Results tagged “W magazine” from GoFugYourself

November 12, 2008

Fug the Cover: Blake Lively

blakew.jpg

I can hear Miss Tyra now: "Blake, where is your NECK? Also, what happened to your legs?" Missing one body part is bad enough -- I feel like missing several is cause for immediate elimination. So, Blake, please go back to the loft and pack your things. You are no longer in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model. Thank god you have a lucrative acting career  already in the works -- and a possible future as a conditioner spokeswoman, since you do have really great hair.  Possibly it's so strong and lustrous because it ATE YOUR NECK.
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I can't wait to get this issue in the mail, if only because "Beverly Hills Derms Battle for Supremacy" sounds hilarious, almost like a parody of a W article, and I've been trying to lose a couple of ice-cream-sandwiches- and-hot-dog-induced summertime pounds so that my jeans fit right again and the idea of a $1,000 skin cream is enough to totally put me off my feed! Does that skin cream also wash my dishes and manage my mutual funds? Because otherwise, I imagine that even the richest, most frivolous woman might look at that price tag and think, "screw that. I'm sticking with La Mer and dropping the other $800 on shoes." While, obviously, the rest of us -- not W's target demographic -- would look at that price tag and think, "or I could pay my bills, you assholes." I am dying to see what Glossed Over says about this issue, because I am scared I might not have the intestinal fortitude to actually read it, seeing as just the cover is getting me all worked up. Also working me up: the idea that they've got an interview with Tilda Swinton in here and still decided to put Kate Hudson on the cover in disguise as an 80s robot car-hop, programmed to stab you to death with the straw from your malted. If Tilda Swinton were on the cover styled thusly, we'd all be like, "Oh, TILDA. You are a kooky, artsy delight! Tell me more about your unconventional romances! You please me!" As it is, my reaction is more along the lines of, "Kate Hudson, you poseur. Nice try." Kate Hudson's entire career is built on being the opposite of being edgy and while in general I appreciate taking things in a new direction, this is like the magazine cover equivalent of that time Denise Richards played a nuclear physicist: hilarious, annoying, and a valiant attempt to ask the public to suspend entirely too much disbelief. Baby steps, Kate. Try dark nail polish first. Then maybe one day we'll be able to look at you all tarted up like a programmed killer escaped from an undiscovered Robert Palmer video and not giggle at you.

JAMES MCAVOY: Hi, K.

KEIRA KNIGHTLEY: Hi, J.

JAMES: Can I ask you something?

KEIRA: Of course.

JAMES: We were hot in Atonement, right?

KEIRA: Completely.  Hot + WWII + English = SUPER HOT.

JAMES: I thought I remembered it right. So...?

KEIRA: Like we're in some kind of simultaneously post-modern and low-rent version of Grease. I know.

JAMES: It's terrible. Also, are those your....?

KEIRA: Knickers? So it seems. 

JAMES: But we're so attractive and good in the movie. Why would they do this to us?

KEIRA: Oh, honey. You haven't even seen the worst of it.

JAMES: How is that possible? Do they have an outtake in which I am drooling?

KEIRA: Turn the magazine over.

I've already pointed out how Gwynnie Paltrow totally looks like a dude on the cover of this month's W. In fact, a couple of brilliant readers wrote in to point out that not only does she look like a dude, she looks like Death Eater and noteworthy blond, Lucius Malfoy, which is one of those cross-pop-cultural references I really wish I'd thought of on my own.

Now, generally, we don't talk about editorial spreads in fashion magazines, because, you know, the models are supposed to look all hunched over and pained, whilst wearing pig heads or pretending to be dead or whatever. That's just the way it works, and it's often rather cool and fantastical or, at the very least, moderately diverting on an airplane.

On the other hand, do we ever need to see a shot of Gwyneth Paltrow petulantly feeding a rat from sippy cup while making what I presume is an nude dead-lip-hating bitchface?

No.

Nor do we ever need to see her with what appear to be spoons for ears:

Sure, I suppose it's possible to draw  a line between these two photographs that encompasses some sort of weird Kafka-meets-Stuart Little tale, in which Gwynnie both nurtures the rat and BECOMES the rat, but it is my contention that a fashion spread which would work well enough with a random gorgeous blank-faced model just feels almost unbearably pretentious with an actress. We get it, Gwyns: you're deep. I liked you better when you wouldn't shut up about yoga.

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