December 2004 Archives

Oh my God, you guys, merry Christmas! Happy Ch -- Han --- Chaan -- yeah, I totally can't spell that, y'all. The one with the candles and the potato pancakes like they serve at Arby's? Happy that! And Happpy New Year!

I just can't wait to see what happens in 2005, because I bet it will totally involve me having a little baby and then Cletus will love me forever for reals because when you have a baby with a lady you are not allowed to leave her, except for when that happened with Shar, but that's totally different because of how Shar wouldn't let Cletus do things that were really important to him, like how he's researching the medical effects of marijuana on his glaucoma.

I know you are totally wondering why I look so happy in my furry hat and the truth is that I am happy because my furry hat is actually kind of cute but I am really mostly happy because I am thinking about my awesome New Years resolutions, which totally rock, y'all. My New Years resolutions are to have a little baby and also to stay out of the way of the Fug Girls because they are really not very nice to me even I know they say what they do because they want the best for me and they're worried that I got worms from walking into public restrooms barefoot but what they don't know is that public restrooms are really very clean. But anyway I have two whole weeks to wear WHATEVER I WANT because Go Fug Yourself is going on Winter Holiday Hiatus until January 3rd and I am TOTALLY going to walk around barefoot with my thong hanging out and I'm not going to wash my hair or wash my face or brush my teeth for TWO WHOLE WEEKS because there's NOTHING THEY CAN DO ABOUT IT HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

LOVE,

BRITNEY!

[Editorial note: if Britney does anything just mind-bogglingly godawful and terribly alarming, like get married again, we'll be on the case. Otherwise, dear readers, have a wonderful holiday and a fantastic New Year. Thank you for your readership and remarkable support of us this year, and we'll see you in 2005! Love, Heather and Jessica]

Dear Teri Polo,

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb]

You have a choice: eat a sandwich, or wear a shirt that covers up your very bony sternum. Because you're kind of freaking me out and not in that funny Britney Spears Walks Into a Public Restroom In Her Bare Feet, Inviting Worms and Warts And God Knows What Else kind of way.

Also, you're sort of starting to look like a man. Body fat. Please look into it.

Sincerely, for once in her sarcastic life,

Jessica

Oh, Molly, why?

Do you really think Jake Ryan is going to want to go out with you now? Pucci, theoretically, is, as the Manolo might say, the super fantastic. But not when it actually makes you look, you know, poochy.

It bears adding that I still haven't recovered from what Molly Ringwald did to that perfect innocent pink party dress in Pretty in Pink. Did you really think that tapered skirt was a good idea, Molly? Because you were wrong.

It's always nice to see someone in Hollywood trying to go the tasteful route with her clothing -- which is why it hurts oh-so-much when they make the fateful misstep of forgetting to go to a tailor:

Maybe Jacinda lost a lot of weight immediately after buying this dress -- or maybe she figured buying it two sizes too big would make her look more svelte. But no, with this oversized shift, she looks shrunken and emaciated. Her breasts don't fit or fill it out. The dress is billowing in the wrong places and bunching at the side, because the very thin yellowish belt cinching the front is really just sort of acting... well, like a curtain rod, in a way. Perhaps she took those old Gap sketches on SNL too seriously and figured just belting something would make it fit like a glove. Sadly, it works against her.

And so another perfectly pleasant-looking person fugs herself by virtue of something as simple as not opening the Yellow Pages.

It's official:

Ashlee Simpson simply can not dress herself. Forget all the hoopla surrouding the issue of her ability to actually sing. Has anyone checked to make sure the girl can even see?

Why Puberty Is Hard, as overheard at a recent Harry Potter function:

Rupert Grint: Cripes, how can I see with all this hair in my face?

Emma Watson: I am about to burst into tears.

Daniel Radcliffe: I've suddenly developed an obsession with Morrissey, hence my monocromatic black ensemble.

Rupert Grint: "Rupert Grint" is a really terrible name, isn't it? I wonder if I can convince people to start calling me "Tony."

Emma Watson: Hasn't anyone noticed that I look like I am going to cry? Hasn't anyone noticed that I've been forced to wear my father's pants, turned into knickers? With trainers? Hello? Anyone? Won't anyone comfort me?

Daniel Radcliffe: I just realized that I am wearing an overly large polo shirt buttoned up to the neck. I feel very, very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

Rupert Grint: Also, Dan? You kind of need a hair cut.

Daniel Radcliffe: Thanks for the newflash, Shaggy. Why aren't you more concerned about my brows, which seem suddenly to be reaching Peter Gallagher-esque proportions?

Emma Watson: HELLO? Two seconds away from hot, fresh tears here! I am an ADORABLE GIRL and LOOK AT WHAT I AM WEARING.

Daniel Radcliffe: You do look a bit as though you raided Mary Stuart Masterson's closet from 1983. But with worse pants.

Emma Watson: You weren't even born in 1983, so why don't you shut up?

Daniel Radcliffe: Why don't YOU shut up?

Emma Watson: YOU.

Rupert Grint: I am just going to back away from this situation verrrry verrry slowly. If I escape now, maybe no one will notice that my trousers are both too long and rather dirty.

Emma Watson: [crying] I can see you trying to sneak off. It's because you're embarassed to be seen with me in these knickers, isn't it, Rupert? ISN'T IT?

Rupert Grint: No, it's because...well, actually, yes. They're really rather horrible. Why is the crotch so long? [TO SELF: Oh my God, did I just say "crotch" to a girl? I want to die.]

Daniel Radcliffe: Don't let him get to you, Emma. If this double decker bus behind us crashes into us, to die by your side? Is such a heavenly way to die.

Emma Watson: I want to go home.

We knew Kirsten Dunst was making a scary transition into a geriatric, but we didn't realize it was going to be so permanent:

Judging by this reader-submitted photo, Granny Dunst is getting ready -- sartorially speaking -- to buy a condo in Naples, Florida, where her braless breasts can finally complete their frantic surge toward her knees. She will don her flowery frock over her jazzercise leggings, grab her bermuda purse, and shlep to bridge, not bothering to shower because Eau d'Old Lady is potent enough that the rest of the foursome won't smell the sweat.

[Also, she doesn't have time -- she has to go home first to find Edna's BeDazzler, which she's had for months even though she finished plugging her shoes with lead a long time ago. If Edna doesn't get it back then she can't loan it to Madge, and if Madge doesn't get it in time to make her denim caftan sparkle before Tuesday's Red Lobster Seniors' Night mixer, well, she'll never fork over her recipe for Stewed Pork Chops In Prune Sauce.]

Okay, there's no time for introductory chit chat when it comes to a case of fug this henious:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

In one outfit, you've got:

a) a cropped AND belted jacket
b) with puffed sleeves
c) made of pink lame
d) and accessorized with a Carrie-Bradshaw-circa-2002-big-flower-pin
e) worn with low-rider genie pants
f) and a bowler hat.

Shouldn't someone be doing something about this? Does LeeLee have no one to step in and tell her that she looks like a deranged transsexual with a Charlie Chaplin fetish and a jones for Hammer pants? I mean, isn't she secretly some kind of Russian countess or something? Isn't this the sort of look that would get a girl sent to Siberia? Can someone get on that?

Hi y'all!

It's Britney again! I know we just talked and all, but I totally wanted to show that, seriously, y'all, I can totally clean up good. See?

Photo courtesy Daily Celeb

Let's not even talk about how fine my hubby is. He is so,so fine. I have to tell you a secret, though: I totally miss his shorts, y'all. That patch of skin between where Kevvie's tube socks end and his frayed, cut-off manpris begin is so hot! I want to lick it! Yummy! But doesn't he look totally hot in that hat? It's kind of like this hat that Justin used to wear someti -- I mean, never mind. Never mind. I never said that, y'all. Anyway, I totally wanted Kevvie to wear these formal manpris I made for him last week by taking this pair of tuxedo pants that Justin left here once back when we where still together that I refused to give back to him and cutting off the bottom of them so they would be all frayed but my mother said no and I was like, blah blah blah Mom, I'm totally married now and if I want my husband to wear Justin's old tuxedo pants as cutoffs to an awards show I TOTALLY CAN but then she distracted me with this shiny Christmas tree ornament we got from Walmart last week and grabbed the tuxedopris from me and threw them in the fireplace which is TOTALLY NO FAIR, but whatever, he looks hot in the suit ANYWAY.

But let's talk about my outfit because it is so totally cute. When the salesgirl at the Dress Barn told me that I looked like a lampshade, I knew I had to have it. Also, when I was getting ready and Jamie Lynne was helping me and brushing my hair -- and she brushed it really, really hard, y'all, I almost cried -- and she told me I looked like a refugee from a Third World road tour of the Ice Capades, I knew it was the right choice for tonight because Jamie really loves ice skating. Then she said something about how at least my hair doesn't look like I brushed it with a Mix Master and I totally don't know what that means but I am pretty sure it was nice.

Seriously, though, don't Kevin and I look super happy together? They took this picture right after I told him that one of my Christmas presents to him was the joint checking account he was asking for, so he could write ME checks of love just like I write for him. Isn't that the sweetest? I can't wait until Justin Timberlake and that skinny, cracked out ho he's running around with see how happy I am! With my HUSBAND! HAHAHAH JUSTIN I WIN. Even though I still love you. I mean, I love NOT BEING WITH YOU.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, Y'ALL!

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

What does one wear to a party honoring one's mother, and her charitable foundation? Why, a t-shirt with a skull sticking out its impish tongue, that's what. I mean, why represent your family and support your mother in a classy way, when greasy grubbiness is so much easier?

Check out Mischa Barton's sister Anya, with her hands buried deep in her coat pockets. The expression on her face is like, "I'm not with him. And if I keep my hands in here, I won't catch anything."

When did Kanye West become Mr. Rogers? One piece of bling and some ill-advised oversized shades do not undo the effect of your argyle, Mr. West -- indeed, they clash with it. As the old saying goes, "Poindexter can't also be a pimp."

Truer words were never not-actually-spoken.

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"I pledge allegiance to the Fug of the United States of America. And to the fugpublic for which it stands -- one caftan, cut like a minidress, stuffed with boobs, with cleavage and leg-baring for all."

Thanks to the efforts of one our helpful -- and, in this case, extremely brave -- readers, we can now present the entire horror of Mischa "Marissa Cooper Dresses Funny" Barton's misguided, bow-encrusted previously mocked fashion atrocity:

Behold, the ill-fitting trousers. I've seen sexier pants on the PGA Senior Tour:

And the piece de resistance, The Bow:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Oh, Alanis. You look so happy these days, generally, and that's nice to see, but you just can't quite get the dressing thing down pat. This really is Scarlett O'Hara 2004 -- a velvet drape you wrapped around yourself and cinched with various scarves and a belt. Which you may have felt tied in the suede boots, but... it doesn't, Alanis. It really doesn't.

Although perhaps she already knows; her facial expression has a glint of, "You and I both know this thing used to hang from a pole in the Anthropologie dressing room, but let's just play nice for today, 'kay?"

It's so nice to see actor Dominic Purcell dressing to impress at a Hollywood premiere:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Maybe no one told him that his series John Doe was cancelled lo these many years ago, and that he can stop dressing as if he himself is an unremarkable and nameless man. Even if, in a way, he sort of is.

"Whaaaaat? You don't love camel-toe and skintight metallic pants? You mean... I'm not in Aerosmith? Shut up. You bitches just aren't rock-and-roll."

There's nothing necessarily overt about the fug Elisha Cuthbert has brewing here... except for the entire ensemble. She exudes a sad aura of stumpy dumpyness by wearing that slouchy blue shirt (with... is that illusion netting? You're not an ice dancer, sweetie) that gathers right where her hips should be. She's a slim girl who found a shirt that makes her look fresh from the pear tree.

And is it just me, or does that hair color look like she's reimagined herself as Marg Helgenberger? That's aiming a little high.

Just in case anyone was losing sleep over whether Bridget Moynihan grew out her terrible haircut, the answer is... no.

Such a pretty girl, all fugged up by a pair of scissors and some razor blades. And yet, those chiseled features, those hard lines, that oddly shaped mouth, that hair that looks like a trampled wig grabbed from the floor of Aah's! during a seasonal sale...

Are we sure she's not a drag queen? It would clear up all those pesky "Tom Brady is gay" rumors -- you know, the ones that dogged her pretty-boy quarterback boyfriend even before his brief fling with Tara Reid, America's Fugliest Silicone Beard.

Dear Ashlee Simpson:

When Kelly Osbourne finds out that you're aping her look, she is going to kick your scrawny little ass. Sleep with one eye open.
We just thought you should know.

Love,
The Fug Girls

PS: No one's wearing pants that low anymore. We all got tired of having to get a Brazilian just to put on our jeans.
PPS: The sweater vest has never been sexy. It never will be sexy. It merely makes you look like you're a big Jack McFarlane fan, a goal we feel would be better accomplished through extensive use of jazz hands.
PPPS: Girls in ties are also over. I don't recall that look ever really working, unless you were Molly Ringwald or Shannen Dorherty as Brenda Walsh -- the former because, you know, she dressed kooky and latter because if you expressed dislike of her outfit, she'd cut you.
PPPPS: Hey, how's your acid reflux?

Regular readers of Go Fug Yourself are aware that we generally only feature fugly ensembles that celebrities have put together for themselves, or with the help of stylists, for personal appearances or premieres or trips to the 7-11 for Cheetos, Britney. But sometimes there will appear on the televised landscape an ensemble so truly heinous, so utterly unspeakable, so completely ungodly that we can not, in good conscience, stay silent. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you Mischa Barton:

[Photos from http://www.theoc.blogger.com.br]

I only wish I could have unearthed a screencap which gave you a full length view of those pants. Which had tapered legs. And were basically jodhpurs. Jodhpurs! Paired with what appears to be Seinfeld's infamous puffy shirt, worn under a sweater vest (!!), adorned by an enormous broach. Be grateful, however, that I have spared you a full shot of the newsboy cap -- an accessory I considered a welcome casualty of the end of Sex and the City -- which featured an enormous green satin bow on the back. An enormous green satin bow so enormous and satin and green that I have no idea what Mischa Barton and the Yard Guy were talking about during the scene in which said bow was revealed, because I was so fixated on it's enormity, satinness and greenitude.

I suspect the dialogue was something along the lines of:

Mischa: I am incredibly wooden.
Yard Guy: I am the only actor in Hollywood more wooden than you are.
Mischa: I know, it's amazing they found someone with less affect than me.
Yard Guy: Am I supposed to look distraught here?
Mischa: I don't know. I just look as blank as possible all the time.
Yard Guy: Do we make out now?
Mischa: I don't care.

There is but one explanation for this outfit, and it is that the costume person for The OC has a jihad against Mischa Barton, stemming from some terrible crime Ms Barton has committed against said costume person, like burning down the costume person's house, or killing her dog in a ritual sacrifice and drinking its blood in the middle of the FOX commissary. If this jihad is not addressed by the powers that be over there at The OC, I suspect we may eventually be forced to endure a scene in which Marissa shows up at an event wearing jams and a Fez.

Dear Bobby Trendy,

About a year ago, I was confident your 15 minutes were up. Done. Finished. You were on the televisual train-wreck The Anna Nicole Show, and you inspired a murderous rage in just about everyone who had the misfortune to see it, so naturally when that show died its overdue death, I figured you had gone away.

Not so.

Instead, you keep... appearing. You might just be the gay Courtney Peldon, especially because your getups are so heinous that it's almost a given she'd wear them somewhere if she could alter them to show off either her crotch or her breasts.
La Peldon might have luck with this one, actually:

Apparently gripped by an inability to distinguish himself from Gary Busey, madman Nick Nolte has chosen to retain possession of his scraggly beard:

But it's the sunglasses that have me in stitches. They look like the holographic ones with the fake eyes on them, behind which you can sleep, roll your eyes, or ogle somebody without them being the wiser. I'm thoroughly entertained by this latest display of insanity -- I mean, the man looks like something of a grizzly cannibal or serial axe-murderer, so the rainbow glasses really clash a little with what he's got going on elsewhere.

Meanwhile, Alan Alda is clearly angling for his next movie role:

Kelly, I.... Oh, this is awkward, I'm not sure... see, something... happened... Can't you feel it? Damn, clearly, I guess, you can't... Kelly, I'll just come out with it: You had an accident with your shirt.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

See it? ... The massive pit stain? Yeah. A little anti-perspirant can help that -- I mean, if your Mom's looking for stocking stuffers this year.

I feel like there was something else assaulting my senses, but I just can't remember.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Taryn Manning would be awfully close to being a Courtney Peldon -- as in, "Who are you and why are you being foisted upon us?" -- had she not managed to appear in the Britney Spears spectacular Crossroads.

But if you haven't seen that movie (and if not then you must, if only to marvel at how Britney will never, ever be that adorable again in her life), then you would certainly be forgiven for walking up to her at this event and asking her how much she charges for a shoe-shine, or perhaps tossing her a shiny quarter in exchange for the afternoon edition of the paper.

What would really be useful, though, is if a tailor accosted her and hemmed her pants so that they didn't appear to be toe-stalking predators.

Tailors can be your friends, starlets. Please, all of you, take that to heart, and pay heed: Ultra long pants do not make a wee girl look tall. They just don't. Fork over $20 of your paycheck and take them someplace where a needle will make them work for you.

About five years ago, my roommate worked at Sony, and when you work at Sony, on Halloween, you are allowed to borrow costumes from the Sony costume vault. She and I got costumes from A League of Their Own. I have never been hit on more in my life. Apparently, men really respond to girls dressed like 1940s baseball players. Anyway, remember how cute Lori Petty was in that movie? She was so perky and spunky?

Well, that's why it's called acting, because it appears that the real Lori Petty is a nutbar:

Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.

She looks like she just out of the shower, and the doorbell rang and she had to throw on a hoodie and some pants and run down to get the door and then her pants got caught on....something....and the hems tragically ripped out, but she just had to extricate herself and keep running for the door and then when she got to the door, it was a Tibetan monk and then she had to pray.

You KNOW that's just a regular hoodie that she got at Kitson and then defaced with a Sharpie. Memo to Lori: it's not 1991, you're not actually Tank Girl, and THAT MOVIE DIDN'T MAKE ANY MONEY ANYWAY.

I can only hope this runway display doesn't make it into shop windows:

It looks like some designers are taking the poncho trend to its inevitable, horrible conclusion -- shredding them and draping them all over the bodies of catwalk models. This looks like a horrendous knitting accident. She's holding up her hands, like, "Sorry -- the pattern was complicated, you know, and the cats got into my knitting bag and started fighting, and... I'm sorry! I'm SORRY! Stop looking at me like that!"

Sigh. At least an inevitable, horrible, and aggressively draped conclusion is still a conclusion.

For the LAST TIME, Hilary, YOU HAVE NO NECK. Ergo, YOU CANNOT TURN IT INTO AN ACCESSORIES RACK. Perhaps a delicate scarf or wrap, but not every single damn one in your massive closet. It looks like your wardrobe is trying to throttle you -- or as if you are a storeroom mannequin at Claire's, on which the employees draped a bunch of leftover stuff they couldn't put out in the actual shop.

SAVE YOURSELF.

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

This looks like Brande Roderick is so squeezed and misshapen that she can only waddle side-to-side, like a South Park character. And nothing sets off a corset and a tight skirt like... a tucked-in necktie and a sheer checked shirt. I don't know, maybe it's the whole "sexy professional" syndrome -- she wants it to look like she can sex up both you and your taxes. But instead it just looks like her breasts needed a leather shelf to simulate perkiness.