June 2005 Archives

When did Kimberly Caldwell** turn into Pink?

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

** You might also ask, "When did Kimberly Caldwell turn into somebody about whom I should care?" The answer is actually never -- she is on the TV Guide Channel now, I believe, having squeezed a wee globule of a career from her stint on season two of American Idol as Husky-Voiced Squinty Blonde With Crimping Habit And Overplucked Meg Ryan Arches, a.k.a. Carrie Underwood Without The Talent, a.k.a. The Kimberl(e)y From That Season Who Didn't Have The Voice To Go Anywhere But To A Local Biker Bar.

I know Simon erroneously and unfairly needled Caldwell about her weight, but I feel like starving herself into a clone of a tranny-esque singer -- and dieting off half of her sleeves, apparently -- was a bit of an extreme response.

Hi y'all!

It's been so long, y'all! But I've been so busy, you know, with, like, growing the baby, and making that TV show thingie that Kevin and I did about how I talked him into marrying me even though my parents really hated him and that was fun. I have to point out, first of all, y'all, that I look awfully happy, don't I? Isn't my skin nice? Wouldn't you saying I'm glowing or something?

And look at my belly -- I mean, my bump! Look at my bump! I have a bump and my bump has a BABY in it! A real little person with little nails and little toes and other little body part things. I want everyone to see my bump because my bump proves that Kevin loves me and not just my money even though he also thinks that my money is pretty fucking sweet, which is what he said to me this morning while he was rummaging through my purse looking for my checkbook. He's so cute. Did you see how he told me he loved me on the finale of our TV show thingie? I cried and cried, y'all. Do you think Cameron Diaz ever leaves special little notes to her boyfriend WHOSE NAME I HAVE FORGOTTEN at the end of her stupid show about traveling the world or whatever? Because I bet she doesn't and even if she does, I bet she has to write them herself while Kevin actually got my mom to write what he said to me. Isn't that romantic? They both really love me. My mom even told me that she's praying to God every night that this baby gets my looks which I think is really sweet since that must mean she thinks I'm pretty. She also told Jamie Lynn that she's trying to get Kevin deported, which totally surprised me because I never even told her how much Kevin likes boats. Although when I told Jamie Lynn that she just looked at me funny, but I don't really think Jamie Lynn knows anything that's going on anyway.

AND I just bought these great cowboy boots because nothing is more comfortable when you've got swollen ankles than cowboy boots. So basically things are totally great right now! And if someone maybe bought a billboard outside the bedroom window of a boy I'll call "Mustin Fimberlake" that saws "I WIN,"  then that someone wouldn't be totally wrong about the winning, don't you think? And I also think that if I were him I would probably want to call me to find out if I was the person who bought the billboard, though, and then maybe I would ask me if I wanted to go to lunch and then maybe I would adopt my baby and take me to Capri for the summer but YOU DIDN'T HEAR THAT FROM ME and shit, Kevin's home. Gotta go. Bye!

Oh my God, Duffgirl. HEM THEM. How has no one explained to you how that works? Do you want the phone number for Denim Doctors? They can take care of that for $18. I'm pretty sure you have $18, don't you? Or did you spend every last dime on your new veneers and some Slim Fast? But seriously, you have to get those looked at -- they are WRAPPED AROUND YOUR SHOE. They are footie jeans. That is wrong.

Blu, Blu, Blu.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Let's start at -- or near -- the top:

1) Brush your hair.

2) No, better: cut it, or take the ratty extensions out. Whatever you have to do. Beause I'm not sure a brush will get through that briar patch.

3) Your wrap looks like you hacked up a bathrobe.

4) Your skirt is a Crate & Barrel pattern for, like, lawn furniture, or patio umbrellas. Which might have been fine, if not for the bodysuit. And that brings me to...

5) ... The hat (THE HAT) and that dastardly crocheted top, both of which we've seen before. Why are you continuing to build outfits around these, Blu? And if you think that top is so flattering, couldn't you at least pair it with something that flatters it? Not that anything really flatters a piece of loosely formed cotton webbing, but you get the drift. Didn't you JUST teach us all how we can get revenge on our nasty-ass men by stealing their credit cards, taking our friends out, and blowing his financial wad all over Barney's and Fred Segal and Pottery Barn? Is this really the best you could do on that spending spree? You clearly don't have very good friends, if they let you come down from your revenge bender with nothing but a knit bodysuit and jockey's cap to show for it. That is a lame-ass piece of vengeance right there.

6) Your shoes are cute. But it's too late for that now, Blu. The hat -- THE HAT! -- and the bodysuit have kind of ruined your credibility.

I never really understood the point of Dominique Swain -- I mean, does the world really need a discount Kirsten Dunst? -- so it's only fitting that she would wear another thing whose purpose in life escapes me: Tops that are wrinkled on purpose.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

It doesn't help that Dunst-lite has paired her crinkle-cut sky-blue cami with two things that flatter it as little as possible: a dusty rose cropped blazer, and a skirt that looks like hot-dog condiments. (I am not fretting about the incongruous shoe choice, mostly because my retinas have imploded.)  So while Ms. Swain deserves credit for not being all decked out for shuffleboard on the west lanai -- a fashion choice preferred by her better-known clone -- I do feel that maybe a little more coordination and a little less Crayola-chic would help her.

Oh, Scarlett, look what you've done. Are you okay? Did you know that you put on leggings under your skirt this morning? I suspect you didn't -- unless you are sad; I think you wouldn't have turned to the Dark Side without a good reason, which must mean something is wrong.

You should be okay. You're dating Josh Hartnett. I know he hasn't done anything interesting in a while, or possibly ever, but he's still rather cute, and he's got to be a step up from nailing Benicio Del Toro -- who looks as if he tastes like the business end of a charcoal grill -- in an elevator. And you're allegedly, according to IMDb, going to be in 24 next season, which means you can listen to Kiefer all day while his velvet throat conjures delicious new sounds.

What is it, then, Scar? Why drag your skirt into this? What could it be? Look, Jared Leto was hot when he was Jordan Catalano, but it's been a looooong time since he lit our national loins on fire. So I hope you're not too worried about that whole thing ending. Perhaps you're just really shaken over this  Tom debacle, and how you apparently only narrowly escaped from being The Anointed Womb, and now you have to watch him slobber all over Kate Holmes-Cruise while knowing that if not for a keen stroke of luck and good sense, it might have been you in that frightening situation.

Or, maybe you're depressed about all this Woody Allen nonsense -- you know, about how you're his muse and Soon-Yi is not very happy about how much he would like to lick you silly. Is he drooling over you too much? Are you sad because you secretly like it, and you can't figure out why, and it makes you question everything you once believed to be good and true in this world?

Yeah, that would make me depressed enough to wear leggings, too, I suspect. Well, good luck to you. And if things don't get better, at least try not to take it out on your legs in this manner.

Sigh. And she was so close to looking fabulous...

I suppose it could have been even less classy -- she could have foregone underwear altogether. Thank God for small black-or-navy mercies.

Little Dakota Fanning's parents need to stop playing dress-up with her.

Cute girl, good actress (if a bit ubiquitous) -- but by all accounts, neither a wind-up child, nor a ballerina, nor a misbehaving wench who deserves to wear knickers of punishment. The dress itself might've looked cute without the petticoat pants and those ballet shoes, but unfortunately for Dakota, her parents didn't leave those at home in the toy chest and she therefore resembles rather closely a Madame Alexander limited edition Exploited Child Star #32 With Collector's Box And Souvenir Contract Entitling Her Parents To Everything She Makes Until She Is 18, At Which Time, She Can Have Whatever They Haven't Spent To Renovate The Kitchen.

And looking like a doll is not cute. Dolls are creepy -- creepy -- with the crazy eyes, and the bloomers, and the porcelain skin -- and did I mention the insane orbs of covert malicious intent that stare at you from every which angle and will not leave you alone and for the love of all that is good and true in this world PLEASE STOP LOOKING AT ME...?

Ahem. Everything's fine. Except her wardrobe.

Fergie orded the audience to be patient. The concert demanded a costume change, but even without the napkin rings on her arm, it would take at least an hour to undo the buttons on the six-mile-high  waist of her shorts.

If it were Hallowe'en, I would wonder if Sienna Miller is dressed as the Bride of Aladdin, but as it is I just have to assume she's off her rocker again:

Her front-close shirt appears to be working its way open as best it can; I wish it the best of luck in freeing itself from those trousers. For they are not bell-bottoms: They appear to be elasticized around her ankle, creating that unfortunate billowing effect that one only ought wear if one hopes to be rubbed heartily, and immediately prior to some slobbering oaf making three slurry wishes that chiefly involve both invasive procedures and some Nachos Bell Grande.

The pervasiveness of boho-reek has me in a delicate enough state; if genie-wear is on its way in, I might plunge into a dark downward spiral the likes of which will make Kate Holmes-Cruise's recent antics look like nothing more than a gentle gust of wind on the outskirts of Crazytown.

I think her sash unfolds into a magic carpet. She really shouldn't operate that thing if she's tipsy; hopefully someone can fly it home for her.

What the...? I don't understand:

I know Bjork is not on the same plane as the rest of the sentient world, but ... what is that thing? It's... a cape! A coat! A caftan! A cocoon! A child's crudely built bedroom fort! Perhaps a copy of The Lorax just spat her out onto the street, Thneed and all. The ejection would certainly explain her mood.

Lo! Two Peldons!

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Brown Peldon needn't look so proud of her skirt. I think I had one of those in my old dress-up drawer, into which my mother would dump old clothes and aprons and whatnot so that, as a wee young fugger, I could costume myself and prance around the playroom pretending to be a princess/beleaguered fry cook/prairie heroine/Annie. Of course, Brown Peldon's skirt looks more like she sewed a tablecloth over the tulle dress she wore in her first grade talent show (which is quite possibly the largest audience ever to have been privy to her work).

Our girl Courtney, however -- aside from having feet that are disappearing underneath her too-long white jeans -- has every right to look thrilled. Because she has totally snookered us. She has absolutely passed that shirt off as couture, rather than the exact same tank her sister is wearing, but in fuschia and with a $1.99 lei from Joe-Mac's Discount Party Supplies & Pawn Shop stitched jauntily to the top. Look at her, just gloating over the fact that you are so very fooled by her cunning.

Welcome back, Courtney. It's no cat shirt -- no genie jumpsuit -- but it's madness nonetheless.

"No, no, everyone. I'm fine.

I'm fine. Nothing to see here! Just bringing my wife a Big Gulp.  No, no, I told you, I'm fine.  Seriously, I'm totally fine. I don't need that IV drip. I mean it. Back off with that shit. I don't need the sugar water. I'm FINE.

Yeah, so maybe I got chased here by a pack of rabid dogs that ate off the bottom of my shirt. So what? Nothing I can't handle. Me and my Jesus sandals and my raggedy-ass facial hair have never been better. Just here visiting the wife! Never been happier. She and I are right as rain! There's no crying about that bitch Garner in my house, no siree! We're both a-okay, and that's not blood on the back of my shirt. Not at all.  So step off."

What the hell is Beyonce wearing?

I'll grant that Beyonce is so far the only person for whom boho-chic has been a blessing, because it has purged her stylist-mother's mind of hot pants, but... seriously, what is wrong with Tina Knowles? Did someone buy her a subscription to National Geographic? The other two look relatively normal, and then Miss B up on the right is clad in a pattern and color scheme that is probably in the running for a redesign of the seat covers on Southwest Airlines jets. Not to mention the incredibly helpful belt that is hanging limply around her waist, useless as a meatball sub on Nicole Richie's kitchen counter.

As we continue to worry about Ashton Kutcher's descent into skankdom, it's worth noting that there is a very, very thin line between Current Kutch...

... and Cleaned-Up (by his standards) K-Fed:

Be careful, A-Kutch. Where this man has taken himself, even cockroaches fear to tread. Don't make Demi go there. Something tells me she has a low tolerance for Cheeto dust and body odor.

Katie Holmes always seemed like a nice girl with a simple but solid sense of style; however, Kate Holmes, Scientologist And Uterus-For-Hire, is starting to worry me. For instance, she showed up at a War Of The Worlds event with her spastic man-child fiance wearing the following frumpy red number:

Perhaps she's in costume as the Scientology Red Volumes. I think it's her sleeve that perturbs me most, aside from the fact that the entire dress bores me fiercely.  And yet with this strangely plain, marmy dress, "Kate" has paired shoes better suited to somebody who receives cash for sex from a man who actually enjoys having it with her:

Yikes.

I am running out of the office to buy up hat designer Tracy Rose's ENTIRE INVENTORY:

I mean, right?

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Sharon Case is a very pretty girl. She was excellent that day on that soap, where that guy did that thing, and she cried. Her hair looks nice. But... I just wish she wasn't schlumping around town in the very latest so-called "boho chic" b.s.; I am so tired of flowing skirts and tops that look like sundresses I wore when I was four. But even so, if she just hadn't worn these two things together, the whole effect wouldn't have been terrible; as it is, though, the outfit not only makes her look slouchy and saggy, but it gives her waist the appearance of being located down around where her knees should be. It's like her midsection is sinking.

I'm ready now, Old Navy. You can stop now, Forever 21. And all you designers who are getting away with charging eight times as much for almost identical thin cotton crap, I'm done with you, too. I am. Stop trying to tell me to bust a tunic, or that these skirts are super chic. I am very weary of walking into stores and seeing mannequins dressed as Ms. Case is, in the hope of luring me into thinking that peasant skirts and flowy tops will make me look trendy and not dumpy. I am very, very sick of going shopping and being confronted at every turn by rumpled boho skirts, paisley or tie-dyed shirts, and things that blouse where no item has bloused before. I'm quite serious about this -- I'm not sure why we needed to revisit this era of fashion history, but can't we move along? Haven't you tortured us long enough?

"Hello! I'm Helen Hunt's agent, and I just dropped by to let you know that everything is fine. Just fine. No cause for alarm!"

"See? Nothing at all to worry about -- she is aglow with the joys of motherhood, too humbled by that miracle to feel she really needs to stand up straight, and she resents very much the implication that her "smile" appears to be frozen in place beneath empty, desperate eyes. Ms. Hunt is as warm and cuddly and vital a person as ever, so no, she would not like to read the script for the film adaptation of The Golden Girls, thank you very much, not even if she gets to play Blanche, because Helen Hunt is YOUNG and STILL RELEVANT, and does not do caftans.

Nor is she suddenly partial only to dressing like a very sheltered librarian at her first luau.  The above is just an optical illusion -- it's because you're not on The Inside. See, we insiders know the Elizabethan ruff is on the cusp of a massive comeback, so Helen is in fact something of a visionary, and you will all be sorry in a few months when everyone important in the world is wearing one, along with their outfits that are color-coordinated to match a Price Is Right living-room showcase, so get your laughs in now, folks, because oh, for the LOVE of GOD, HELEN, MUST YOU BE IN SUCH A HURRY TO TURN 65?!? I HAVE A MORTGAGE, LADY. DON'T MAKE ME CUT YOU."

Imagine my glee this weekend, dear readers, when I had a real-life run-in with one of Go Fug Yourself's repeat offenders:  Kirsten Dunst, or, as the clever wordsmiths on Fametracker's late, much lamented "Celebrity Anagrams" thread dubbed her, "Dr. Sunken Tits."

Heather and I attended the Rilo Kiley show this weekend at the Wiltern, and it was a veritable Fug Fest: ever so many misguided capri-length leggings and unfortunate tunic-like items. [The band, however, rocked out.] As I waited to get into the theatre, La Dunst strolled past me, wearing what I can only interpret as a gift. A gift TO ME: baggy, rolled up navy blue shorts, a man's button down shirt, an oversized blazer, shaggy, uncombed hair, a ginorous rucksack, a pashmina wrapped around her neck and, yes, cowboy boots. In the interest of full disclosure, I must add that her skin is gorgeous.

I assumed La Dunst and her small blonde friend would be whisked past me and into some sort of VIP area, so imagine my surprise when I found myself standing directly next to her during one of the opening acts -- a rather underwhelming performance by a woman who called herself "Feist."

When "Feist" asked the crowd how they were doing, I turned to my friend and said, "eh, I'm all right." And, my friends, this innocuous comment drew the wrath of La Dunst! She turned, she glared, she glowered.  Friends, I came close to fisticuffs with La Dunst.

Instead, I decided to ignore her, and she managed to scramble her way down to the front of the house for Rilo Kiley.  And fisticuffs were not had. Except in my mind. And, yes, the gauntlet has been thrown down. Dr. Sunken Tits, as revenge for those death rays, I vow here and now to never, never rest in my quest to find ever more grotesque and unflattering photos of you, which I will then post here for the world to see. To see, and to mock. Stay fugly, Sunken Tits: I will find you!

The last time I saw this kid, Justin Long, he was sitting in a bed watching Clean Britney Spears give him a giggly striptease before she losing her nerve and declining to fork over the sweet flower of her virginity. (Little did he know, circa Crossroads, what a limited-time offer Clean Britney's vagina would be.)

Now, though, cute little nerdy Justin -- a.k.a. The Nerd Whose Name I Can't Remember from Ed, and Some Character Who Apparently Wanted to Cheerlead And Was, Shockingly, Also A Nerd, from Dodgeball -- appears to have had his upper lip hijacked by a French Count desperate to bilk you of all your rent money or else tie you to the train tracks:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

If Jimmy Fallon or David Schwimmer ever needs somebody to play his brother in the touching, yet faintly caustic tale of a man who learns he was adopted and that his real family is a roving band of used-car salesmen -- who sell jalopies by day and perform in the redneck band Uncle Grandma by night --then I think Justin Long and his patchy pubescent mustache will be a perfect fit.

But I have to wonder... is it the fate of all men Touched By The Spears, directly or indirectly, to grow reedy, pubic facial hair? Does Justin Timberlake have this to look forward to, or does she only do this to brunettes?

Aw, Little Orphan Annie is all grown up.

And agitated.

And evidently a bit cold.

Okay, Deborah, we'll call you. Promise. Now stop with these cries for attention -- you don't need to dress up as Aunt Flo on a glue-sniffing binge.

This is London's adored fashion icon -- a woman who dresses like a beer wench at a French rodeo? Mais non.

Ashton Kutcher, fearful that his boyish good looks might attract the wrong kind of attention in a Hollywood climate that's become increasingly dangerous for young, nubile brunettes, goes Unibomber and takes to the highway:

"He'll never find me dressed like this! The too short overalls are bound to throw him off track! And my scraggly facial hair artfully disguises my Katie Holmesian good looks, don't you think? Yes. Yes, I'm safe here. Safe. Safe at last. See my Kabbalah string, Tom? I'LL NEVER CONVERT TO SCIENTOLOGY! NOT EVEN FOR YOU! God, I need a drink."

What is up with people being mistaken about their own identities lately? First, Tom Cruise started confusing himself with his character from Magnolia, in addition to the seemingly egregious error of mistaking Katie Holmes for Vaginal Salvation; then, Hilary Duff and her overly capped fangs began trotting around looking like Chloe Sevigny's little sister.

Now, the icing on the cake: Leelee Sobieski seems to be laboring under the delusion that she is... well, anyone at all, but more specifically in this case, Bai Ling or Stephanie Seymour:

Leelee up there is in the act of celebrating the fact that she turned 23 without being felled by the dreaded knee cancer. However, she has evidently chosen to do it by throwing a wild sex picnic during a Bananarama tribute concert, and subsequently getting arrested for indecent exposure, after which a tipsy Leelee gleefully and haphazardly wrapped herself in the blanket and tottered out slurring, "I'M YOUR VENUS, BITCHES"; happily, she got herself bailed out of jail so she could go straight to The Spider Club without missing a single slice of the Here On Earth-themed birthday cake she bought herself to remind everyone that She Is A Serious Actress Indeed, and not simply a block of wood with a garbled man-voice, as has been previously reported.

Happy Birthday, Leelee. Cute bra. I got you a safety pin.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have a very important announcement to make: I LOVE THIS WOMAN."

"She is an extraordinary woman. Simply extraordinary. I could not be more fascinated by her. She is young. She is vital. She is BRILLIANT. I know you've heard these things before, but this time, I really mean them. It's true! Don't you doubters start telling Mav to pull up, yo! I will not pull up! IF YOU BELIEVE IN NOTHING, other than the divine word of the drug-busting dyslexia-curing master of spirituality, BELIEVE IN THIS. In fact, I couldn't come up with more effusive things to say about this woman if I were reading a script I wrote one night while hopped up on some L. Ron-shaped vitamins!

"She is perfect. She is divine. We'll change it all, of course -- her religion, her teeth, her gingham, her birth certificate, her eyebrows. (It'll be easy. I have a great Scientology-approved orthodontist -- instead of Novocain, he gives you cream cheese -- and I hear that junkie Brooke Shields has nothing to do, so maybe she can take care of the brows.) But this one is special -- this one can act without biting her lips. Yes, soon, this fantastic and unbelievable mystery of a healing love-munchkin will be MINE, all MINE, in the eyes of her parents and my publicist and L. Ron, and so when America adores her and wants to eat her up with a spoon, the people will have no choice but to think of me! And spooning me! And eating me up while they spoon me with their delicious, sinewy, masculine...

"Uh, I mean, I'm gping to marry her! I've got some Vitamin D in my diet, baby, and I am HOOKED on them phonics like you wouldn't believe! I am HAPPY and if you are a HATER and you don't want other people to experience joy, or you are just some stupid broad who thinks she's sad and doesn't know that B-12 is a better pick-me-up than Prozac, well, I don't effing care, because I LOVE THIS WOMAN with all my heart, FOREVER AND EVER. Until that pretty little Hermione Granger girl's movie comes out in November."

If you are already shiny and white, I recommend not wearing something that just about matches you:

I know Nicole Kidman plays Samantha -- sort of -- in the movie Bewitched, but this ghastly, ghostly outfit looks a lot more like something Endora would wear to bed. You know, after she's removed all that makeup, and her red wig, and gotten shot up with a gallon of Botox that needs to settle overnight.

She is starting to give me the creeps again. If you want to get rid of a neighbor, hand Nicole a candelabra and some chains and tell her to walk slowly through their backyard. Instant haunted house.

Tori, Tori, Tori. You are not Paris Hilton, and you are neither Kirsten Dunst nor an Olsen twin, so it's confusing to me why you are dressed like a fried Florida socialite in her twilight years. Did Donna Martin graduate -- and become a fashion designer -- in vain? Or are you traveling "incognito" to another "audition" for one of your father's shows, for which casting agents will soon meet a mysterious "Lori Welling," whose resume boasts ten years of experience on Toluca Lake, 91505, and who is auditioning for the part of the cruise director on The Love Boat: Geriatric Gang-Bang, where your Blanches and Ediths and Mabels sign up for some sun, fun, and bridge foursomes without a clue about the kinky results some Eds and Freds and Wilburs will expect? Is that it, Tori? Does that explain everything? Can you help me out here?

Because... please reconsider all of it. I know you can't get a TV show picked up without "anonymously" trying out for one of daddy's offerings, but you are DONNA FREAKING MARTIN, for God's sake. At least take off the HAT.

I know Paris Hilton was the Grand Marshal of the West Hollywood Gay Pride Parade this weekend -- and I just accidentally typed that as Gay Prude, an entirely different parade, and one at which Paris Hilton, I suspect, would not be terribly welcome -- but I had no idea she was embracing the Pride so very vehemently:

I mean, there's flying the Gay Pride flag, and then there's wearing it.  And then there's wearing it as a fringe-y tube dress by way of The Muppet Movie.

That being said, I really can't wait for this wedding. I presume the honeymoon will be televised.

Joan Allen feels the heartbreak of Botoxorexia:

Joan, Joan. You are an amazing actress.  But right now, YOU ARE FREAKING ME OUT. All the Botox has turned a beautiful woman with an interesting, expressive face into a pert little alien.

Seriously, you've come to feast upon my entrails, haven't you? I knew this was going to happen eventually. God damn it.

You have GOT to be kidding me:

[Photo courtesy of Lime-Light.]

Who does Hilary Duff think she is? Chloe Sevigny?

Aside from the faint halter-top tan, Nicolette Sheridan looks bangin' in the black part of this dress...

... but the satin blinds she's sewn to the bottom are thorougly confusing to me. Fashion and interior design need never mate. Unless she's trying to confuse a free-roaming, hot, and charmingly dim cabana boy into coming over to what he thinks is a woman strapped to a deck chair, so that he might rub oil on her back before... skimming her water.

I love it when people wear their skirts in such a way that there is little or no real estate between the waist and the armpits:

Does she just have the worst static-cling imaginable, or did Gwen Stefani just come from making out with the school rebel underneath the bleachers? Those are some third-base wrinkles on that skirt...

... And, Gwen, way to sneak in those infamous leggings. Don't think we didn't notice, lady. You're not that fair-skinned.

Okay, you guys, I have some really shocking news, which will take you very much by surprise. You maybe should even sit down.

Tom Cruise is apparently dating Katie Holmes. I know! I hadn't heard anything about it either.

[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]

What's more, he's apparently asserting his UNBEARABLE LOVE by making her wear only cast-off baby clothing as outerwear, hence the weird, short, unbuttonable, uncomfortable Members Only gear our little Joey Potter's working here. Wait, that may be unfair of me. I am SURE he's not MAKING her wear it, even though factual evidence from Katie Holmes's Pre-Tom-Cruise-Past proves that she does, in fact, usually exhibit beautiful taste in clothing. But I'm SURE Tom Cruise would never MAKE Joey Potter do ANYTHING that she wasn't, you know, CONTRACTUALLY OBLIGATED to do in some way [other contractually obligated items allegedly include: awkwardly making out with him in public; getting dragged onto Oprah's set to bear witness his complete break with mental health; referring to him solely as "Maverick," except on Tuesdays, when she may call him "Pacey"; pretending that her Paxil is actually just folic acid; marrying him and bearing a human child of his flamingly heterosexual loins].

In fact, what am I talking about? Am I insinuating that this relationship is a...what's the word? A sham? A sham relationship? A sham heterosexual relationship between TOM CRUISE and a very young woman with a big movie set to open quite, quite soon? No! NO. Joey Potter would not lie to me like that. She didn't lie to me when she went off on that boat with Pacey, and she didn't lie to me when Dawson's dad died chasing an errant scoop of ice cream, and she wouldn't start now. This is LOVE. It's LOVE. I am just BITTER and CYNICAL and I can't see REAL TRUE LOVE when it's having a convulsion on my sofa and beating its tiny little fists on my floor.

Clearly, Joey just shrank this little sweater/jacket [swacket?] in the wash because she was SO absent-minded FROM LOVE that she set the washer to "hot" instead of "cold." No one is forcing her to wear tiny little clothes in public as part of a weird Scientology-related mind-fuck process that I'm going to get killed for even talking about. I'm terribly sorry. I never said that. You never read this. They're totally in love, and we're all going to see War of the Worlds, and that other movie with the big bat. Totally.

Thank God I worked through that.

Charlotte Church is such a cute girl, with a lovely figure. I don't know why she insists on dressing it in the vein of a batty Las Vegas grandmother, who wants all the young whippersnapper showgirls to feel threatened because she's Still Kickin', and has managed to keep her figure with a steady diet of nicotine-and-vodka omelettes.

Well, no one is more surprised than I am. But Jack Osbourne? Looks kind of hot these days. No, seriously. No, I mean it. No, I'm really not kidding. Check it:

I don't know if you remember the way he used to look, but it was not good. It was not good in a really serious way. To wit:

He looks like a woman from afar, with that hair. And, close up:

That hair? Is in the Fugly Hall of Fame. If you didn't believe that Jack Osbourne was once on some serious, serious drugs, this hair should prove it. Because no one would think that looked good unless they were completely high.

But now? I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy, but I think he looks rather charming.  The suit is lovely. The hair is still funky, but clearly styled. He's got a bit of a tan. He just looks like he feels better. Of course, part of  that surely has to do with his weight loss -- which, have I been living under a rock? Has he been losing weight steadily and I just didn't notice [possible. Very, very possible.], or did he get the gastric? Either way, bravo, Jack. You look fit and healthy and definitely sharply-dressed.

So, cheers! And welcome to the small crowd of the unfugged.  I never thought I'd see the day.

It's like she's having twin withdrawal, missing her other half so much that she's wearing enough clothes for both of them.

On the Olsen scale, with 1 being "adorably quirky" and 10 being "homeless, deranged, and overly swaddled," Rachel Bilson is quickly approaching a 7 -- which roughly translates to, "Unauthorized use of layers/ill-advised dash of Brat Pack Envy."

Her co-star Mischa Barton isn't faring much better. Although she's eschewed  the popular "wear everything resemblng anything" approach to getting dressed, she has veered sharply into Don Johnson's closet:

The linen pants, were they the right size, could pass. But with those two matching, reedy suspenders that are about as helpful to the trousers as her skin is in covering up that collarbone... well, they are something of a baffling, baggy problem. Hopefully, the bags Brandon is pretending he enjoys carrying all contain garments that don't make her look like she is a pair of designer waders and a bait hook away from her very own bass fishing calendar.

Anne Hathaway made it all the way on stage before she realized, with a sinking heart, that she had forgotten to remove her bra. What had once merely resembled a Buckingham Palace window treatment now, thanks to the hateful green straps and bow, looked like a botched department-store wrapping job. And nothing, not even her intrusive new bangs, could hide the horror in her eyes.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

If you stare at Jessica Biel long enough while she's actually walking around in this dress, something rather interesting happens.

First, you get a blinding migraine. But once your vision returns, still blurred from the agonizing pain, the motion and the colors of her dress start to mix and swirl and you will begin to get sleepy... very sleepy... Summer Catch was a phenomenal movie... very.... sleepy... Jessica Biel is an incredible, unforgettable talent ... So sleepy... Give the girl a retroactive Emmy for 7th Heaven... Can barely stay awake... She deserves a big movie role for lots of money...

Ow. My head hurts a little. Where was I? Oh, right: That Jessica Biel is a breath of fresh air, isn't she? Get that Marc Jacobs fellow, if he's available -- I spy a muse.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Is this tunic made of lead-infused cotton? Not only is it shapeless and ugly, hiding her figure and cutting her height, but it makes it look like she's melting.

If you are capable of standing up straight on your own, why wear a shirt that slouches for you? Is bad posture the new black? Will Old Navy start trying to sell me on hunched shoulders by rewriting the words of a disco tune and using it as an ad jingle while tall, thin models dance around and extol the virtues of their trendy hunchbacks?

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Mya would like to welcome you to the junior high spring dance. She hopes you have a really nice time and that you ask her to dance later, because it took five hours to convince her mother to let her wear a spandex and lace body glove at her age, and no, she's not trying to grow up too fast, and yes, Debbie Johnson's mother told her that she could wear one, and anyway, Brian and Todd are never going to ask her to dance to "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" if she's not wearing something every bit as cute as Debbie is, and so if she doesn't get to wear this, she'll be glued to the wall all night and no one will talk to her ever again and she'll never French kiss and she will die ALONE and DRIED-UP, her life will be in RUINS, AND OH MY GOD, WHY DO MOTHERS WANT TO SPOIL EVERYTHING??!?!?!

"Good evening, America. I'm Hilary Swank. Before we talk about my outfit, let's talk about all the things I have going for me:

I have great hair, seriously. Really great. And fantastic white teeth. A smoking body. I seem, by all accounts, to be a lovely, down to earth person. I was on 90210, and if my two Oscars didn't convince you that I could act, maybe you need to think about how hard it was to convincingly portray someone in love with STEVE F'IN SANDERS. Did you SEE the 'fro-mullet on that kid? Painful. Seriously.

Where was I? Right, two Oscars. And I'm seemingly happily married to Chad Lowe, which means that in addition to being all loved and supported and shit, I get to see that dreamy Rob at all the family functions.  I generally seem like a decent sort overall. So things are good with me, right?

Which means we can all sort of just pretend I didn't suffer a massive head injury and decide to wear this unfortunate Rhoda Morganstern cast-off, right? RIGHT?

Come on: I HAD TO MACK ON SANDERS. Doesn't that buy a girl ANYTHING AROUND HERE?

Excellent. Thanks. I swear, I'll do better next time. See you at Astro Burger! I'm buying."

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

"Heyyyy, like, you guys. How are you. I know I only have, like, one tone to my voice, so you can't tell if I'm asking or stating, or happy or sad, but I swear, like, I'm interested. Really. And I also want you to ask me, so I can tell you I'm engaged, and that it's like super awesome-cool to have sex with somebody where I can shout out my own name and he thinks I'm talking to him. Isn't that hott. Kind of like this outfit. I'm a total trendsetter, like, in the sense that I like to set trends by taking something trendy and doing something different to it, and that, like, sets it, or something.

"Take this outfit: I know the bohemian look is, like, in fashion right now, and stuff, but I ask you -- have you ever seen any peasants in Bohemia wear a sequined tank top with one of their skirts. No way. This hott look is mine, all mine. I know you think it doesn't match, but that's because you're not as smart about fashion as I am, because you don't set trends. See, if you had, like, knowledge, and stuff, you'd know that the patterns in the skirt and the shirt actually do match, because there is white in both of them. See, I am so smart. And I made the shirt. It used to be a dress, but I cut the bottom half off, because Nicole touched it once and said it would make a pretty lampshade.  But she's the lampshade. Yeah, that's right, I said it."

This is the type of dress that makes bees horny. It's the suit that makes Anne Geddes tingle with glee, inspired to orgasm at the thought of photographing more potted babies. But unfortunately for the lovely Lisa Vidal, it's also the kind of suit that scorches retinas, whips up migraines in the heads of the unprotected, and makes her look like she's trying to sell shoddy real-estate to a couple of pensioners who are moving to Florida.

I realize that this is the former Scary Spice, so in a sense you get what you pay for, but I refuse to believe that what Mel B wants -- what she really, REALLY wants -- are leggings, rolled-up shorts, and purple loafer pumps. Nobody outside the movie Teen Witch wants any of that.

I blame Stefani for this. DAMN YOU, STEFANI.

"Yo yo yo! J. Simp in the hizzzzy.

That's RIGHT, beeyotchs! I am working this skirt! Yeah, it's falling off my ass [ask me about my Bikini Body, on the cover of this week's US Weekly]!  Yeah, it's totally too big for me! Yeah! It's totally like those skirts in that hella wicked Old Navy commerical, YEAH YEAH.

Listen, y'all, I am working it with these street braids and this wicked fresh Army shirt, because I love America, YO. I love it.  But you all gots to understand that I am not that stupid virgin girl who married a boy bander just to get laid any more, NO I AM NOT. This is the NEW JESSICA. Because I am NOT wearing whatever my Dad tells me to, at all, y'all. Have you seen Ashlee lately? She's the one with the blonde bob and the nose job -- I mean, the fake tan -- I mean...I mean, just look at her. She's the one under the thumb of our Svengali-esque parental figure. NOT ME. Because I am STRAIGHT UP FRESH [but still patriotic] NOW.  Knoxville told me to roll over and do it street style and I am DOING IT.  He said it would help my career.

Also, if I wear this skirt, I don't have to shave my legs.

Word. "

Good news! If you ordered a shiny orange I Hate What You're Wearing tee shirt, they have been shipped, and should arrive shortly [depending on the method of shipping you chose, way back in the day].

Thanks again to all who ordered. We look forward to seeing y'all walking around town in them.