December 2005 Archives

Just when I feared she might have gone into hibernation for the holidays, Courtney Peldon has appeared once more to gift us with that special brand of fug that's all her own.

Were we printing up our own Christmas cards, we would want something like this on the cover. It's a perfect storm of fug -- the hugely unflattering cut, the furious tableaux that occupies 80 percent of available real-estate, the arm straps -- and it's the perfect postcard for us to send as we sail off into our two-week seasonal hiatus. Yes, believe it or not, even cold, dead, tar-hearted vixens of negativity need some warm-and-fuzzy time during the waning days of December.

We invite you to peruse our extensive archives during our absence; we'll be back in full force on Tuesday, Jan. 3, after all the wine and cheese and cake and starches and little chocolates shaped like Santa and egg nog and chocolate martinis and Christmas Eve bangers-and-mash dinners have settled in our round bowls full of jelly, and we're feeling sufficiently less lethargic that we can haul our carcasses up off the couch and sit down at the computer for brief, energizing spells of bitchery.

And don't worry -- we may be gone, but we're still watching. Waiting. [Britney, we know you're going to leave the house again soon enough and venture out in public to pretend you're still happy -- just rip off the Band-Aid, pet, and let us see what you've been moping in lately.]

Happy Holidays! And thanks to all our readers for making 2005 such a blast. We'll see you next year!

This dress is somewhat unflattering, rather see-through, and wholly hideous -- I mean, lady, I GET IT, you have breasts, and that's great, but if you're so determined to show them off then just call Lil' Kim in prison and ask if you can borrow something -- but there is another reason I wish that this Lina person hadn't worn it.

Quite frankly, her navel scares the life out of me.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

That is chapped evil, right there. You are staring into the eye of Satan. Have you ever seen the South Park "Woodland Critter Christmas" episode? If you have, then you'll understand why the words "blood orgy" are so appropriate here. And if you haven't, well, you are figuratively (and in some ways literally) staring at the belly of the beast in this photo. That thing is all monster. Don't stare at it too long, or you'll be compelled to drink the blood of a righteous woman while carving pentagrams into the walls.

What is it planning? Why did it insist on rending a gaping hole into this dress, forcing Lina to go outside in something that does not show her off to her best advantage? Was it hoping to cross paths with a jewelry-toting hobbit? Was it trying to blink a message to the TomKat fetus? Was it hoping to brainwash her into going to a screening of Just Friends, so that Lucifer could use The Eye to gaze upon his most recent cinematic handiwork? What? WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH US?

This "Lesa Amoore" woman, in addition to once being in a Corey Haim-related reality show -- and the host of something I don't want to know about called Munch Kidz that claims it's an "animated/family" program -- purports to be a celebrity stylist.

And I believe her. You can tell by her carefully slovenly appearance:

Ms. Amoore plainly wants you to think she was sleeping peacefully until a big earthquake hit, and in a frantic effort to escape wearing just enough that she could still feasibly make all her social commitments, she pulled on the nearest pair of tights -- and snagged them! O, the tragedy! -- and her boots, and her dining room drapes for a little extra "coverage," and made a break for it.

It's the L.A. version of Mary-Kate Olsen's Homeless Co-Ed In New York movement. Yep -- earthquake-chic. It's coming.

Sarah Jessica Parker thinks nobody warned her against wearing this dress, but in actuality, she simply couldn't hear them: The skirt first enters the room so many minutes before her body that it absorbed everyone's cries of protest.

First of all, a little housekeeping: thanks for your patience this morning while the site was partially down. It was a snafu on the Typepad side of things, but everything seems to be up and running now!

So let's get down to business:

Now, look.  Katherine Heigl is beautiful. She was beautiful when she was some kind of alien-girl on Roswell, and she's beautiful now. And as anyone who watches Grey's Anatomy knows, she's got a totally smoking Real Girl body (and no, that's not a euphamism for "fat," the way "curvy" is in People magazine.) Girl is hot.

So I am very confused as to why she would wrap said body in what appears to be kitchen curtains covered with some kind of terrible Salute to Split Pea-colored tulle overlay. I'm not against ladylike, retro clothes, at all. When done right, they work beautifully (see Parker, Sarah Jessica and Witherspoon, Reese). But this dress is like an Homage to Pleasantville Told Through The Assorted Fabrics of  My Grandma's Sitting Room, and that, my friends, suits no one.

A sly reader alerted us to the fact that Luke Wilson might not just be The Non-Stallion Wilson, or The Non-Genius Wilson, or The Non-Crazy-Nosed Wilson -- he is also becoming The Non-Non-Puffy Wilson.

Research indicates that although this camera angle displays budding bloat better than others, it's not a swelling effect that is created by the photo itself. No, it seems that Luke is in danger of coping with not being Hollywood's most beloved Wilson brother by retaining whatever water he can find -- that way, at least he has something that Owen doesn't.

So the GFY terror-watch experts are nudging Luke up to Terror Alert: Blue, with a hearty warning that he's headed for the Yellow Brick Road (see Appendix) if he keeps this up, and thus is not too far from having to eliminate pretzels entirely from his diet.

Appendix: BLOAT WATCH TERROR LEVEL CHART

Simon Cowell's girlfriend Whatshername is currently suffering from what we here at GFY HQ refer to as "the scroll down." In other words, at first glance, her ensemble looks fine, even good. But when you scroll down to see the rest of the photograph -- and the outfit -- your face catches on fire.

Waist up: hot! Sexy! Sexy! Hot! Sure, I think that's a lariat around her neck, but let's all look the other way! La la la!

Waist down: ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH SWEET FANCY MOSES AND HEAVENLY GOD IN... HEAVEN! CROPPED! HAMMER PANTS! This outfit is 2 Legit 2 -- AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH, GOD, I CAN'T EVEN GET THROUGH AN ENTIRE HAMMER JOKE. WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE STOP THE BURNING?

I do have to admit that if my face hadn't been rendered unto ashes thanks to her cropped Hammer-panted jumpsuit (a phrase which I believe actually brings forth the End Times), I would note that her shoes are totally fierce and I need them.

Apparently, it's not just fugly that's the new pretty -- looking like you're headed down Carol Channing Ave. toward its intersection with Norma Desmond Blvd., complete with crazy face paint and a wig that looks like it's been bound to your skull, is ALSO the new pretty:

By all accounts, Kelly Osbourne is not actually an insane old lady who is clinging to her youth by trying to slap eighteen inches of cake makeup on her face, the better to both hide her age and maintain the sickly pallor that was so popular back when she was a girl. And yet, she is all done up like one, complete with that head thing that seems to be anchoring the hair in place, and foundation that's a clown-like shade of white. I'm fair-skinned myself so I'm attuned to jokes about being wan and looking like cold death, but... she looks like a complete moron. And maybe a dead one.

Kelly, let me level with you. You are pretty, and can look charming -- when you get it together. This is not one of those times. Perhaps it is I who is the old crone, because of what I'm about to say to you: Young lady, you need to march upstairs and scrape that gunk off your face RIGHT NOW, from the chalk to the Hollywood Blvd. lips to the other layers of chalk that you'll get to once you dig beneath the first three. And don't come down until you're all scrubbed, or else... um... I'll give all your Converse to the Salvation Army. You hear me, young lady? Don't hide your pretty face. And don't look at me that way. I just want what's best for you. When you're mother's out there talking about having sex with your father every night they're together, well, you don't need to put on a DEPRAVED face; you need your BRAVE face. Now go.

Hopefully the King Kong premieres aren't over yet, because it seems we could fill the site with photos of what Naomi Watts is wearing to them.

Apparently, Naomi does not watch Las Vegas on NBC, or else she would have learned about the dangers of billowing dresses from the tragic death-by-wind of Lara Flynn Boyle, whose extra fabric got caught by a gust the right way-- er, or wrong way, I guess -- and blew her clean across the Strip and through a hotel window to her (ostensible) death. Such are the perils of insane sleeves, and certainly, there is enough superfluous stuff on this outfit to sew three backup dresses. The whole thing mildly evokes the weird fashion of our favorite Icelandic nutjob who herself seems fond of odd-shaped gowns that may or may not have a bizarre cape element to them. Paging Bjork!

Well, I've heard that there ain't no party like an S-Club party, and former S-Clubber Jo [AKA, The One Who Could Really Sing During That Time When S Club Had That Saturday Morning TV Show That OKAY, FINE, I TOTALLY WATCHED], is certainly DRESSED for some kind of party:

Honestly, this outfit isn't that bad. Sure, she's obeying the command in the hit S Club song, "S-Club Party," that asks for "hoochie mamas" to "show [their] na-nas" -- I presume "na-nas" are boobies -- but the tights and the undertank keep her from looking like a real hoochie mama. The skirt is a leetle short and a leetle acid-washed, and she's a bit OLD for this entire outfit, but...okay, fine. She looks fine. She looks just fine. I mean, the weird halter top thing makes her look like she has NO NECK WHATSOEVER, but other than that, this outfit is okay.

I JUST WANTED TO SAY "HOOCHIE MAMAS, SHOW YOUR NA-NAS." IS THAT SO WRONG?

And if S Club Jo had to be sacrificed for that cause, I'm fine with that.

I think Debbieborah Gibson is moonlighting as a showgirl named Spangles.

Yesterday was Spangles' nighttime outfit -- the garb of a woman who, say, does her routines to  "Eternal Flame" because it ends in a showstopping move wherein her loins actually do catch fire. Yet I prefer Spangles the Bikini-Zone Arsonist to Spangles The White-Out Sniffer:

How extreme are your hallucinations if you can wear this without getting a migraine?

This is Spangles' daytime look, which she wears because she thinks it gives her soccer-mom respectability for when she drops the kids off at school, although all the other mothers totally know what her nighttime gig is and although they hide it, they hate her for thinking she can blend in by wearing a loudly printed caftan-like dress just because there is only a TINY and RESPECTABLE bit of fringe hanging from the bottom of it. The half-hearted sequins are an especially festive touch, almost like she started trying to spice up the dress but got bored midway through.

She's turned into a dress what a sexagenarian would wear as a shirt. Blanche Devereaux, for instance, would have (and probably did, once) paired this with billowing silver slacks, which -- while enjoying her dating exploits with "eligible men" sporting questionable mustaches -- would have made us wonder privately, as always, whether we are all doomed to this style of dress once we hit our sixties. Which is to say, this thing is ugly at any age, but Debbieborah and her alter ego are way too young to try and sneak a half-caftan -- a halftan? -- past us.

Naomi Watts, though talented and lovely, is not doing much to change my initial thought that she is basically Nicole Kidman II: Pale, Shy Aussie Boogaloo.

Observe -- Nicole Kidman at the Bewitched premiere, and Naomi Watts at the premiere of King Kong:

Watts looks better. The uber-blond hair and fair skin do not look as freaky and alien on her as they do on Kidman, and do at least I get more what she was going for with this choice -- the movie is the third iteration of this story, so a vintage-looking gown seems appropriate for the kind of wispy starlet who would get spirited away by a handsy ape.

But their basic similarities -- the floaty white dress that looks more like a nightgown than an actual outfit, the updo, the curls, the general shapelessness, current/former boyfriend with rhyming names (Keith/Heath) -- are a little eerie. And I'll be honest, as much as she wins the photographic showdown with the increasingly icky Kidman, I don't think that old costume-shop thing flatters Watts at all. It reminds me less of a romantic old dress than Princess Leia about to get dumped head-first into the Death Star trash compactor.

I realize that the technical definition of a dress basically boils down to, "an outer garment," but...

... don't you think people are going a little crazy with the bare-bones interpretation of that? I'm not even sure this IS an "outer garment," in that I question her wearing it out 'er house. [Zing!] I know the dictionary doesn't explicitly say a dress should have more opacity than transparence, but I don't personally take that as an invitation to wear an "outer garment" that's little more than some sort of bizarre homage to bondage. And perhaps that is my personal mistake, but changing that will take much more than an outfit that looks like the seamstress didn't buy enough fabric and had to ration it as she sewed.

Oh, Debbie Gibson.

What the hell are you doing? Why are you so shiny? Why doesn't anything fit? What's with the bangles and the spangles and the beads? Is it because you suspect you might, at some point in the evening, get the urge to Shake Your Love, and, if so, you'd like Your Love to be sparkly? Because if that is your thought process, you are marching to a Foolish Beat INDEED.

Dear Jude and Sienna,

We don't care anymore.

Love, The World

PS: Jude, if any of us could be bothered -- which, as I mentioned, we can't be -- we'd probably mention that you have got to stop it with the skinny dingy scarfs layered over low-necked undershirts. You do this all the time, and it makes you look like a grimy prevert.

PPS: Sienna, if I wasn't totally bored of you and your stupid outfits and your on-again/off-again relationship with old Scrawny McMuffler, I might mention that your coat is totally cute. But see the body of my letter.

And what are YOU so proud of yourself for, Nick Cannon?

You look like a Black Eyed Pea, Andre Agassi from the 1990s, and an original print of The Legend of Bagger Vance all mixed up in a blender and served on ice at a country-club cafe.

It baffles me still that so many people in this town do not understand what to do with their breasts.

A chest of any size is a lovely thing to have. But it can't just do all the work by itself, unless you are blessed with anti-gravity mammary glands; no, generally speaking, breasts need to be propped up a little in order to be displayed to their best advantage. They should probably not, a la Dunst/Gyllenhaal, be allowed to drip so freely and flatly that, when you can't find your ironing board, you simply instruct one of them to lie on her back so you can use her torso for that purpose. Breasts deserve better; they deserve a little bounce.

But, the deployment of breast support can be taken to an extreme, as displayed in the following painful photograph of Scarlett Johanssen:

Ouch.

Those are pinched, propped, and pushed to within an inch of their lives (and, it seems, within an inch of her chin). That is not sexy, provocative cleavage; that is what happens when a stray ostrich wanders over and gives birth to twins in your bodice. Now, it's possible she only did this so she could carry around some appetizers and a drink without having to fill up her hands with cumbersome receptacles, but even being your own end table isn't worth trotting around all night looking like the victim of some unfortunate breasticular mutation. In this photo, she is Anna Nicole Smith's younger sister.

I fear Scarlett is lashing out at herself. In September, she abused herself by wearing Mom Jeans supplied to her by Imitation of Christ's imitation of design talent, Tara Subkoff; she was also once caught in a Sienna Miller-esque leggings fiasco that can only have been interpreted as a cry for help. And now this? Scarlett, why do you hate yourself? You have nice skin. Pretty coloring. And some people seem to want to watch you act. So why are you lashing out at your figure? Are you passive-aggressively blaming them for The Island being a terrible movie? Did your boyfriend decide he only likes women who can blow lines off their own hoisted cleavage? Are you embarrassed by your strange choice of shoe and thus trying to block your downward view of them? 

Help us understand so that we can stage the right intervention.

Aw, that little girl who fell in love with Macauley Culkin and then cried and cried when the bees ate him is all grows up!

I'm surprised I didn't hear about the tragic accident that reduced the length of her legs by two-thirds, but I guess that's what happens when a girl decides to leave the business.

One more thing, Culkin-Lover: Although I'm not a Nazi about accessories matching exactly, a red hat + brown boots + a white bag [dear God] + black tights = sweet God, get a grip.

The Family Stone premiere was like a Festival of Fug. Amanda Peet? First, this sack-cloth, next I expect to see her in ashes. Sarah Jessica Parker?  Saggy and misshapen. And now SJP's erstwhile co-star, the gorgeous-no-matter-what-she's-wearing Kristin Davis shows up looking like a World War I widow:

I have to just say that I don't care what she's wearing: her hair is to die for.  She's lovely. But....seriously, is that a hobble skirt? Did she just take off her Votes For Women suffrage ribbon? I certainly hope she doesn't get that ribbon caught in the manual crank of her horseless carriage. That would be a shame.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a supposed style icon:

Who would wear this anywhere? Why, Gwen Stefani, of course. I feel more and more like her benchmark is, "Would sane people consider this utterly ridiculous? Will it make people wonder why anyone pays me to design clothing? THEN I SHALL WEAR IT."

I'll give you that it's definitely brave to sport a crown of flowers over unflatteringly slicked and parted hair, all with a flimsy wrap that makes it look like she's a synchronized swimmer just out of the pool and ready for a night on the town in shoes for which her toes are too long. But is it attractive? I don't think so. For sure, the dress -- which isn't terrible on its own -- never had a chance once she went all Rose Parade on her head. It should sue for irreconcilable differences.

Perhaps she's just trying to distract people from her belly. Certainly a woman as notoriously enamored of her own abs as Gwen is would be wearing something that flaunts them -- unless they are doughy these days. Doughy like, say, a bun. An oven-bun, if you get what I'm saying, and I think you do.

Not to be outdone by former pal and current archrival Kirsten Dunst, Maggie Gyllenhaal proves that her breasts can sag twice as far and her dress can look twice as much like an ill-fitting sack- -- and not only that, but she will raise La Dunst thick shiny tights worn with open-toed shoes, so TAKE THAT, BROTHER-STEALER.

Haiku for LiLo:

Really ugly boots,
Bad enough. But what's with the
Maternity shirt?

Pretty shiny hair
Why the grandma cardigan?
You know much better.

Security tag
Still on your new purse. Oh well,
Thank God you're not blonde.

Apparently, Tilda Swinton is STILL IN CHARACTER as The White Witch from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Seriously? I am a little scared.  Look, everyone, if you happen to, say, pass out in your closet one day, and wake up and it's very very snowy and she appears and offers you some Turkish Delight, SAY NO.

I don't know what's going on with Amanda Peet, but lately she has been shunning her waist the way Alexis Carrington Colby shuns faux fur and matte fabrics.

Exhibit A, at the premiere of The Family Stone:

Exhibit B, at the Syriana premiere:

I have some harsh truths for you, MiG. Are you ready?

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Okay, you look ready. Here it is: Nobody cares.

I'm serious. Rock Star: INXS is over, and everybody's mostly forgotten who was in the competition in the first place because all they remember are the valiant attempts Brooke Burke made to flash her vulva at the audience every week. And yet here you are, practically breaking a sweat in an attempt to combine Dave Navarro and Avril Lavigne circa 2002 into something that represents your idea of what cool rockers wear. But instead, especially with that waxed chest, you look like the CEO of Chippendale's on his way to a very important staff meeting. Even Avril would look at you and snort, "Nice necktie, fool."

Sarah Jessica Parker made an uncharacteristic fashion misstep at the premiere of The Family Stone:

Say what you will about La Parker, she usually manages to leave the house looking neat and charming and flatteringly retro, and it almost always works.  But here? She looks like she's wearing a burial shroud. I haven't read any reviews of The Family Stone yet, but even if it IS bad, I can't believe it could possibly be so bad as to qualify as SJP's funeral.

If you thought King Kong would be the most fearsome hairy thing at the premiere of the movie, you were wrong.

Dead wrong.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a little portrait I like to call, "Validating Gillette":

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

What has Jack Black done to himself? He looks like he's spent the past 20 years tying women to the tracks and demanding that they pay the rent, but he's really sort of tired of that line of work, and he's both losing his passion for it and his energy, so he takes shortcuts by tying them to miniature train tracks and ordering them to watch Rent, and the only way he can live with himself is by crawling into the arms of Jack Daniels at the end of every night before he has to go out and do it all again.

Oh, but Craig T. Nelson will raise Jack Black one MULLET:

Oh, COACH. That thing is terrifying. Look, even your wife didn't want to be seen with it -- she's thought that staying in her house robe would keep you from bringing her.

Come on, give us a close-up -- prove to the people that it really IS your hair, and not just the incredible coincidence of a woman from the planet Gargantua standing behind you:

Oof. It burns.

Is this for a role, Coach? Tell me it's for a role. The mighty IMDb does not know about it, but that doesn't mean you can't comfort me right now by telling me that this is not a fashion choice, but rather an obligation. So come on, out with it. What's the part?  Trailer-Park Grandpa? An inmate on Prison Break who somehow is the only person in the entire place who can locate the very blade of grass that matches Michael's tattoo and magically unlocks the secret of how to break through the new steel pipe? Samson, in the fanciful musical-theater imagination of what is life with Delilah would have been like if they'd grown old together in a nursing home, entitled Twilight With Samson? A priest on Deadwood who likes his whores dipped in gunpowder? What? WHAT? WHAT IS IT?

For months now, all the gossip has been a tangle of "Nick is a cheat," "Jessica is a cheat," "they secretly hate each other," "Joe Simpson is an asshead." The only thing anyone could really agree upon was the latter count. And now, all the magazines seem to have decided that, despite denials from the Lachey camp, Jessica finally stood up for her poor wounded self and Nick had this coming. I'm sure you've seen the screaming yellow headlines: "WHY JESSICA DUMPED NICK," "WHY JESSICA LEFT NICK," "JESSICA JESSICA JESSICA JESSICA," "HI MY NAME IS JOE SIMPSON AND I AM A SPIN-CONTROLAHOLIC..." You know the drill. The accompanying stories attempt to claim that she was taking control of a dying marriage, and isn't she brave, and he's a total dog...

Personally, I never thought she was that upset about it, really -- and, well, if we're being honest, I think the Knoxville rumors are true and this whole thing's been a farce for almost a year now. But recently, I began to wonder if perhaps she was more upset about this whole thing than I originally thought. Why do I feel that way?

Exhibit A.

That thing has enough room for Aretha Franklin's breasts, and therefore makes Jessica look like she has two deflated sacks hanging from her chest.

Clearly, nobody would wear this unless she -- or he, I suppose -- were had gone totally blind from grief. Or perhaps it paralyzed her, and Ashlee freaked out, because it's her mandate to be Jessica-lite, and if Jessica isn't out and about, whom can she imitate? So after several attempts to rouse her sister into getting dressed for the Big In '05 awards, poor Ashlee had to resort to rolling up Jessica in whatever pieces of cloth she could find, slapping some color back into her cheeks (wish she'd called and asked me to help), and finally shoving her out onto the red carpet.

Tragic, really.

The outfit British actress Anna Brewster wore to the premiere of the film she recently made with Judi Dench, Mrs Henderson Presents, is almost SO OVER THE TOP BAD that it's good.

But not really:

She looks like Bjork by way of the Teletubbies, crossed with one of Santa's elves, and topped off with a light sprinkling of the Fruit of the Loom strawberry.

She's there at the awards, but somehow I didn't realize former MTV veejay Kennedy counted as Big In '05.

Unless "That Girl From Your Law Firm Who Read One Brief Too Many, Flipped Her Shit, Ran Off To Mexico, Had A Two-Week Tequila IV, And Woke Up With A Beer Belly She Named 'Miguelita,' And Is Now Trying To Take Her Act On The Road At Work-Angst-Themed Bachelor Parties Where She Acts Like A Frat Boy, Attempts To Procure Llamas For Exotic Stripping Games, Befouls Neckties, And Balances Shot Glasses On Her Swelling Tummy Before Getting So Trashed That She Rips Off Her Lycra Suit During A Drunken Tussle With Miguelita In Which She Accuses Miguelita Of Always Judging Her, Then Runs Out Sobbing And Screaming That She Always Knew Her Law Career Would End Up This Way" was a popular trend I missed.

Zhang Ziyi (or Ziyi Zhang... I've seen it both ways in publications, and no one can decide which is correct and which is Anglicized, so... I'll call her Z) looks beautiful, she is wearing a lovely dress, and she's a fine actress with an amazing body of work. I can't pretend that stuff isn't true.

But... this seems to lack perspective. I mean, this is a movie premiere. It is not her wedding. Unless I have missed out on a fresh interpretation of the "Oops, Did I Not Mention It's My Wedding Day?" hook that has so captivated celebrities, from Julia Roberts to Britney "If I Don't Tell You About It, You Can't Stop It, And Also, Mom, I Gave Him The Keys To Your Lexus" Spears.

So, I understand that this movie is a big deal for Ms. Z, and it's an Oscar hopeful and all that, and I'm very pleased for her. I am. I have an OPI toenail polish called "I'm Not Really A Waitress" that would look very nice with that red lipstick she's wearing in the posters, if she'd like to hear about it. First, though, the cathedral-length drama ought to get toned down a tad. It's very Mariah Carey, and no, I haven't yet figured out a way to make that comparison complimentary.

Jessica Simpson couldn't be HAPPIER now that she and Nick Lachey are el finito, right? Just look at her!

I can think of several reasons why she looks so cranky, and none of them have to do with the destruction of her marriage!

1. her new huge crazy lips are seriously really painful and she kind of can't talk or breath or eat around them.
2. she's cold. I mean it -- it's been cold here in Los Angeles lately and she's not even wearing a cardigan!
3. Kitson was out of Team Lachey shirts, but had piles of Team Simpson ones. What does that meaaaaan?
4. she just realized she's wearing cropped leggings under an otherwise fairly cute dress. She was so close to being well-dressed! So close! And then....the leggings struck.  Will no one heed my warnings? The return of leggings will be the end of us all! First, it's leggings. Then, we're wearing polka-dotted bike shorts under florescent baby doll dresses and does anyone really want to be around for that? Again? If you're that cold, THEY'RE CALLED PANTS.

Tori Spelling, who will always be Donna Martin to me -- well, except when she's the Bitchy Cheerleader Kellie Martin Stabbed to Death With a Vegetable Peeler in the BEST LIFETIME MOVIE EVER -- has had a really busy year. There was the million dollar wedding, of course. And then there was when she met her co-star on some sure-to-be hilarioso Lifetime movie, fell in love with him, and they decided to leave their respective spouses and, in his case, his second grader and new baby.  And now she's allegedly getting in on the celebrity pregnancy trend.

Her outfit at the VH1 Big in '05 doesn't do much to disprove this rumor. To wit:

I think that if she weren't baking a baby bun in the old Spelling oven [apparently, her womb has a gift wrapping room and a bowling alley!], she'd show up in something skin-tight, rather than formal shorts [and you all know how I feel about formal shorts] and this floaty tunic top. Which would be cute over a bikini, down at the pool -- very Julie Cooper Nichol -- or even with jeans, but with shiny sharkskin-y shorts? Seriously? Shorts? Shiny shorts? SHINY PREGNANCY SHORTS?  DONNA MARTIN GRADUATED FOR THIS?

Angela Bassett is pretty bad-ass. [Although what was the point of bringing her onto Alias looking all devastating and making out with Dixon... only to disappear? What is wrong with people? Dixon needs some. Let him have it. They would be hot together.]

Ahem. Anyway, I really like Angela Bassett in most things, but sadly, this dress is not one of them:

[Photos by Daily Celeb.]

I'm all for being youthful, but this dress doesn't look like something Angela Bassett should be wearing. Rather, it looks like what Angela Bassett's daughter should be wearing, if indeed she had one. (Hopefully that person would also deep-six the tights and wear a higher heel.)

Ahd yet, even on an age-appropriate person, that shiny and crinkly fabric might be more appropriate stretched inside a car windshield to block out the sunlight than as a dress.

Phylicia, we need to talk.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Why are you doing this? You are beautiful at age 58 -- your skin looks flawless up there -- and you are a respected stage and screen actress. It is all about accentuating the positives, and you have so many positives. So why in the name of Britney are you downplaying your assets by letting that shirt balloon around you? Why are dressed like some sort of priest-genie? Do you know who you are? You are CLAIR effing HUXTABLE, lady. You are what Star Jones wishes she could be. You can make a salt-food, junk-food junkie like Cliff go on a diet. One flare of the nostril and people do your bidding. You do not stand for baloney, nor malarkey, nor are you overly fond of bunkum and claptrap. Nobody makes Theo shut up like you do. You can make Sondra's oddly chauvinistic husband tremble in the boots he sells at his wilderness store, of which you do not approve, but really, at that point you're just grateful he's okay with Sondra having a job at all.

Fine, so O.J. Simpson was the best man at your wedding to Ahmad Rashad, and that seems like a misstep. But nonetheless, you are CLAIR, you are THE WOMAN, and you deserve better than that tunic. Give yourself the gift of a custom-tailored suit. It's what Clair would do, and really, isn't WWCD the slogan by which we all should live?

We here at GFY have a bit of a love-hate-love relationship with Lindsay Lohan. We love The Parent Trap (don't look at us like that), we liked Mean Girls, we adored the red hair, and frankly, we loved that she got Aaron Carter ripped away from her by Hilary Duff because, well, she was better off without that squirrely tick. We even secretly enjoyed her crazy Wilmer Valderrama obsession, breakup, and subsequent awkward club-hopping snafus. And we not-so-secretly cheered her on when she delivered big-fat-flip-off after big-fat-flip-off to her rageaholic father.

But we hated the emaciation, the blond hair, Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, the blond hair, Herbie: Fully Loaded, Not To Be Confused With Our Star, Who Is TOTALLY PROFESSIONAL AND CLEAN And Not At ALL Loaded And Has The Perfect-Sized Chest, We Swear On Our Lives, and the self-congratulatory PR trips to coffee shops with Nicole Richie where they'd pretend to eat food for the paparazzi so that people would stop blaming their dramatic and potentially tragic weight losses on either anorexia or cocaine. And we love to hate her music career.

Essentially, though, everything in the "hate" column was born of affection -- a fondness for things like her endearingly blunt interviews, because even when we thought maybe they were stuffed full of lies she at least mimicked disarming candor, and for the fact that she's a talented actress even if she is a pretty mixed-up 19-year old. In sum, she's an oddly rootable kid, despite not being able to drive worth a damn. [But we won't worry about her vehicular idiocy until she gives her keys to whatever boozed-up Greek shipping heir du jour she can pull out from under a rock.]

With all that in mind, then, this photo encouraged us immensely:

Lindsay, congratulations. You look chic in that delicious coat, and the dark hair looks fantastic on you. Never, ever go blonde again, even if the part seems to demand it. That only worsened that sickly-looking phase you went through.

We are also thrilled to see that you have rediscovered food a little:

Hey everybody! We haven't talked in SO LONG, but I finally got a sec to myself and thought I would send y'all a birthday card from me, even though it's my birthday today, so I'm not really sure why I'm writing you a letter but I did have to buy my own presents from Kevin this year, so I guess age 24 is all about sisters doing it for themselves. I mean, I think I am going to have to do everything myself this year. Is what I meant.

ANYWAY, like I said, I finally got a minute away from my sweet little baby Sean and that big stupid baby Kevin and I decided, I know what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna put on my pirate boots and my short little fur coat and get my fuzzy fur purse that my mom swears is just roadkill with straps, and go out and buy myself some stuff!

And along with all the stuff I went out and bought myself for my birthday today, I also got myself another birthday present and that is the house to myself for a while. It's just me and Sean and my mom and sometimes Jamie Lynn and also my staff and sometimes that cute gardner we have, and it is so so peaceful.  Yes, everyone, the rumors are true, I have asked Kevin to go elsewhere for a little while so he can FIGURE OUT WHAT HIS PROBLEM IS, but this is not some kind of Jessica Simpson/Nick Lachey thing, we are not getting divorced, and Kevin is totally not moving in with Nick and that USC football player person like the National Enquirer said. I am just giving him time to MISS ME and also to GET A GRIP and stop PARTYING ALL NIGHT WHEN HE HAS AN INFANT AT HOME, LIKE, GOD.

Yeah, so, I guess what happened was that last week, I bought the baby to the Peninsula and I actually seriously had lunch with Justin (so he could meet the baby and also my new boobs, oh yes, I said it) and oh my god, don't tell anyone, but he is still SO CUTE and I sort of think I might still be in love with him but I am scared to say that aloud, but seriously, how can he really be happy with that skinny crackhead Cameron Diaz? I mean, for one thing, she is OLD, but anyway, he told me really really seriously that he thought I was better off without Kevin and I thought about it and I thought about it and I realized that Justin is right because Kevin totally doesn't even care about what happens in our family, like he just laughed that I time I thought the dog was having her brother's babies and I can't be with a man who doesn't understand that incest is wrong. Plus he keeps taking money out of my purse. So for my birthday I decided I should choose myself, just like Kelly Taylor, and see how that feels for once and you know what? SO FAR I LIKE IT.

So happy birthday to ME, Kevin. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW.

And if you think I'm giving you any of my money, YOU ARE WRONG.

LOVE,

BRITNEY!

Is Kyra Sedgwick pregnant again, or something?

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

She looks radiant. And the combination of loose-fitting and unflattering shirt, poorly tailored pants in a different shiny fabric that make her look stumpy and thick-legged, and sensible flats does imply that there's some gestation being concealed -- that, or she needs to be reminded that clothes should flatter one's lovely figure rather than dump it up.

I don't really think she's pregnant. I just think she chose an awful outfit. But, hell, maybe she is -- I mean, why not? Everyone else is. Pregnant is the new black.

Tori Spelling allegedly has one cooking; Jennifer Garner might well pull a Lillith and stay pregnant for 14 months; Nicole Kidman is getting married, so there's pregnancy rumors all over the place there; Renee Zellweger is at home staring longingly at a bagel because her corpse ex, Jack White, apparently knocked up his revenge bride Karen Elson; Melissa Joan Hart and her wonky eye are expecting; Katie Holmes' spawn is well out of the turkey baster and into the womb; Mariska Hargitay has a special fetal unit; Gwyneth Paltrow is squiring a suspicious bump; the actress who plays Sheridan on Passions finally got pregnant (and with the number of times she's died on the show and then what with her character's fruitless search for the son that was kidnapped when she was trapped in a basement pit by her archrival, who was dressed as a clown, I think Sheridan deserves a dose of life); Penny Lancaster, Tia Carrere, and Michelle Williams just popped; The Daily Show fake-news correspondent Samantha Bee is incubating something; rumor has it that Mira Sorvino is prego again, and Brooke Shields is all a-waddle.

And that's just a few. So maybe Kyra Sedgwick should be pregnant. Instead of tailoring your wardrobe to your womb, tailor your womb to your wardrobe.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

I'm happy Miranda July is out celebrating her film Me And You And Everyone We Know, but shouldn't she hustle back to her classroom? Gilbert's been pulling on Anne Shirley's braids again and calling her Carrots, and we all know how well that ends.

Q. What do you get when you take Mary Poppins, add a dash of Merry Widow and a soupçon of Sevigny, divide it by a smidge of Queen Victoria, and mix it together with 1980s boardroom couture?

A. Emilia Fox.

And although I've never met her, I'm confident her breasts appreciate the sleep mask she's provided them so that they can nap through Britain's Independent Film awards.

Well,  isn't it nice to see that America's Current Next Top Model Naima McNoPersonality has learned how to pose so that her no neck is concealed and her body is displayed to its best advantage?

Oh, wait.

Well, at least she's not wearing the Contempo Casuals dress my best friend wore to the prom in 1993.

Oops, never mind.

Well,  at least she's got that lustrous, glorious, flattering hair.

Yikes, scratch that. (Seriously, what's with the sideburns?)

One of two things is happening here: a) Naima is desperate to get out of her "modeling" "career" and is therefore gallivanting all around town looking like refried ass in the hopes of getting canned, or b) there is no other possible explanation for this.