May 30, 2008
Good morning, all -- just a note to say please check your bookmarks and make sure they all point to www.gofugyourself.com, rather than simply gofugyourself.typepad.com. Thanks!
May 29, 2008
If the afore-complimented Jennifer Hudson is the yang of gold metallic fabric, then Christian Siriano (whose personality, along with Chris Marsh's, totally salvaged Project Runway's last season for me) is her yin.
Seriously, there is "fierce," there is "ferocious," and then there is, "This was shoved on me by a FIERCE salesgirl at Groom And Doom's Discount Tuxedo Emporium, FEROCIOUSLY marked down to $5." I am pretty sure this shirt falls into the latter category.
Well Played, Jennifer Hudson
Dear Andre Leon Talley:
[Photo: Splash News]
THIS is how to make Jennifer Hudson wear a metallic. Not some tweaked gold bolero with a popped collar that looks like it was made out of Wonka Golden Tickets.
P.S. Okay, so maybe her makeup is a little too shiny in combination with the dress, but otherwise, I think she looks great. Much as revenge is a dish best served cold, her cleavage is a meal best served HOT.
P.P.S. Also, the figure she cuts is totally badass. If J.Hud were almost any other young star, she'd have wasted away to a size two by now -- even America Ferrera keeps needlessly shrinking -- so I'm thrilled she's healthy and sexy and wearing clingy clothes.
P.P.P.S. And I love her sassy bob.
P.P.P.P.S. "Sassy Bob" sounds like the name of a really terrible hair salon that has a karaoke bar in the back. Which actually automatically makes it a hilariously amazing hair salon. Can someone please open that?
Look, ordinarily I would have second thoughts about posting a photo of Lily Allen when she is probably out running errands. Because -- and I know I've said this before, but still -- we have ALL been there, where we realized there was no Jif and no Diet Coke and nothing in the house with salt in it and PEOPLE SHOULD NOT LIVE LIKE THAT and so we ran out to Ralph's with no regard to what we had on or whether we had shaved our legs. It's just life.
However, we don't usually do any of those things in sweatpants overalls.
And I might even have let this slide as an off day (yes, I DO realize she's carrying a Nobu bag, but the image provider caption claims she was using it as a purse, so... yeah, never mind, it's still weird), if Lily hadn't recently caused a stir in Cannes by getting so drunk she couldn't hold up her head. It's all making me wonder if the booze and the peroxide are seeping into her mind somehow, and she's become convinced she's a nine-year old circa about 1987 who believes she's going to grow up to marry Richard Marx, and that they will hire an entire STAFF of people who are to do nothing but make sure her romper legs are rolled up evenly. Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Jay Manuel a walking testimonial to the perils of turning your hair an alien silver hue? Please tell me his common sense did not die in vain.
Well Played: Kristin Davis
Or, What She Should Have Worn To the Premiere:
Parenthetically, does anyone else suspect that Kristin Davis has got a portrait of herself shoved under the bed, doing all the aging for her? Because she looks about six months older than she did that time she cracked her head on the side of the Melrose Place pool and then proceeded to haunt Billy for like 36 hours, until she got bored. That was twelve years ago. (You know, just in case you were feeling spry.) At the very least, her moisturizer deserves a high five. Or even a congratulatory chest bump.
May 28, 2008
Fug and the Fuggy: Part Bajillion
Far be it from us to let Cynthia Nixon be the only Sex and the City star to escape our microscope.
Nicole Kidman taught us all a lot of valuable lessons about fair skin and blonde hair and white dresses that look like nightgowns. I wish Cynthia had been paying attention. She looked so good at the other events, and while this isn't, say, a DISASTER, it also looks like she's waiting impatiently at the bus stop for her friendly son Casper to get off the Ghost Bus and tell her all about his day at school.
Sex and the Fugly: A Well Played, and a Not So Much
I secretly -- except not, apparently, since I just said it on my blog -- love Sarah Jessica Parker's dress.
I know it looks a tiny bit like spacesuit material, or that it's been covered in cling film, but she just looks so pretty in it. Everyone is watching; why NOT go big, right? There are photos where she's walking around while playing with the skirt and stretching it out, and dammit, I would do the exact same thing if I were Princess For A Day in that gown. [Incidentally, I would also take Matthew aside and be all, "Listen, Ferris, would it KILL YOU to act like you are proud to be with me?" His left meathook is plopped onto her waist like it's radioactive, and his facial expression is saying to me, "Shoot, there's that girl whose best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend who heard from the guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw me pass out at 31 Flavors last night. She is totally going to bust me for being here instead of being at home dying of some mysterious wasting disease. How much longer do I have to do this?" SNAP TO, BRODERICK. Or else, to put it in WarGames parlance, you are going to be at DEFCON1 when you get home.]
But while she gets to swan around like the bride, it's a tad unfortunate that Kristin Davis is stuck in something that makes her look like Sarah Jessica's eternal handmaiden:
Every time I look at this, I feel differently about it.
She looks great! She's over 50 and she's still got it! Good for her! versus The hem looks like someone attacked it with tape twenty minutes ago and the trim on her dress was inspired by an armoire versus But it's a hot armoire! Good for her for working the taped hem! Live it up, lady! Great cleavage! versus I think I need a drink versus It's barely lunch time. Should you really be drinking? versus Shut up. Don't judge me. I can have a drink if I want versus I think I need to stop looking at this dress.
Fug or Fab: Ashley Olsen
I do at least get what Ashley Olsen was going for here...
[Photo: Splash News]
... but I can't help feeling like she might have pulled off the whole female-tuxedo thing better if she'd, say, washed her hair. And removed and replaced last night's eye shadow. And not worn the cummerbund. And hemmed the pants. And picked a blazer that fit. Or, say, not picked a blazer at all. She seems to be aiming at business-chic, but jerked her arm at the last minute and hit the "exhausted blackjack dealer at The Champagne Pit" spot on the target instead.
But, you know, she's an Olsen. Should she get points for having a clear intent that doesn't involve evoking the homeless? Do we give points for that sort of thing? Personally I don't like grading on a curve. But I know a lot of people who'd have flunked freshman chemistry without one, so let's give it a whirl here.
So, for those of you who don't watch Gossip Girl, Lydia Hearst here showed up in the final episode as the highly unrealistic impetus for smitten skeeze Chuck Bass to ditch out on Blair Waldorf and screw his way back into ill-repute. Aside from him doing a total 180 in the span of five minutes of TV, thereby making it feel slightly pointless to get him together with Blair in the first place, it was also a really unsatisfying ending -- and totally unrealistic, because seriously, Blair Waldorf could eat this chick for lunch, if Blair Waldorf ate anything but yogurt.
I mean... that corset looks like the rat traps all got set off before Cinderella's party posse finished making her dress. Should this ever happen to you -- and really, who hasn't had their army of tiny tailors accidentally tempted by fatal peanut-butter traps? -- my advice is to wear something else, rather than divert attention from your unfinished bodice by attaching every piece of costume jewelry within a two-mile radius to your boobs and then hoping for the best.
Maybe this is a spoiler for next season -- maybe Lydia's character returns, and Blair Waldorf exacts sweet, hot-glue revenge on her entire wardrobe. (And then, I pray, packs her off with Georgina Sparks to that reform school, never to be seen again.) The lesson here: Do not fondle Chuck's turtlenecks or you WILL pay.
Sex Fug the City
You guys? I think I'm over the Sex and the City movie already. And I really liked the show. I mean, I'll totally still go see it -- if only for the clothes -- but right now I feel like I can not escape it. Its endless media onslaught is crushing the sides of my skull in a sparkly, pink vise and I am about to crack. I feel like I'm two minutes away from Kristin Davis showing up on the cover of my neighbor's copy of Bonsai Today, about 90 seconds from opening my door to find Kim Cattrall standing there to personally remind me to pre-order my tickets, a minute from Cynthia Nixon appearing as a vision on the back of my morning Pop Tart and approximately 10 seconds from Sarah Jessica Parker ripping open my shower curtain while I'm in the middle of deep conditioning to inform me that Carrie Bradshaw's story isn't over yet. I KNOW. I KNOW THE MOVIE IS COMING OUT. I SWEAR I WILL GO SEE IT. LEAVE ME ALONE. GOD.
It seems, however, that Giuliana DePandi/Rancic is feeling no such tiresome waves of ennui:
She was so stoked to find out what happened with Mr Big that she ran out to the premiere without even noticing that she's totally covered in toilet paper! I feel like that has got to go against all the tips in her dating book. Did you know Giuliana has written a dating book, by the way? I didn't either, but the internet has set me straight. Apparently, it's called Think Like a Guy: How to Get a Guy by Thinking Like One and while I have not read it, Amazon has tagged it with, "Key Phrases: granny panties, Paris Hilton, Angelina Jolie, Ultimate Love Jams," so it has to be doing something right. I mean, Ultimate Love Jams are awesome. Very SATC:TM, no?
May 27, 2008
Fug the Cover: Scarlett Johansson
This is just sad, I'm sorry. I mean, I guess I'm kind of glad to see her trussed up in something new -- even if it is pleather leggings and a vest and hideous lipstick and a painfully fake-ass pouty expression -- but COME ON. ScarJo. You are not a rock star. We all know that this album of yours is nothing but a vanity project. Period. If it isn't, then why does the video to your first single basically seem to be about how depressed and truly pensive you are while people are putting eye make-up on you? Ooooh, poor sad angel clown. Life is so hard when you're the center of attention. NO ONE UNDERSTANDS YOUR PAIN. There, there -- dry your professionally made-up eyes with a hundred dollar bill. It IS hard to be a beautiful, successful millionaire. You feel all ALONE, despite being newly engaged to someone totally dreamy. You just sit alone and stare at your reflection in your black AmEx card and you cry cry cry in your lonely heart, I get it. But can't you just make these little videos and dress up like an erstwhile emo frontwoman and prance around with instruments in the privacy of your own backyard and leave the rest of us free to live in peace without having to likewise pretend you can sing?
Fugbe Price, Please Be in a Movie So We Can Call These Posts Something New
Don't kid yourself. Don't kid me. I know what you've been thinking. I know what was on your mind this entire weekend. It wasn't, "am I allowed to eat potato salad for breakfast?" It wasn't, "I wonder if that cute boy will call me." It wasn't even, "Oh my god, what am I going to do without Lost for the next six years or however long I have to wait for the season after this one." It was, "I wonder what that Phoebe Price person wore to Cannes?" The good news is, dear reader, that I have answers to all those questions, and they are: yes, he better, cry, and this:
Not bad, considering her past, right? A little Most Expensive Gift Bag at The Container Store, but in comparison to her usual get-ups, kind of nice and understated.
But she was just warming herself up.
One of my favorite things about all these photos is how totally uninterested the photographers behind her are. If you look at pictures of like, Angelina and Brad, ALL photographers within a ten mile radius are screaming hard enough to induce a stroke. These guys are thinking about lunch. Or maybe just looking away from her kissy-face because they've heard the old French proverb, "If P-Squared thee kiss, thy wallet ye will miss." (How else do you think she affords the vast amount of patterned silk required for her Cannes wardrobe? It's all artful pickpocketry of one kind or another.)
This one is just eye-crossing, but I must applaud her artful use of the bikini top at a red carpet event. Clearly, she's avoiding the bottoms due to recent bathing-suit-related traumas:
But this -- though she clearly should be commended for artful recyling of Steven Tyler's old mic stand scarves -- was just the warm-up for the P-Squared Cannes Pièce de Résistance:
Who Fugged It Up Most: Mischa, or... Mischa?
Apparently Mischa Barton had a busy night this weekend. She started off in this:
The head-to-toe matchy brown thing doesn't really ice my cake, particularly, but the dress might be cute and the cut of the jacket is really flattering to her waist. If I changed anything, I think it'd be the tights.
Mischa disagreed with me, evidently.
Dare To Fug Me
I'm pleased Lindsay Lohan is apparently booking a few jobs that give me headline material for whenever we want to feature her. And I think I'm supposed to settle for being pleased that she is not wearing leggings here.
However, I'm distinctly NOT pleased that she's forsaken the Spandex Scourge in favor of looking like somebody dug her out of their attic, shampooed her, and then brought her to Antiques Roadshow to find out if Marie Antoinette ever sat on her at a state dinner.
I would suggest that maybe her mom could stop gallivanting around being gross and trying to turn her youngest kid into a new meal ticket, but alas, I'm pretty sure Dina's influence would only cause Linds to streak on some leg bronzer and throw on some even CLUMSIER makeup, all part of the Lohan Matriarch's effort to make sure her kids look so prematurely old that she could pass as their younger sister. Sigh. Maybe Lindsay learned her lesson about unflatteringly short skirts when she wasn't allowed to sit down anywhere without a cater-waiter performing a panty check; however, in the wrong hands that could be interpreted as a dating strategy, so I should probably just give up hope and go meditate on lunch.