she's a total ladykilling dude despite the fact that she looks like she's two years away from puberty, falling in love with her male roommate who thinks she is bepenised, trying to get on the men's soccer team to play against her old school and specifically her jerkwad ex and BEAT ALL OF THEIR SORRY ASSES, and (spoiler!) getting exposed on the soccer field -- and STILL get the guy, well, surely Amy Smart can come to terms with a concept as basic and unchallenging as The Goodwill Pile.
 
#78
Did Billie Piper burn down the Glamour UK offices?
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Because from everything I've seen her in -- admittedly, we're talking mostly British tabloids and chat shows, since I don't watch Doctor Who -- she seems bubbly and fun, and while she is wearing something that you need to be bubbly and fun to pull off (hey, sequins on a January cover? Works for me, since gold sequins are basically what champagne would look like if it were fabric), her face looks like she's just received a Botox facial and a death kiss from Vlad the Impaler. Get this girl some lippie!
In fact, I noticed when I was London over the summer that many British women's mags actually give away REAL ITEMS with each purchase (one of them actually included an actual bikini, which I think is brilliant. Why don't they do this in the United States?). Maybe the Gift With Purchase with this issue is a tube of a gloss that includes actual color, thus allowing readers to avoid the cover look, in some kind of nifty reverse psychological trick. Nude lips are well and good, you know, but they sure are hard to pull off without looking like you just stumbled from your cold, dark grave in search of warm virgin flesh upon which to feast.
So basically, I'm just saying, that if you are a British Glamour staffer, and you run into Billie Piper in a dark alley or a wine cellar, or near any kind of crypt-like thing, just get out your garlic, okay?
 
#79
Sometimes, Beyonce Knowles gets it right; other times, she's maddeningly wrong. But it's not often that she hits both notes in one day. At one location.
Exhibit A: The Good.
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Aside from the fact that she and Miss Tyra Banks could have a seriously fierce weave-off -- the likes of which could, nay WOULD, change the meaning of life for us all -- Beyonce looks quite pretty. We love that she has a normal body and love it even more when she drapes it well. Here, she's a gentle hourglass.
And now for something completely different.
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This is Exhibit B: The Bad, in which the sands of the aforementioned hourglass have officially all reached the lower chamber. Beyonce looks less like superstar than a shell-shocked diner employee who, as part of a surprise contest win, was plucked from the restaurant during her shift and deposited on the set of TRL as a guest co-host. That skirt, built-in apron and all, is a veritable tent; she could throw a Girl Scouts jamboree under there.
She also appears to be molting, which brings us to Exhibit C: The Ugly.
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Now she's not just a diner employee -- she's a fired extra from the ill-fated The Muppets Take Manhattan Sam's House of Bacon, in which our merry band of Hensonites would have opened up a greasy spoon, had this nutter not accidentally sat on one of the main characters during a coffee break.
Why she wore this when she had something better on a nearby hanger, I really don't know. Sure, she wore the red dress on Letterman later, but come on -- there can't be that much overlap in those demographics. Sure, maybe that striped-shirt dude with the crazy eyes and gleaming maw would tune in to obsess over her Late Show appearance, but he's about to be arrested for plucking the bird, I think, so that's a moot point.
We would call it a wash, but the feathered derriere actually counts as a full second point against the aqua outfit, so the final score is: Tina Knowles' DNA 2, Rational Thought 1.
Dang. Better luck next time, Beyonce.
 
#80
We've been fugging a lot of covers lately, begging the question: What is up with January magazine covers? Traditionally, January issues are thin and flat -- like a bad hair day -- presumably because mag staffers are exhausted from putting together the December issues, which generally could be used to weight down a body. You know, if you were that kind of a girl. So I guess it's not too surprising that a lot of January covers are kind of lackluster. And yet I could not let Janet Jackson's appearance on Singapore's Harper's Bazaar pass without comment:
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To be blunt about it: Is there some law that Janet Jackson can not appear on the cover of any major magazine in pants? Remember her W cover? This is almost exactly the same concept. I mean, it's more Wholesome 80s Super Model Going For a Dip in the Pool After Some Refreshing Tab, while that one was more...freaky. But, seriously: We know, you lost a whole lot of weight. Your body looks nice. Excuse me, according to the cover, it is "killer." (And I don't think the use of the phrase "the skinny" on the cover is a coincidence, either.) But would it kill you to CONSIDER PANTS on occasion? EVEN THIN PEOPLE WEAR PANTS. We'll still KNOW that your ass is smaller than it used to be. You can PUT IT AWAY NOW.
 
#83
So far, 2007 looks awfully familiar.
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As usual, we can see Courtney Love's bra, and as usual, she can't keep her eyes open long enough for us to check the status of her pupils. Although, technically, this photo was taken on New Year's Eve, so it was still 2006. Ergo, although she rang in 2007 thusly, looking like a zombie whose nose had recently been broken -- seriously, what's up with it? Doesn't it look flatter? And yet knobbier? Did she bang it against the mirror on the table? We hope not -- it's entirely possible she turned the corner later that day and has now spent the remaining 24-plus hours of 2007 looking lovely and awake, playing Scrabble with Frances Bean before settling down to watch Finding Nemo and her new Sound of Music deluxe edition DVD and then singing her daughter to sleep with the "So Long, Farewell" song we so cherish and which Gwen Stefani needs to keep her grubby sample-happy mitts away from on pain of *****-slap.
We're crossing our fingers. And, the lipstick is an improvement, so maybe there is progress on the horizon.
 
#84
I have kind of a mild obsession with reality and competition shows from countries other than my own, and there is generally a moment each week when I wonder petulantly why BBC America isn't carrying whatever kooky British reality show I'm currently reading about. Today, however, I'm sad because I can't watch the German version of So You Think You Can Dance. Why, you ask? Because of the outfits. Check them out:
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Leggings! Matching skulls! A skull necklace! They look like the bad seeds at Rydell High. Also, is he wearing pleather pants with Bedazzled spider webs on them? I've been looking for a pair of those.
These two are also quite spectacular:

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I'm pretty sure she's supposed to be, sort of, like....an extremely sexy schoolgirl? And he's like....a sexy man-nerd? I don't know. I do know that I love it. And if he whips off his glasses at some point, I love it even more. But while these two examples are delightful, I invite you to check out the piece de resistance:
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I KNOW. She's solely wearing men's underwear and he appears to be on break from his gig as the Kevin Federline impersonator at Chippendale's Berlin. Seriously, I really want to know what this was routine was choreographed to -- was it a Risky Business homage? Were they dancing to the theme song from Salute Your Shorts? Should I just be grateful that, whatever it was, it wasn't a reinvention of "The Thong Song"? And why the Doc Martins? So many questions! And because Time-Warner doesn't offer a European Reality Show channel, I'll never know the answers.
 
#85
Now that I've waded through my year-end supply of gossip magazines with Best and Worst lists galore, I'm compelled to put up another dress here that I ignored the first time around.
Beyonce Knowles' lacy blue gown from the L.A. Dreamgirls premiere got just about everyone's "Best" vote this year, and although I can sort of see people's logic in saying that, as a woman I can't get over one very massive mental hurdle with this gown.
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And that is: Aren't her breasts about to pop out of that thing?
Well, actually, I also think all the lace is overly fussy and that the see-through quality of the dress has it walking a very delicate line between "sexy" and "I'm meeting you in the elephant at the Moulin Rouge to sex you into giving our nightclub lots of money." But mostly, I can't look at this dress without wondering how she is able to walk around in it without constantly checking on whether her nipples are saluting the flashbulbs, and also, how many pounds of boob tape she's employing in order to give her the freedom to shimmy.
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Am I wrong? Look -- is that the top of a nipple, or a circle of tape over there on the right? Or just a dent? If it's tape, it hardly seems like enough to keep those under wraps. How is she moving freely? How is she comfortable? Did she just want them pushed up high enough to rest a drink upon, or has she really not noticed their precarious and somewhat pancaked state?
Now, I do understand that for a lot of people, the very promise of a one- or two-gun salute may be precisely why this is a "Best Dress" contender. But as a girl who loves gowns, all I can see is a bodice that looks in serious danger of making her mother cry. Does she want to make her mother cry? Is that her revenge for all those years of hot pants? Wow. Admirable cunning, Beyonce, if it's true -- who could blame you? She REALLY kind of has it coming, when you think of it in those terms -- but you might want to consider orchestrating a less X-rated trauma. Because "What Would Tara Reid Do?" is not a viable mantra.
 
#86
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Dear Diary,
So, remember that time I told Man-Paris that he was like a dead fish in the sack? [I think it was Man-Paris... or was it Nick Carter? Or Aaron Carter? Or Stabby Nachos? Or Travis Barker? Or Britney Spears? Or Andy Roddick? Or that other dude I was engaged to that time? Or was it the guy I met at the thing, with the stuff?... No, I think it was Man-Paris.] And he was all, "Oh yeah, well you're about as smart as one," and I was all, "Duh, brains make you FAT, they are ALL CARBS," and he goes, "Oh my God, you aren't even making any sense," and I go, "Sense gives you ACNE," and he threw a wastebasket at me and told me to crawl back into it where I belong, and I was all, "Well at least I don't have a failed solo career after my lame boy band broke up," and he was like, "Holy ****, Paris, that's your ex boyfriend -- do you even remember my name?" And I was all, "Duh, Nick, I'm not that stupid, it's not like 'Nick' is that hard to remember," and then he told me to go do something dirty to the Eiffel Tower and I was like, "OH YEAH? MAYBE I WILL," and he was all, "Yeah, it's Paris-on-Paris," and then I totally looked at him and was all, "Dude, you're looking totally fine all of a sudden," and then we had sex? And he was like a dead fish in the sack so I told him so again? And he was like, "How would you know, anyway?"
Well... not that Nick Man-Paris will ever read this, but let's just say that I KNOW.
Heeee! But I really shouldn't say anything more, Diary. It's tough when you're dating a new guy and he sees his name in the press. So, toodles! I have to go buy more makeup. I used up all the eyeshadow I own on this one day in Sydney -- it's totally 2007 to paint yourself two black eyes and I want to be the first.
Kisses!
P
 
#88
"High five!
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I'm wearing a tee shirt with the vest ATTACHED to it, just like we used to do in 8th grade! Doesn't this totally take you back to the dressing room at Wet Seal? And I'm wearing it on MTV! Give it up for me!"
 
#89
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As she walked away with her trophy for Best Leading Lady, Cameron Diaz caught sight of her reflection in the TelePrompTer and froze in horror. She couldn't tell which was worse: the fact that her dress looked like a funereal homage to Madonna's "Like A Virgin" video, or the fact that it closely resembled an upended, overly ornate Pier 1 Imports martini glass. Suddenly it all made sense -- her personal assistant taking one look at it and sighing that she might as well shove some olives on a toothpick and tape them to the skirt; Andy Dick trying to stick a bendy straw all up in her business; Britney Spears sending her that barely legible text that read, "2 BAD 4U SUCKA, JT NO DRINX DIRTY MARTEENYS, BS RULZ 4EVAAAA."
She knew then it was going to be a long, long night. And that she was going to have to change her mobile number.
 
#90
In the "Oh, please, sweet merciful Suri, let this be for a role" department, I deeply, deeply hope that Rachel McAdams has done this because she's getting paid to:
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Like, say, for a biopic about Courtney Love. Not that she necessarily ever had hair that color -- I'm not really abreast of Courtney's tinting habits -- but because there's something Courtneyish about her face in that photo.
Or, better, maybe she's wearing it that way for a live-action Jem and the Holograms movie in which the titular character and her band of heroes would mend the world's fractured social fabric by performing anthems like "Flowers In My Hair" and "Love Is Doin' It (To Me)" and "(It All) Depends On The Mood (I'm In)" -- whose moving lyrics proclaim, "I can be whoever I want to // Anyone at all // I can strut when I want to strut // Or hide behind a parasol." Then, with the world conquered through song, hopefully Jem would finally sack up and dump Rio for being stupid enough to fall in love with both her and her real-world alter-ego Jerrica because seriously, why does this not bother her? So what if it's actually the same person -- it's still TECHNICALLY cheating and it still TECHNICALLY makes him a jackhole and it therefore TECHNICALLY makes her a bit of a jackhole-enabler.
Anyway, I hope that's it. I suppose maybe she's just trying to be supportive by detracting from Ryan Gosling's mustache, which is ever more evocative of an old-school charlatan peddling his elixir wagon around small-town U.S.A. in the hope of bilking the elderly with a phony anti-aging tonic. But the Jem movie would be an actual important reason to have pink hair. So if that's not it, I suggest she hightail it out to some pitch meetings and make it happen, pronto.
 
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