July 2008 Archives

Has Katie Holmes actually pegged her jeans? AGAIN?


[Photo: INFDaily.com]
Just checking.

We've individually featured several of Maggie's Dark Knight press-tour outfits on this site -- like the weird blue and black one, the bra dress, and oh, that billowing jumpsuit from hell -- and concluded that many of them are not to our taste. However, if you step back and view them together, with an eye toward inferring something about her style... yeah, it won't help. Isn't the idea to make a statement without saying a word?

[At least] Anne Hathaway's Get Smart looks each seemed cleverly chosen to rub her ex-boyfriend's nose in her unavailable hotness; similarly, when Gwyneth Paltrow promoted Iron Man, her endless string of super-short minidresses helpfully reminded us that she's still a relevant, sexy woman with legs for weeks, rather than just Madonna's musty old macrobiotic-loving best friend.

Click through to the whole column, if you so desire, to share in our confusion. Hey, maybe you can interpret her style gibberish.

I have some conflicting feelings about Pamela Anderson. For one thing, I used to suspect she was really quite savvy.  But lately, her shtick is wearing thin. For instance, her new reality show, Girl on the Loose? At 41 years old, is it really that brilliant for her to be marketing herself as a girl on the loose? Isn't it about time for her to be a Grown Woman Whose Maturity Only Makes Her Sexier and More Desirable On the Loose? -- although, admittedly, that's not quite as catchy.  Basically, at a certain point, running around without pants starts looking kind of desperate, and every time I see the billboard for this show, in which Pammy is wearing naught but a bodysuit and a hat, I don't think, "Wow, that is an amazing example of how you can grow and mature without losing any of your allure"; I think, "That is so sad." I'm not saying she needs to put it away because - gasp! -- she's over 40. On the contrary, the Sexy Woman of a Certain Age trend is one of my favorites (thank you, Helen Mirren), not least because eventually we'll all be of a certain age and I don't think any of us are planning to shelve our cute jeans for muumuus. I'm saying she needs to keep putting it on the table, just in a new and different way.  We all need to slightly reinvent ourselves occasionally, right? Which is why I was pleased to see this:


[Photo: Splash News]

Lately, it seems like everyone is wearing either an Herve Leger bandage dress, or a loving imitation of the iconic style -- you know, the one that really does look like you sucked in your gut and then let someone mummify you in a variety of brightly colored wrappings. They're often super cute dresses on their own, but after seeing a string of tiny actresses wear them with mixed success at Fashion Week and hearing several of them chirp something about how absolutely anyone can wear these, I have to say: Really? Are you sure? Because they seem pretty unforgiving to me.


[Photos: INFDaily.com]

Of course, it doesn't help her that those dark triangles are all conspiring to make sure we stare at her womb. What's next? A version that has a big sign on the back that says, "HEY, CAN YOU SEE MY PANTY LINE? NO, SERIOUSLY, CAN YOU? WILL YOU PLEASE LOOK HARDER?" But regardless: This is Blake freaking Lively. She has one of the most enviable figures in the land. She's perfect the way she is and can look beautiful in a tangerine maxi-dress that would make most people afraid of the Tropicana company coming to juice them. In fact, Blake doesn't even necessarily look BAD in her Herve Leger, especially from the boobs up; however, I would argue that it's not doing lower curves any particular favors either, and maybe even widens her unfairly.

So if THIS genetically gifted specimen isn't receiving many favors from her bandage dress, there must be zero hope for the rest of us. In fact, I think those front-row Hollywood starlets -- hang onto your hats -- might have been LYING.

Dakota Fanning is 14 now, which means that we're probably about six months away from a crack pipe tumbling out of her purse, a photo shoot in which she dresses up like Jessica Rabbit, and an accompanying interview with copious f-bombs and the announcement that she really digs Goldschlager.

Hell, never mind -- by this industry's standards, we're actually probably six months OVERDUE for all that. It's so refreshing to see her looking like a nice young girl.



She's adorable. Seriously, Ali Lohan is only two or three months older than Dakota, yet she looks like she's Lindsay's 32-year old sister. I once saw a photo of that kid at age 13 at a beach party, standing next to her "mother" in full makeup and a bikini so small you could roll it up and hide it in your nostril. When I was that age, I wore t-shirts over my bathing suits if I thought there was even a SLIGHT chance I'd be swimming around boys. It's just... I can't relate.

So three cheers for Dakota Fanning. I don't care if she's an old soul or secretly still playing My Little Pony in her room at night when her parents think she's sleeping. I want to hug her and reassure her that nightclubs aren't even really very fun, that liquor before beer only theoretically keeps you in the clear, and that her skin will thank her for resisting the urge to rage. Hip, hip, hooray.

I have been thinking about this Alexis Bledel look from the premiere of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants II: Pantapalooza since yesterday.

I have some questions. One: why does Mischa Barton keep landing covers? She isn't doing ANYTHING INTERESTING. In fact, I think one of her most recent films went straight to DVD. I'd argue that she's never been more irrelevant than she is right now. And I find it hard to believe that -- for their 20th anniversary issue -- Marie Claire couldn't rustle up someone more compelling, someone more current, someone with something to promote for their cover. Keira Knightley too busy calling Sienna Miller and warning her that frolicking naked with a married guy is kind of bad PR? Emma Watson too busy filming Half Blood Prince? Helen Mirren  too busy parading around being awesome? Fine. But this brings us to question number two: when Mischa Barton lands a cover despite having nothing of interest to bring to the table whatsoever other than her pretty face, why does she go and do that to her pretty face? She looks like she just Hoovered through a tray of bad seafood. And despite the cover's instructions, that is a party for no one.

[Photo: WENN]

BENJI: Ready to go, Paris?

PARIS: Word.

BENJI: OK, let me just unlock the car.

PARIS: SNAP, dude.

BENJI: What is wrong with you?

PARIS: Nothing. I'm hip.

BENJI: Really.

PARIS: Yes. We're, like, takin' it to the streets in a Hybrid. I am way cool and I want to save the Izod layer.

BENJI: You mean ozone layer?

PARIS: Whatever. Dig it, Jack -- I'm in a SUIT, I look like a freaking lawyer, but my hat keeps it REAL, because I am real. I want to go to go to wherever this iPhone layer is and I'm going to save it. Maybe by taking photos with orphans. I'm, like, out here fixing people's lives.

BENJI: I'm pretty sure shorts and a vest don't all count as a suit. Also, we're not doing charity work. We're shopping.

PARIS: Yeah, and I am pretty sure that changed at least one shopgirl's entire world, because now she has, like, my autograph, and knows what I smell like. Now stop bugging me, and either get me pregnant so I can change THAT child's life, or go away.

BENJI: Tempting.

PARIS: Which one?

BENJI: Both.

I've got no love for jumpsuits, and I'm no fan of the Kardashians, so I suppose it's only natural that the twain should meet.


[Photo: WENN]

It's like a big puddle of meh. I don't WANT to keep up with the Kardashians, no matter how hard E! tries to convince me otherwise, and I REALLY don't want to be assaulted by silky jumpsuits straight out of the Swingtown costume department unless Grant Show's magnificent mustache is two feet away. Those are my terms, Kardashian. Now either go forth and procure him or go home and change.

For a while I was undecided enough about this to make it a "Fug or Fab," but then the following happened: I got a huge headache, and a 5.8 earthquake hit southeast of me and lasted for a very long-feeling 30 seconds, knocking some stuff crooked on my walls. When I came back to my computer, I hated the dress. Perhaps this is the Earth's way of nudging me toward a conclusion.

From the neck up, America Ferrera is hot:



From the neck down, though, I've decided that I am clearly SUPPOSED to like it, and yet I will not give in to its chicanery. The fit around her boobs looks really off, like they're being squeezed into a tube; the black bar looks like an afterthought, as if Tim Gunn had just floated by the designer's station and said, "I'm worried. It's boring. Work very hard on adding some interest"; and the shoes -- gorgeous on their own -- are distracting here because they're too close-but-not-quite to the dress color. She should probably just go ahead and send those over to me.

And it's just so very swirly. And shiny. And SWIRLY. Which is not always bad, but somehow here it's got me both squinting and cursing that I was born with a propensity for seasickness -- although the fact that my floor was rocking back and forth may not have helped. With those same shoes in black and maybe a shrug of some kind, maybe the fabric might not have distracted me as much. I don't know. I need a drink. All my pictures are crooked on the wall. Maybe the quake dented my brain. This fug is brought to you by the letter AAAAAAAARGH, the glass of Bailey's I'm about to drink, and the hyperactive tectonic plates of Southern California. I guess America Ferrera can at least say that what she wore to the Hooray, Magic Pants: More Trouser Magic premiere made the Earth move.

I admit that when this photo popped up on my computer screen, I gasped, "Oh my god," to the empty room. My Dylan McKay doll raised a brow, but other than that, I got no response from the universe. Which is fair, because I don't know that this really deserves a response:


She looks so glum. And I get it. While her dress/shirt is actually kind of cute on its own, it is seriously just too short for her and looks like it's riding up. Go up a size and down an inch, and you'd feel so much better, I'm just saying. Seriously. No one knows what size you're wearing but you -- don't you ever watch What Not To Wear on random Sunday mornings while you're eating a bagel and wondering why, no matter how often you use the Swiffer, that part of the floor under your one armchair always looks totally disgusting? You should. It's very educational.  And with those depressing, unseasonable brown tights? God. I'm getting depressed just looking at her. Would someone please bring me a danish? Make it two.

Emma Watson snuck in at a #15 seed for Fug Madness because of her tendency to overdo things: fussy dresses, clunky shoes, odd fits, and sometimes choices that were oddly matronly in the face of her very young age. Now that Karl Lagerfeld has turned his stern attention to her by making her the new face of Chanel, I think we might be in for some awesome and some CRAZY ensembles in the future, so for now I'm just happy to see Emma walking the line between maturity and youth:


[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

She looks cute and cool and unfussy, with a minimum risk of sweat stains -- perfect for an outdoor polo event. It's a bit quaint, perhaps, and the random string dangling from her skirt is perhaps not my favorite part -- combined with the lace, it gives off the impression that her skirt is slowly unraveling -- but on the whole, I'll cheerfully take this ensemble over pairing slouchy boots with a bad Hogwarts home-ec project. Wouldn't you?

Oh, AmTamb. Please tell me this is some kind of a joke. You seem smart. I feel like you could potentially be the sort of person who would wear a possibly polyester, high-waisted jumpsuit with complicated shoulder holes because you think it's high-larious:

Seriously, is Aubrey O'Day bored? I thought she was taking a break from Danity Kane to do Hairspray. Are you telling me she has no time to work with the band that made her famous while she's on Broadway, but she DOES have time to hang out at TRL and chit-chat all the time wearing dresses with built-in capes?



Maybe not the best use of her time. I'm just saying.

This is, however, better than any of the t-shirts, headbands, and briefs Aubrey is selling (because these days pretty much any person with a Mystic Tan account also has a clothing line). We should all say a quick prayer of thanks that Aubrey has decided not to run around town hawking her own wares. But the tragedy of it is that ANTM winners Jaslene and Caridee were dragged into the fracas. It's like Aubrey's only editorial directive was that all the girls should hang open their mouths in a semi-drugged stupor:

JUSTIN BRUENING: Well, hello, Deanna.

DEANNA RUSSO: Hi Justin. Remind me why we're at Comic Con again?

JUSTIN: Because our first attempt at making Knight Rider into a series was so comically awful?

DEANNA: Maybe the series we're doing will be better!

JUSTIN: HA! I mean, yes. I didn't realize you were playing my mechanic, though.

DEANNA: Am I? To be honest, I'm not really paying attention. I have no idea what we're doing any more.

JUSTIN: Oh, crap, me neither. But I assumed. I mean, you're in, like, designer coveralls. But short. Maybe don't bend over the engine.

DEANNA: And you should be careful not to walk near any open flames. With all that product in your hair, it's like you have 1000 little wicks up there.

JUSTIN: And what are those -- high-heeled open-toed bowling shoes?

DEANNA: Why do your jeans look like you waded here?

JUSTIN: Don't sass me, kid.

DEANNA: Or what? You'll unleash some soap acting on me?

JUSTIN: Hey, at least I LEFT my soap. Didn't you get dumped by yours?

DEANNA: ZING! Nice one. Although, maybe we should save our bickering energy for the show.

JUSTIN: Good idea. We're going to need SOMETHING going for us so that we're not the next Bionic Woman.

So, you've got the rompers. And you've got jumpsuits. And you're got Hammer pants. And you've got capris. So what do you call this?



Jummerpris? Romjumpants? A Hampersuit? Problematic? Romprisuitpants? I just want to know, is all. For future reference.

So, I don't know if you're SUPPOSED to wear a shirt with this:



But I kind of wish you would.

"OK, Fug Girls. You want a bra? Fine. I'll give you a bra."



"How do you like THEM apples, huh? Okay, so it's not quite a bra -- it's a '90s lingerie dress with an aggressive piece of lace over it that looks like I got a wicked sunburn this weekend -- but at least the boobs are propped up, right? So is this better than the blue thing, you judgy cows? Is it? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME, BITCHES?"

I always kind of hate it when Paris Hilton looks good.


[Photo: WENN]

I mean, it's not an outfit that revolutionizes my approach to life, or anything, but she looks good -- or at least, not stupid, like when she wears t-shirts with her face or her name on them. Sigh. It doesn't seem fair, does it? She's pretty much the Prom Queen of gross and tacky famewhores, so by all rights she should be guzzling too much spiked punch and then puking all over her dress and down Kim Kardashian's cleavage right in front of the principal, while Brody Jenner and his bros point and laugh and dump another mickey of rum into a bowl of Hi-C orange. Double sigh. Credit where credit is due, I guess.

Does this mean I'm growing up? I hope not.

A tip:

[Photo: WENN]

If you, like Shamika Cotton here, are not ACTUALLY an American Teen, leave the tie-dyed t-shirt dresses at Gap Kids where they belong. She is seriously about ten seconds away from being asked to slow-dance to "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by a 13-year old kid who bet his friends $5 that he'd "accidentally" graze her ass with his hand.

I know that tee shirt dresses are very on trend for the summer -- I read it in Who What Wear just recently -- but I think Kristin "Remember, I was the interesting one on Laguna Beach?" Cavallari is very kindly demonstrating the issues that can come along with them:


[Photo: Splash News]

Okay, Miley:


Let's do some guided imagery. Imagine yourself in New York, in late July (which is where you are, and when it actually is). Now, imagine yourself in this outfit. Now take off those surely steamy, overwhelming, cankle-tastic boots and put on some sandals. Wiggle your toes. Don't you feel (and look) better now? I thought so. Now, let's work on the cap....

I know Batman is a caped crusader with a secret identity, and that the film probes the concept of dual natures pretty overtly, but I don't think Maggie Gyllenhaal needed to underscore that by attending the Barcelona premiere in costume as a split personality.



This is what happens when a dressmaker can't make up his or her mind about what to do, flips a coin, and then loses it in the couch cushions: You get one gown with what might be a very lovely fabric, and a bizarre overlay whose own busy pattern fights the original design. It looks like her dress is wearing a coat. This is either a madcap stroke of financial genius, sure to make us all go broke when we realize we can't possibly leave the house in polite society until our shirt is wearing its own shrug, or completely freaking insane.

I really wanted to like this, too, after The Great Baggy Jumpsuit Catastrophe of 2008. But it also further demonstrates Maggie's brazen, ruthless disinterest in the dangers of gravity. Behold it from a different angle:

When my sister was getting married many years ago, I remember at one point someone in my family gifted her with a naughty cookbook for newlyweds that included recipes such as the "Caesar and Please Her" salad, and came with a transparent apron.

I think Marsha Thomason may have borrowed it.



I guess it's good that she's protecting her pink dress in case she goes home and decides to make something saucy, like chicken pat thigh or rack of Lambada, or coq au vin -- but I think she's missing the point of the see-through apron.

Earlier this week, MTV released a new trailer for the upcoming season of The Hills. After several careful viewings, we think we've figured out what's actually going to happen (as opposed to all the awesome, dramatic shenanigans they're implying will happen):

""What they want us to think: Love blossoms for the only cast member with an actual job ... but the guy lives in New York.
What's really going to happen: The flirtation with the cardboard male model (they both attended USC -- OMG, destiny!) goes nowhere, because Whitney's only function is to hang up clothing at People's Revolution while quizzing Lauren about her problems."

Check out the rest of our predictions on NYMag.com. And get ready to roll your eyes: it seems Spencer has grown a goatee.

Of all the premieres for Bai Ling to attend semi-inexplicably, the one for the X-Files movie seems the most apt. After all, our girl IS somewhat paranormal, and I want to believe that her truth is out there. Certainly she is not shy about exposing certain facts about herself.



Like, say, her nipples. Although her Band-Aids of Truth today seem to carry a message about love and humanity, so maybe she thinks that her shadowy areolae are the ultimate unifying gift to an unkind, divided human race that knows no compassion. Or, she just didn't realize they were showing.

Nips aside, the rest of this appears shockingly modest, almost like she is in the middle of choreographing a figure-skating routine that's an ode to amber traffic lights. But it's Bai, so there is always SOMETHING else going on -- and, in her words from her blog, "You have to go on line check out my dress tonigh, its insane, the back, you will be surprised...... Its french disgner, I love the yellow, its spring time and always happy." (That entire sentence is sitting in a big pool of [sic], by the way.)

Time to end the suspense. Let's have a round of applause for the back:

Bless Mariah Carey. She so wants us to believe this is effortless casualwear -- like she was out buying Lemon Pledge and Swiffer wipes and decided to pop by TRL just to say hi.


[Photo: WENN]

It's all very PTA Car Wash Barbie. Does that make Nick Cannon her Ken? It would at least explain the shocking -- SHOCKING! -- rumors of discord in their storied union. I wonder if "anatomically incorrect" is covered under "irreconcilable differences." 

Like so many people, I LOVE Christina Hendricks as sassy Joan on Mad Men, who has men and women alike smitten by her curvy charms. She looks terrific on the show, with her bold red lipstick and flaming hair, and so I always desperately want to love what she's wearing off-set -- I mean, I've got hips, I've got a touch of the strawberry in my hair, and I'm a fair-skinned wench. I could take pointers, right?

Or maybe not.



On one hand, the concept of the dress is interesting, with the sparklies and the pleats, and having a fan pinned to your boobs is kind of like built-in air-conditioning. On the other, I don't think it was such a hot idea to match the burnt-orange color to her hair AND her eye-shadow, because it just makes her look kind of puffy-eyed and tired. Plus, that dress is just BEGGING for some idiot at the party to spend the night tugging on the pleated panel to see if it makes the fan swing back and forth.

We have gotten A LOT of emails about this cover, to the point that I expected to see Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson here with tentacles coming out of her hair and a handlebar mustache. And while this is certainly not that bad, she does seem to have a rollicking case of Dead Eyes and Forehead Photoshoppery, which is a serious and very real crime. (In fairness, she does look very pretty inside on the inside of the magazine. This might also be a good time to point out that I covet her hair. ) So what say you?

I like to think of this look as Lazy Phoebe Price:

Given the number of times we mention The Golden Girls on this site, it should be no surprise what a sucker-punch to the gut we felt when we heard Estelle Getty -- the mighty Sophia Petrillo -- died today. It feels like only two weeks ago that we watched her in Mannequin, telling James Spader that she supported Andrew McCarthy so much, she didn't care if he "put a rubber glove on his head and [ran] naked around the store screaming, 'Hi! I'm a squid!'" ... Oh, wait. That WAS two weeks ago. And it was good.

In the Defamer entry on her sad passing, a commenter posted a link to this video, and we felt its brilliance easily deserved its own page. So get out your giant tri-focals, your wicker purses, and your orthopedic moccasins, and eat a slice of cheesecake in honor of the woman who brought us this.



Picture it: Los Angeles, 2008. Two sad bloggers and their weeping Intern scour Lifetime for reruns, and send good wishes to Estelle's family. Thank you for being a friend.

From the front, it's just another day at the office for Kate Walsh:



Cute shoes, casual dress, sparkly earrings, all good. I could live without the side ponytail, because Kate has no business borrowing hair tricks from CW teen soaps. But otherwise, this fairly benign outfit would have escaped notice had she not turned around for the cameras.

But she did.

Charlotte Ronson -- sister of Sam and Mark -- is a proper fashion designer (as opposed to the way that, say, Lindsay Lohan is a designer) and thanks to the efforts of my sweet lovers at ShopBop over the years, I know that, despite a penchant for rompers, she has created many a cute dress. Which is why I find this to be a rather alarming choice on her part:


I think I speak for all of us when I say, NO. Are you a sassy geriatric cruising the boardwalk, looking for a fellow retiree who still has all his teeth and is interested in playing bingo with you over a couple of classes of Jim Beam before noon? Then I can see it - and might want to hang out with you. But if you're a young designer whose goal is presumably NOT to look like an American Apparel mannequin gone terribly wrong...then we have a problem.

In the scheme of things, I'll admit this isn't the worst of all the garments into which Aubrey O'Day has stuffed herself.



But I can't look at it without feeling suspicious that the last time I played The Sims, I bought this rug for my caddish French brothers Jacques and Croque Monsieur and put it right by the pinball machine and the big-screen TV, the better to try and steal the mysterious Bella Goth away from her oddly disinterested husband Mortimer. It probably had a description like, "For the totally undiscerning man who wants his decor to say, 'I am desperate. For YOU. Or anyone.'" And when Croque led Bella over to the rug and tried to lay a handsy hug on her, I believe she shook her head violently, conjured a thought-bubble full of an airplane and a typewriter and a giant red X or something, and made the same noise a real human would make while chewing a mouthful of tripe. In other words, the rug Croque-blocked him. I can't decide if seeing it on Aubrey means my poor tragique Sim has a soulmate after all, or that she shops at a store for the totally undiscerning woman -- or both -- but I'm pretty sure that wherever Bella Goth is, she's having some SERIOUS red-X-typewriter-airplane flashbacks right now.

MOLLY SHANNON: And so I said to myself, "How can I dig INTO this character and really FEEL all of her, you know, feelings?"

SELMA BLAIR: Oh boy. I have a bad feeling about this. I'm pretty sure some people can't tell she's wearing pants.

MOLLY: Because, I mean, I play Selma's mother on Kath & Kim, but I'm only eight years older than she is, see? How am I going to find motivation in that?

SELMA: That is a lot of thigh. Should I say something? I don't want people to think she's sitting here in her underwear.

MOLLY: I mean, REALLY. Her MOTHER? I'M SO SURE, right? HA.

SELMA: If she would just shut UP for a second, I could invent something about how working with Molly has taught me all about formal shorts.

MOLLY: Like, THERE IS NO WAY. AT ALL. BECAUSE I AM NOT OLD. So obviously, I'm really having to dig deep here to get in touch with my cougar side.

SELMA: What if I accidentally knock water into her lap and force her to stand up? Or maybe I could yell "FIRE." They won't arrest me for that, right? I'm a celebrity. Okay, here goes...

MOLLY: So I decided the best way was to start wearing RIDICULOUSLY TINY formal shorts.

SELMA: Oh, thank GOD. I need a drink. And a raise. Although a firefighter might have been nice too.

There is nothing wrong with really LOVING something in your closet and recreating it over and over again. I, for example, am partial to navy blue, polka dots, and red handbags. And I accept that. However, one must be careful not to fall into too much of a rut. Lisa Rinna, I fear, is edging toward the precipice of Rutsville. Girl LOVES her leopard print. Voila, this week:


Sexy, well-groomed, tan, pouty: classic Lisa Rinna. And here she is on several recent events:



Mmmm. Something seems....so familiar here. Like all of these things are just like the other. What could possibly be making me feel thusly? I simply can't imagine. I wish I could put my finger on it. Now, does she look bad? Not at all. Should she maybe invest in something in a stripe? Couldn't hurt.

Maggie! You were doing so well! I saw you on The Daily Show the other day, and you looked adorable and were totally charming. And now? Revisiting the path Gwyneth Paltrow already traipsed MONTHS ago? Really?

The new 90210 hasn't even started and yet I already cherish it deeply. As you can imagine, the news that Shannen Doherty would be back as Brenda Walsh was met with great rejoicing here at GFY HQ. We sent Intern George out for bellinis and wheels of cheese immediately. Part of what is so delectable about the return of half the original cast is that you know the New Generation is kind of worried that they're five minutes away from being downgraded to tertiary characters who get minimal screen time while Kelly and Brenda wrestle in the West Beverly High swimming pool and argue some more about Dylan. Which could actually probably happen. Like, who has time to worry about the random problems of some girl who used to be on Degrassi when we've got the possible demise of Donna's marriage to David to consider AND then an hour later (or whatever), we need to concentrate on Chuck and Blair? But I have to say, I want to take one of the Extra Crispy Recipe cast members and crush her to my bosom with joy, because I can already tell she is going to be amusing. I speak of AnnaLynne McCord:

Oh my god, you guys! They're remaking Newsies?!


I can't believe no one told me!

I'm concerned about Emily Procter. Which is a big deal, because apart from that one episode of The West Wing where she was sort of okay, I haven't thought about her very much other than to wonder if the C.S.I.: Miami people had replaced her with a robot as some sort of strike-year middle-finger to the Screen Actors Guild.

Why am I concerned? Well, here is Ms. Procter from last year's CBS summer party.



There's almost something Early Faye Dunaway about it -- the hooded eyes, the retro hair, the cool demeanor. Stick her in a beret and Warren Beatty's trigger finger might start twitching spontaneously.

But this is what she looked like at this year's shindig:

"Hola, bitches! Um, it's... me! Jennifer Lopez! See how I pout and thrust out my chest! I can only glare at you with my eyes full of Sexy while you cower in fear of the power of my ruffles! My husband, dear sweet Matt... I mean, Mike... Marc? MARC. Marc wants me to dress like the night because... because... um... I hate you Ben Affleck! You are so...

"Crap. Forget it. This isn't working. Nobody is going to believe I am really Jennifer Lopez. I'm just so SICK of people asking me when I'm getting written out of Heroes, that I thought maybe if I wore a dramatic enough thing and slicked back my hair and pouted, I could pass myself off as J.Lo and maybe get a break. And a free limo ride, and maybe my own vampire or something. Sigh. And you know what the REALLY annoying part is?"

KARL LAGERFELD: Lens-monkeys! Snap me here standing with Wax Claudia.

CLAUDIA SCHIFFER: No, Karl, it's really me.

KARL: FLESH Claudia? Can it BE? My shock is written like the Kama Sutra on the page of my face. BOOKMARK IT. There will be an essay question. BRING CHEESE.

CLAUDIA: How are you, Karl? Are you enjoying yourself?

KARL: You look like a frail wedding cake sneezed on by an eagle, and this dildo bores me. TANGO.

CLAUDIA: Um, not right now. That's not a... that's an award, Karl. It's a trophy.

KARL: Pish. To be literal is to die. DREAM. BE the sex toy.

CLAUDIA: Maybe let's just get off-stage.

KARL: You are a vision of rigid ice. If I saw you in a harness I would say, "Hark! Send that woman a ham and some ointment."

CLAUDIA: This is getting awkward.

KARL: Embarrassment is the birthplace of lust, darling, and you are crowning. PUSH.

I understand clothes that are kind of silly, but really cute, and I also get the concept of stuff that's kind of ugly and cracked-out but highly functional (in certain contexts; I still maintain you need to leave your Crocs at home if you're going to be stepping anywhere near a red-hued carpet). But garments that are hideous AND dumb drive me to distraction.


[Photo: Splash News]

Giving Vanessa Hudgens the benefit of the doubt here and assuming she's got shorts on underneath that shirt, turn your attention to the ugly sleeveless Y-backed sweatshirt. What IS that? While I can't answer that question with anything other than wordless squeaks of bewilderment, I can at least tell you what it is NOT: attractive. Nor useful, nor warming, nor covering anything (like her bra, or ... her skin) that she might want hidden from the peeping eyes of the paparazzi. Okay, I suppose if she anticipated sprouting wings sometime that afternoon and needed a sleeve opening that would accommodate such an unwieldy mutation, we might be in business here. Or if she suffers from a rare body-temperature disease in which her shoulders and a strip of her back become instantly freezing upon contact with outside air, this top might come in handy. Otherwise, it's just... a pointless ugly sleeveless Y-backed sweatshirt. And as the saying goes, a life without purpose is a life wasted. Please, Vanessa, put the poor thing out of its misery before either a) the poor depressed garment takes to smoking crack and weaving friendship bracelets out of hair just to alleviate its existential angst; or b) Lindsay Lohan decides to make her own and sell them for $200 at Kitson.

Okay, I have a real, serious question here. Becki Newton's accessories: let's discuss.


SHE is adorable and I love the dress on her. I can also just read the In Style piece waxing bizarrely poetic about pairing turquoise shoes and earrings with the purple. (I stopped getting In Style regularly after the seventh identical article about self-tanning -- though I would never get on a plane without it, obviously -- but I assume they're still running that bit at the front of the book with like seven photos of celebrities in cowl necks or whatever and then an almost haiku-esque bit of copy full of weird poetic imagery re: cowl necks. I just couldn't take it after a while.) And the thing is, I do kind of like it. I like that it's more interesting than just black or metallic shoes. The blue works in a way that a lot of other colors wouldn't. And it's sort of fun and fresh. And then another part of me is like, "BUT IT DOESN'T MATCH."
 

Listen, Sarah Jane Morris, I know your character on Brothers and Sisters is having marital problems with Balthazar Getty, and I know that Balthazar Getty's ACTUAL wife is having marital problems with Balthazar Getty -- what with him being photographed every day rolling around in the sand grabbing Sienna Miller's boobs -- but you YOURSELF are not having marital problems with Balthazar Getty, so why are you wearing a sack?

To our endless sorrow, we can't find these incredibly strange photos of Katie Holmes anywhere in our own subscriptions. But for what it's worth, no, we don't understand her puzzling outfit either; as far as we can tell, there is no reason for her to be dressed like a dancer who's keeping warm backstage before her audition to play Chorus/Inmate No. 3 in Chicago.

However, we did find a photo taken on the FOLLOWING day, in which Katie arrives to shoot her Eli Stone cameo wearing the same hair and makeup.


[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]

So it's entirely possible that the large coif and ten pounds of slap from the FIRST photos are due to the fact that she's finally some semblance of a working actress right now, and the Cruise family wants everyone to know it, so she Katie is running around doing her errands without taking off her makeup from the day's shoot. I expect a ripe, juicy zit will be her reward for that.

The jeans and the tights under sandals, well, that's her own damn fault. Unless the Eli Stone writers gave her a part as a Cell Block Tango dancer who actually DID let her husband run into her knife ten times, and needs legal representation, and can only get it from a dude who may space out in the middle of her trial and imagine that George Michael is singing "Careless Whisper" in his ear. That would be interesting. Or at the very least it would absolve Katie of full responsibility for the pegged jeans. If that's not the case, then she'd better engage in a little creative finger-pointing soon, lest Karl Lagerfeld get wind of those pants and decide he doesn't dress plumbers.

You know, these events really need to start offering a mirrored staging area right at the start of the red carpet.



That way, when stars like Zoe McLellan arrive by cannon, they can at least check their hair.

LINDSAY! You're BACK! I mean, other than in tabloids that are breathlessly wondering if you might be gay because you've been seen canoodling with a woman! Multiple times! A woman with whom you live! And with whom you hold hands and buy groceries and have dinner and to whom you blow kisses when you leave the house for work! And whose last name you have adopted on your MySpace! (You do know that you can legally adopt it in California now, right? I mean, not to push you into anything before you're ready, but imagine the magazine covers you'd get if you got married! I'm just saying!!!!1!!!) I can't IMAGINE what all these things MEAN, but you're ALSO almost wearing a gay pride flag made into a shirt as a dress!

There is really something divine about Katie "Jordan" Price. I mean, this is a girl who does nothing halfway. Her skirts are short, her tan is very bronze, and she never shows up for a promotion -- of anything! -- looking like she just rolled out of bed. For example:


Bless.

And you know there's something special about a girl when your high-class photo service includes a detail shot...of her crotch (safe for work -- they didn't make her take her silvery unitard off):

We've already examined Lena Headey's head suit on the site this week; now let's take a look at everything below the forehead.



Is that cracked-out boarding-school movie she did, St. Trinian's, making an equally cracked-out sequel? Because while there are some who might call this streamlined and chic, for ME, it looks like Mary Poppins took a job as a headmistress at a posh but slightly depressed all-girls academy, where a cruel student prank (the likes of which would make Enid Blyton proud) left her with gangrene of the feet. Surely there's something in Ms. Poppins' magic bag that would've cured it. A spoonful of sugar? A jigger of rum? A magic hacksaw?

Parenthetically, can we talk about what a terrible backdrop this is? Where ARE they? A post-apocalyptic state fair?

NO ONE is more excited than we are about the return of Project Runway! Okay, probably the boys at Project Rungay have us beat. But, listen, we're stoked. Tim Gunn's soothing wisdom! Nina Garcia's withering stares! Michael Kors'...Michael-Korsiness! We take a look at the new season this week for NY Mag.com:

" Hard-core tanorexic Blaye referred to his tiny, diaper-tastic, deeply contrived onesie as "girlicious" so often that he probably owes Robin Antin royalties. Worse, he and Suede appear to be moonlighting on America's Next Top Christian Siriano, which is tiresome at best. Did we mention that Suede refers to himself in the third person? Stop that."

Click through to read the rest -- and comment, if you're so inclined -- at NY Mag.com

I can't pretend to understand the person who makes the guest list for the ESPYs. In addition to the usual amalgam of athletes and Playboy models, which seem to go together like chicken tikka masala and delicious yummy warm naan bread (I really, really should not fug on an empty stomach), there is always a completely random assortment of B- to Z-list "celebrities" whose attendance is more of a mystery.

Like reality TV's own I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-A-Kardashian, a.k.a. Brittny Gastineau, a.k.a. She Whose Name Really Relies On The "And Sometimes Y" Rule Of Vowels:



Okay, actually, I sort of understand how she got in the door: Brittny's father was a New York Jets defensive end who went to the Pro Bowl five times. But even so, I'm pretty sure she had to call someone and REMIND them of that in order to get this invitation, just so she could show up and maybe bump up against Brett Favre. I appreciate her attempt to add a sporting bent to her dress -- if Sasha Cohen ever does an exhibition skate to Donna Summer's "Bad Girls," this might come in handy, and it even looks like Brittny could be wearing nylons -- but unfortunately Brett might not be enticed by the cleavage if he is too busy trying to figure out why she stapled a napkin to her bikini line.

And then there is Alan Thicke, a noted Olympic gold-medalist in Sitcom Parenting and of course the current world-record holder in composing cheesy TV themes and game-show music:

Insert the usual blah blah about Kate Walsh here: She was great on Grey's, but turned into a weird Ally McBeal clone on Private Practice to our great dismay, we all miss the redder hair but this ain't bad, boy is she in good shape YADDA YADDA YADDA:



I just want to know why she's popped up wearing something that used to be a light fixture at the Bellagio.

We usually don't run photos of people in their bathing suits, but I am going to make an exception here. Because... holy CATS, Helen Mirren.


[Photo: Daily Mail Online]

Never mind that it's deeply unfair that Helen, who is twice my age at least, looks better in a bikini than I have done, currently do, or ever will. Because I can't hate her for it. I can only gape. My girl-crush is now full-fledged love. While we all knew she had a great figure and a timeless rack that she'd whip out during awards season, I don't think any of us were aware just HOW much her bod is -- as the kids these days call it -- bangin'. AND her bathing suit is cute. How do you DO it, Helen? With whose blood are you flavoring your morning tea? How much did Satan pay you for your soul, and may I have his number? Or does he read Craigslist?

I may be a tad late to this party, but apparently over the weekend Eva Longoria-Parker took some hedge-clippers to her hair and tried to Katie Holmes herself with a brand-new bob. Let's see if we think it worked.

First, let's just all refresh our memory with what she looked like before.



The guy behind her is thinking, "Such long, lustrous locks! I wonder if her L'Oreal hair-dye campaign reps would be pissed at her if she cut them off." Good question. And we are probably going to find out. Here is a photo of her hair now:

Here's Katie Couric at the premiere of Mamma Mia (I know, there's a plethora of Mamma Mia around these parts today):



She DOES know that, just because the movie's set in Greece, she doesn't have to dress like SHE HERSELF is in a movie set in Greece, right? Like, she will not literally be magically transported there? Which is a good thing, because I learned from The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants -- a movie to which, I must admit, I DID wear magical jeans; the things they do to my ass! A miracle! Zing! Please tip your waitress! I'll be here all godforsaken week -- Greece is apparently full of small steep roads, and surely these overly long pants would trip her up. Although, if she WERE in a movie, she might trip and fall right in front of some dreamy Greek, who will help her to her feet...and to rediscover what it feels like to love. So, hey, maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

You know, I have no problem with Rumer Willis. She's got some movies in the can, so she seems to be actually working, and she hasn't been arrested for smoking crack at a nursery school or using her church choir practices as a front for her phone sex operation or taking surreptitious camera phone pics of Ashton Kutcher in the shower and selling them to Star. And I think it's cool that she hasn't taken a cue from her mom and gotten tons of plastic surgery -- although in fairness, I must admit that Demi Moore looks kind of amazing. Like, bathes-in-the-blood-of-virgins amazing. Which would be a lot to live up to. HOWEVER (you knew that was coming), don't you think someone should tell Rumer that she's walking around with Pete Wentz's haircut?




Also, maybe, to tie her halter up a bit higher. But for serious. Check it out:

You might remember Maggie Siff from her stint on Mad Men as a department-store owner who hooks up with Don Draper. And personally, I would rather my memories be restricted to the awesome period costumes she wore on the show, as opposed to the alarming early-millennium-era outfit she's wearing here:



I can't tell where the dress fabric stops and the pants start. It's so confusing! Is it a jumpsuit with draping? Is it a dress over pants? What is it, Maggie? And why? WHY? My brain is rebelling against being asked to concentrate so hard on interpreting the evidence of fuggery here; it would much rather be put to important use, say, conquering the Rainbow Road course on Mario Kart Wii, or on what type of sandwich to eat for lunch. I'm not Fuglock Holmes over here, people. This is not F.S.I.: Fug Scene Investigation. And, to my endless heartbreak, I am not Angela Fugsbury, who stars as Jessica Fugcher on Fugger, She Wrote. Some mysteries are beyond my powers of deduction.

Some days, the words escape me. So I figure you can write your own fug with this one. I'll help:



"Hi everyone! Aubrey here. Do you like this [ADJECTIVE] thing coming out of my head? See, I had a [NOUN] with my [ADJECTIVE] hair extensions, and it made me so [ADVERB][ADJECTIVE] that I threw a giant [NOUN] and ended up with a HUGE [NOUN] on my [NOUN]. Hence the giant flower, which looks a bit like I [VERB]-ed my skull on a [NOUN], or on someone's [NOUN]. Or, wait, maybe that actually happened. I don't know. I feel a bit [ADJECTIVE]. But, hey, at least it distracts you from this dress, which is like a [ADJECTIVE] mosquito net mixed with a [NOUN] and then stuffed in the bottom of a [NOUN] so it could get properly [ADJECTIVE]. It totally still makes you want to [VERB] me, though. Admit it. You're totally [VERB]-ing about it. I look like the Hawaiian Tropic girl, except with more [NOUN]. Some people say I look like that [NOUN] Paris Hilton, but I think I'm way, way more [ADJECTIVE]. What do you think? Maybe if I [VERB] it up a little? Here:

After all the sturm und drang of Maggie's hidie Tatler cover, it's nice to see her bounce back with this:



All those dudes behind her seem to think so, too. They're all like,

MR. POLKA DOT TIE: THAT'S what I'm talking about!

MR STRIPED TIE: Did you see Secretary? It's a good movie. Amazing...storytelling. I...um, what were were talking about again?

MR. SUNGLASSES LOOKING ACROSS THE STREET:  Those men are pigs. I won't even justify their boorish behavior with a second look at that fine, fine woman. I am just going to look across the street and think about...baseball. Yeah, that ought to do it.

MR. LOOKING OVER THE SHOULDER: Hold the phone. Is that Maggie Gyllenhaal? Nicely done.

MAGGIE GYLLENHAAL: Please, enjoy the show.

A Peek Into the Mind of Lena Headey:



"This hair...might have been a mistake."

I dunno, Diane:


When I start to wonder where you've parked your gondola, maybe that's a sign that the hat is a bridge too far, if I may mix a metaphor. On the other hand, I admit to being intrigued by the physics that come into play when one pairs a weensy little cropped vest-top with...well, anything. Diane Kruger is blessed in that she doesn't have to call her girlfriends into the dressing room and say, "seriously, does this weensy little cropped vest-top make my back fat look fat?" the way most of the rest of the world would, but maybe she should have asked them if, when paired with her straw hat, it made her look like the boy who works Karl Lagerfeld's personalized water taxi. What a book that kid could write.

The next time Mary-Kate and Ashley decide to come out with a new clothing line, they should call it Walk of Shame. It would mix and match relatively normal-looking pieces with stuff that appears to have been excavated recently from the bowels of a man-closet:


[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

All she'll need to do is take a pair of scissors back into her boyfriend's house, and she'll have a whole horde of new pieces to sell for triple-digits at Barney's. Look for the legs that were once attached to those cutoffs to appear as a tube dress, or a pair of really flappy arm-warmers.

I hope she leaves the shoes behind, though. My first reaction when I saw them was, "I hope she put sunscreen on her legs." Yeow.

Here's the thing, Anne: We feel for you, but we're not suddenly blind with sympathy.


[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]

I really hate that the world is going through a phase where every fourth outfit makes me think, "Hey, I had that EXACT SAME THING when I was in [insert school year here]." It's disconcerting when Us Weekly looks like a page out of my old photo albums, minus a few designer purses and the Starbucks cups.

Beyond that, my sadness is two-fold. First, the kind of eating I want her to do does not involve her shorts gobbling up real-estate above the navel. It makes her torso look weird. And second, Anne... I don't know if you can tell, based on the gentle draft tickling your Promised Land, but those are SHORT:

I admit it: I harshly judged My Boys solely on the basis of last year's commercials and I decided I HATED IT and it was the worst show EVER and then I started watching it this year and it turns out it's really cute and funny. Once again, my knee-jerk first reaction to something is totally wrong. This happens often enough that I am beginning to think that -- in a modified George Costanza -- I need to decide to feel the opposite of my first impression, because I always change my mind anyway. However, it's hard to say if what the opposite of  "hmmmm" is, which was my reaction to My Boys' Jordana Spiro at TCAs:

She doesn't look bad, but I feel like she could look better. This seems like it's skirting the edges of dowdy, or that it's not doing her body the favors it could be doing. Or something. I don't know. God, can't someone just tell me how to feel?

Oh, Karina Smirnoff. I must admit -- even though I always think your name is "Karla" and have to look it up -- I feel for you, girl. I have been reading about your break-up from Mario Lopez for WEEKS and WEEKS and WEEKS in little tiny pieces in the tabs, and surely you are sick of that being the only story floating around about you, too. Ergo:

Haven't you heard? Unless you're a Vegas cocktail waitress, you either wear the super-short feathered mini OR the cut-to-the-navel top, not both. But this is going to help land you one of those "KARINA/KARLA: READY TO LOVE AGAIN" pieces, and goodness knows, that will be very refreshing for everyone.

Stop the presses! We thought we should let you all know that Lilo's Leggings Line is -- at last! -- for sale at Intuition. And it is all we could have hoped for. One pair -- charmingly called the "Mr. President Leggings" -- feature knee pads, presumably so you can wear them whilst gardening? Stay classy, Linds!



Another pair have stirrups, BUT are also the least expensive of the bunch at the low, low, low, low price of $99. For a pair of shiny, dry-clean only stirrup leggings. Because you're also using dollar bills to light your crack pipe.

 

And, finally, the piece de resistance, what Lilo is calling Leopard Ankle Gloves:

PARIS: Nicky! I thought we AGREED we were going to wear matching maxi-dresses with unseasonable pumps tonight!

NICKY: What's that noise? It almost sounds like someone is talking to me. But that's impossible, since there's no one else here.

PARIS: NICKY! Listen to me! Why aren't you wearing what I picked out for you? WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE MATCHY!

NICKY: Gosh, it sure is nice to have a night out alone, away from my super annoying bossy sister who is always trying to make me wear shiny shit from, like, Forever 21. It's refreshing to wear whatever I want. Even if that is a latex mini.

PARIS: PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEE!

NICKY: La la la, I can't hear anything.

It's so intriguing to me when a celebrity decides to attempt yellow. I'm one of the few people who truly hated it on Cate Blanchett a few years ago at the Oscars because I thought it was all wrong with her makeup and made her look sickly; I liked the shade Michelle Williams (the actress, not the Child of Destiny) chose when she was nominated because it was a rich hue but not so glaringly bright that her skin turned sallow. It's a tough shade to wear, and I for one am not brave enough to try. I am a coward (appropriately, a condition which would cause a mouthy Old West barkeep, or a cantankerous trash-talking Black Knight whose four limbs I had recently hacked off with my mighty sword, to call me "yellow").

So I love that Kelly went for broke here with the color. Most people run yellow lights, but I think this actually would stop traffic.


[Photo: WENN]

The choice paid off spectacularly: Not only does she look tiny and tall, but it complements her skin tone; plus, the subtleties of her styling allow both her and the dress to shine without competing with, say, a giant necklace, or strong lipstick, or a bolero made out of Sprite cans. Brava, Kelly. It's kind of a big accomplishment that you're wearing radioactive Simpsons yellow and I'm still compelled to look at your face.

Wow, two "Well Played" pieces in a row this morning. I'm in such a kind mood today. It must be because it's not 100 degrees outside. YET.

The Artist Formerly Known As Marissa Cooper is as hit-or-miss as a game of darts at the end of a beer-sodden Friday Happy Hour. But when she looks good, I often think to myself, "I wonder why she doesn't work more. Somebody should give her another TV job."


[Photo: WENN]

Then, of course, I catch a rerun of The O.C. on SoapNet, which cures me of that temporary insanity. But hey, at least she looks fantastic. Maybe someone could get her a part in, say, Mannequin 3: Plastic Makes Perfect, as one of the highly visible but ultimately silent supporting dummies that DOESN'T ever come to life. Everybody wins!

This week, we wrote our New York column all about Anne Hathaway's post-breakup revenge wardrobe, and how it's a brilliant strategy for throwing her slimy ex-boyfriend's relationship-ending misdeeds in his face as hard as possible.

If we'd had a month -- or even a week -- like that, we'd be on day eight of watching Ocean's Eleven while eating only ice cream and not brushing our hair. Instead, Anne has risen from the ashes looking like the proverbial $21 million bucks her ex needs to post bail.

For an examination of four of her Get Smart event outfits, click through to "Anne Hathaway Wages Her Chic Revenge." But the beauty of this timing is, right at the moment our column went up, we noticed a fresh batch of photos that indicate she's discovered new tools of vengeance.

Exhibit A: Nothing yanks the heartstrings of your ex and then pulls them out and around his throat quite like a little trip to Leg City.



I know, I know. Those might be formal shorts. That part doesn't make me so happy. But I'm willing to overlook it, given the fact that her ex of many years is now in prison for allegedly being a stank-ass liar; she is clearly going through an awkward time, and sometimes a broken heart can blind a girl to thinks like the perils of formal shorts. (I would also turn a blind eye to the potential shorts if she would next allow herself to be photographed eating some baked ziti with meat sauce, or something, because she's just getting skinnier and skinnier, and there is a point at which if she shrinks any more her face won't have any room left for her features.)

In general -- hoping desperately that it's just the camera angle and that she is in fact wearing a miniskirt -- Anne looks sort of relaxed and cool and nonchalant. And LEGGY. We're pretty sure that when this photo makes its way into a tabloid, one of the prison guards (or, if he gets out, an anonymous mailing mysteriously also scented with her perfume) will make sure Raffaello Follieri gets a copy so he can weep for that familiar hike up Gam Boulevard that will never happen again. It's like what every girl hopes will happen after a horrible breakup: looking consistently good every time she knows her ex might get a glimpse, so he can see how well she's doing and how smoothly she's moving on with her life.

Exhibit B fits brilliantly into that last point.

Oh sweet God, Jaslene:

My sweet Cha Cha Diva. My most favorite of the ANTM stable of winners. My darling child.  Why would you do this to me? Why why why why why? Why aren't you wearing a shirt? Just as a toaster is not pants, and a soap dish is not a purse, a blazer is not a shirt. It just isn't. I need to know why you're now dressing like Bai Ling. I fugged Bai Ling yesterday. I know Bai Ling. Jaslene, you are no Bai Ling. Please pull it together immediately. Thank you.

Jo Champa alleges to be an actress, but I think she may also sell magic rugs.



If you buy two, you get a palm reading and a complimentary jar of medicinal leeches.

And if you stay with us after the jump, you get something else for free. As you might have guessed from my incredibly subtle censorship system, what follows is Not Safe For Work. Meet Dave might be PG, but Jo Champa's dress is not, so if you follow the link, all bets are off. And -- spoiler! -- so are all Bais.

Apparently, the feud between Whitney Port and her ankles is contagious.


[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]


Is Lauren Conrad trying to punish herself somehow? Because sandals like that, aside from looking like they're trying to throw a pep rally, would drive me CRAZY. I get twitchy when a hair drifts out of my head and lands on my arm; I cannot imagine walking down the street having those horrible fringed fugtrocities thwacking the tops of my feet, or worse, grazing them lightly enough that I have to stop every two paces to make sure there is not some sort of venomous or vengeful insect making sweet love to my skin. Ergo, the only rationale I can think of is that her co-star Whitney's seething distaste for all things ankle has somehow seeped into Lauren's psyche and driven her to this very mild, but still tragic, form of self-flagellation. Maybe I should have an intervention with her, too.

It occurs to me that maybe we forgot to send Pammy that instructional pamphlet we had made up, Consider Putting On Some Pants.



We better get on that.

Dear Alicia Keys:

This is an intervention.



You have GOT TO STOP with the constant stream of unflattering skintight pants. They look terrible on you. Seriously. You don't HAVE to compete with Rihanna, you know, trying to be all space-age trendy and stuff. Just because she's hot doesn't mean you AREN'T; she just knows better than this. We see you're talented, we see you're fit, we see you're trim. You don't need to prove it with pants that look like you need an entire team of backstage interns just to get them up, or down, over your hips (although that makes going to the bathroom a more convivial experience, consider how much simpler it would be if you didn't have to fit twelve people in the stall with you). Maybe you think pants this snug force your voice into its upper register; maybe they make you more aerodynamic for when you jump onstage. I don't know. But they're not worth it. So unless you WANT to be for Monistat what Jessica Simpson is for Proactiv, get yourself to crotch rehab, stat.
 
Love,
Heather

We got several emails from readers this morning, bewailing Ms Selma Blair's recent TRL ensemble:

Usually, I can count on Chloe Sevigny for one of two things: looking shockingly awesome, or -- more often -- wearing something so weird that it reminds me all over again how she was one of the original icons of fuggery back when we started the site, thus enabling me to throw a cathartic tantrum. Rarely does she snooze it up for us by landing somewhere in between, and yet, I can feel the yawn rising in my chest:



Not that it's GOOD. No. Just that, given how Chloe's inspiration these days seems to be seasons 1-4 of 90210, it comes as no surprise to me that she's wearing wide-legged business trousers that, say, Brenda would've worn with a tie and Doc Martens while she was screaming at Kelly never to speak to her again. I'm mildly alarmed that it looks like she threw the pants on after synchronized-swimming practice, and the hair and makeup are doing her no favors, but overall it bores me. She's The Sev. Chloe Sofugny. Madam Fugigny. She has the skills! She ought to be wearing a dowdy housedress over the pants that's belted with a steering wheel. As it is... this is a poor use of her unique and special talents as an artisan of fug.

Although, in a way, that flares up my dormant righteous rage as much as anything. Yes, I think this outfit is lousy, but I'm also cranky that it's a LAZY form of lousy. Sack UP, SEV. Bust out your feathered hot pants and granny's high-necked lace blouses. Dust off your plaid spandex body-glove and paisley tutu. You were a Fug Madness semi-finalist, for Bjork's sake! Don't let your awful be so ordinary. DON'T YOU SEE WE NEED YOU?

Phew. I guess I sort of got my tantrum after all.

This is curious:



It's like her bottom half is going to dance class, and her top half is going boxing. I guess that's why she's so buff: Hours and hours of tangoing interspersed with punching people. I can't wait until they offer that at my gym.

Oh, Bai Ling! During a week when nearly no celebrity is out and about looking ridiculous for our pleasure, you can always be counted on to come through.

Coming across photos from the Gossip Girl set all the time can be sort of frustrating, as it seems to tease certain aspects of the plot. But fear not, fellow spoiler-phobes: The following stills are as as innocuous as I can make them. I mean, it should not be any surprise that Blair Waldorf may or may not be seen in an episode -- wait for it, wait for it -- ON HER PHONE.

[Photo: Splash News]

The skort is a slightly bigger surprise, although I don't know why -- Chuck Bass has already proven that it's been a very retro summer in The Hamptons. I should have figured that a skort, a shirt tucked in with almost military precision, and the bastard child of Docksiders and loafers would've come into play. (You would think Blair Waldorf, of all people, would be on Cankle Watch for herself and yet she still wears those shoes, which were invented by the Mayor of Cankletown. Bad form, B.)

While I know the clothes on this show are deliberately over-the-top, this ensemble made me feel 11 years old again, because I'm pretty sure that's the age at which I owned a green version of that skort and I thought it was the coolest thing ever to land inside a wrapped box on my birthday. It's fashion's version of the spork -- all the benefits of both, with none of the style. I'm not sure whether to laugh or pull out my hair in anticipation of The Gap deciding to mass-produce these in every color.

For anyone out there who picked the last option, you'll be pleased to know that I am nothing if not a giver. Behold:

[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]

GIORGIO ARMANI: Tina, Tina, TINA! Your dress! It's caught...

TINA TURNER: It's not a dress, baby, it's...

GIORGIO: No no, Proud Mary, do not finish that sentence. It's a DRESS and it's CAUGHT between your legs.

TINA: What? That's not...

GIORGIO: Caught, and then knotted at the knee like a tourniquet because they're bleeding. They bleed MAGIC and you're not ready to reveal your private sorcery. Say that.

TINA: But...

GIORGIO: SAY IT!

TINA: I can't. You're crazy.

GIORGIO: Tina, WHY? WHY do you do this to me? I tried to help you. Look at me! I'm pale with shock! I'm practically beige!

TINA: Is this a bad thing?

GIORGIO: You are Tina Turner. You make Oprah weep. You sweat GLORY. You do NOT need a jumpsuit made of harem pants. And you definitely do not need to ADMIT you are in a jumpsuit made of harem pants. We don't need another hero!

TINA: But I'm simply the best! You love me!

GIORGIO: What's love got to do with it?

TINA: Aw, G, I don't really wanna fight.

GIORGIO: Let's stay together. I can't stand the rain.

TINA: It's a dress. Caught between my legs. And then knotted.

GIORGIO: Good girl.

Nothing is harder than coming back from a long weekend. You're sunburnt, hung over, and you keep finding sand in the weirdest places. Nothing a little aloe vera and hair of the dog won't cure, but what about your post-vacay ennui? What could possibly pierce the gloom of being back at work?

We don't know, but we're pretty sure that shopping might help a little bit. So we've pleased to announce that all GFY tee shirts are currently on sale: $15 each, and as sunburn-friendly as ever.



Check out Glarkware's GFY store for all the juicy details and to fill up your shopping cart! And now, back to your regularly scheduled fuggings.

[Photo: INFDaily.com]

"Hola, it is your favorites here -- me, my Marc, and the twins! And my babies are around here somewhere too. HA HA! But seriously, do you not love my cleavage? Does it not bob like a balloon on the winds of love? My Marc, he said that I couldn't find a yachting caftan that still showed off my assets, but poor, sweet, hungry Marc doesn't understand my power. This is what Princess Leia SHOULD have worn, no? Forget the turtleneck and the Cinnabons, estupida! Oh, amigos, that movie would have been so different if I had made it. There was not enough FABULOUS, although that one old evil hombre had VERY hollow cheekbones, which is so sexy. I like to sip mimosas from Marc's when he is lying down. It is our little game! I drink from his cheekbones, and he drinks from my wrist. Sigh. We are so in love. Italy is muy romantica. Certain other couples are out there on a holiday weekend dealing with rumors that they are fighting -- probably about how she won't stop wearing sneakers, or he won't stop being Ben -- but Marc and I, we are SO HAPPY! Don't you see? We on our way to go boating! On the ship of some famous clothing designers! You don't see Dolce and Gabbana dropping by the Brentwood Country Mart to buy apple sauce! NO! They are waiting for ME on the deck of a SHIP! DRINK IT IN, STUPID BORING GIRL!"

It's always funny when paparazzi photos tell a different story than the one they --- and the subject -- thought they were getting. For example, I'm sure Favorite Fug Irritant Phoebe Price thought this series of snaps would beautifully illustrate her endless supply of charisma and glamour, thus leading to a starring role in a major motion picture. And I'm sure the paps thought, "well, there's no one else around. Might as well deal with Phoebe until someone actually famous shows up." And yet, these instead weave a tale of terror for one small boy just innocently trying to get a snack:



"Who is that lady in the stupid hat?" he thinks. "And does her dress..lace up the sides?"

"Mommy, I'm frightened. Why is that lady wearing those shoes to the beach? Hold me."

I love holiday weekends because of how they combine two of my favorite things -- holidays and weekends -- but when it comes to my day job, I hate them, because nobody leaves the house to do anything but buy groceries with Violet Affleck or take a boat trip in Portofino. And that's how we end up with photos like these, of Jim Carrey randomly deciding he doesn't get enough attention:


[Photo: INFDaily.com]

I guess during their day on the beach this weekend, Jim decided to put on Jenny's bathing suit. And maybe this would have been a truly hilarious prank if it didn't feel so played -- I mean, John Mayer did it first, sort of, when he parodied Borat's neon banana-sling in an actual timely fashion. JOHN MAYER. Isn't Jim Carrey supposed to be a comedian by trade? Remember when he was amusing on his own merits? I think I do, although I was in high school then, so the warming haze of Molson Special Dry could be coloring my memories with smooth amber love.

Anyway, right now I'm a lot more drawn to his work in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, because I would love for someone to swing by my house and clip out the memory of this sad photo. If someone had told Jim Carrey ten years ago that he'd be slipping into something his girlfriend just wore and strolling the beach just so people would look at him and laugh, he probably would've put his head in the microwave on the "popcorn" setting.

We celebrated our birthday on Tuesday, and tomorrow -- Friday -- it's time to give it up for America's natal day. Ergo, we, like so many of our fellow citizens, plan to spend that day lounging around and drinking beer and scarfing hot-dogs from the barbecue. As opposed to fresh out of our Hot Diggity Dogger Hot Dog And Bun Toaster, which is how we cook them every other time.

So in honor of all that, we leave for for the long weekend with a nod to something else that's timeless: Our Lady Of The Hurled Stemware, the one and only Joan Collins. Specifically, we invite you to witness the time her Dynasty character went to a honky-tonk bar during a jaunt to try and seal a major business deal, and decided to dance AND sing for the assembled grizzly cowboys -- which, naturally, piqued the libido of one Dex Dexter, who proceeded to try to take her to the cleaners AND to bed in the same day. (He failed.)(So he did it on separate days instead.)

Yes, this clip -- after the jump -- actually aired, and no, the apocalypse did not follow:

Kylie Minogue was awarded an OBE -- Order of the British Empire, a civil honor not as high as a knighthood (or a ... dameship) but still pretty cool -- today by Prince Charles in a big ol' ceremony at Buckingham Palace, and she picked this YSL dress in which to accept it.


[Photo: WENN]

It reminds me of the bulletin board my 3rd grade teacher decorated to explain the star-grading system in our journals. If I'm interpreting this constellation correctly, her boobs and left thigh get top marks for grammar, composition, and imagination; the right side of her waist is well above average; her navel is coming along just fine but maybe has issues keeping its "there/their/they're" rules straight; and her upper right thigh and left shoulder... sure are out there trying, and are really sweet, with a great personality.

But she's not all spackled up within an inch of her facial pores' lives, so that's good. And it covers everything that should be covered; props up that which needs propping. Plus, today is basically Friday for me, since we have a long weekend, so I'm in a good mood. But is all that enough that I should give her a pass?

Dear Jessica Simpson,

The rumors that you've heard are true: I am starting to feel for you. All the tabloids are obsessed with your love life, and acting like you're about six seconds away from dying a dried up old spinster crone if you don't get married again RIGHT NOW. You're not even thirty! No one's complaining about how Nick Lachey appears to be dating someone who hasn't had an actual job other than going on vacation for like three years. Can't they give you a break? So in honor of my recent feelings of fondness for you, I am going to do you a solid:

It seems impossible, but somehow I missed what our girl Alison Goldfrapp wore at Glastonbury.



It looks like she goldfrapped a Maypole.

I continue to be perplexed by Trinny's need to wear a dress over nearly everything she owns:


She does this ALL THE TIME, despite the fact that it's no longer 2006. I'm sure there's some reasoning here about giving her slim frame "extra curves" or some such -- if I were at all organized, this is where I'd quote from one of Trinny and Susannah's very amusing books, except for the part where I can't find them.  I could provide a quote from the new Gossip Girl series, an old copy of Allure, or Rick Bayless's Everyday Mexican, but I fear this is one problem even tacos can't solve -- as I think they're always talking about that, but at this point, I am beginning to wonder if maybe she just have a rampant shirt phobia. She's a raging anti-shirt-ite, and it's got to stop!

If New York Fashion Week is like a good wine bar, then the couture shows and menswear collections are like a huge, debauched absinthe party -- there's everything from achingly gorgeous gowns to stuff that really puts the "high" in "high fashion." And since Hollywood is full of celebrities and stylists who -- for better or worse -- get their hands on some of this stuff for the red carpet, we decided we'd try to guess in advance who'd wear what.

"Jennifer Lopez is lovely in Marchesa, sure, but we miss the demi-nudist J.Lo, who would storm the Grammys in the couturier's theatrical translucent tiger print. And with Victoria Beckham's low body-fat percentage and high pride in her waxer, we almost expect to see her in this see-through number tomorrow. At Whole Foods."

Hop on over and read the rest of our column -- "Which Celebs Can Pull Off Couture?" -- if you dare, and be sure to check out the slideshows. John Galliano's alone will make you squeal with mounting glee, especially when you think about how fetching Intern George will look in a hat with a sword on it.

I have many questions.



One: I actually don't hate the concept of the dress, but did Janet KNOW it was see-through, thereby governing her choice of a bra in what appears to be the exact same shade of brown? Don't you think she might instead have chosen a camisole, or a slip, or -- and I know this is crazy-talk, but here goes -- a dress that wasn't see-through at all? These are things she can control -- which she clearly knows a little something about, since she named her debut album after it, and how DARE she lie to us through song.

Two: Why is Jermaine Dupri escorting her to a fancy couture show in Paris wearing the kind of pants you keep at the back of your closet, or in the garage, for when you have to paint the bathroom and don't want to screw up your real clothes?

Three: I love a big bag, but why does Janet need one that massive? What could she possibly be sneaking into the show? A rotisserie chicken? A juicer? Whatever potentially rabid dog may have mauled Jermaine Dupri's pants? Luxembourg? I MUST KNOW.

So here's the thing: It's a little hard for me to be objective about Kerry Washington, because in the last year or two her face has been doing that off-putting tight-lipped Nelly Furtado thing where she always looks like she's smiling through root-canal pain, or as though she just realized she accidentally put on her Bog Of Eternal Stench-scented deodorant today. Ergo,  I can't promise my opinion about Kerry-adjacent things, like her clothes, is going to be unbiased. But I am pretty sure I have a legitimate, non-stinkface-related cause for concern here.



Separately, these pieces might be lovely -- the skirt and shoes in particular seem kind of girly and romantic. But I don't think the two halves belong as a whole. The top is a gentle lemon sorbet, and the bottom is ice cream from a tub where you've been using the same scoop to dig into bins of five different flavors and so there's bits of them all contaminating each other's containers and melding together into a muddy Pistachio Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla Peach Melba Swirl flavor. You wouldn't put that accidental sundae in a dish and serve it as dessert, unless it was called Queasy Like Sundae Morning and came with a complimentary bucket.

I don't know. I just think this looks uncomfortable:


Malinda Williams looks great in this color, but the idea of sitting down in that belt just seems like it would be totally agonizing. It would poke into all your delicate squashy bits, both north and south, and I personally like to let my squashy bits do their thing unmolested by my accessories. On the other hand, it's probably awesome for your posture, so at least there's that.

God. I wish Cosmo would devote more editorial space to sex. I am SURE they're leaving something out. They're got "Why Men Cheat in August," but I need to know why men cheat in July and September as well.  I will apparently be "shocked...and intrigued" by how dirty his mind is, but will no one tell me how dirty his apartment is?! And, most egregiously, while apparently page 200 will teach me a trick for SEXY EYES (which I suspect are probably the close cousin to CRAZY EYES), where is the article on SEXY HAIR? I guess, judging from ScarJo's hair in this photo, sexy hair has been supplanted by hair that looks like you accidentally put too much product into and then went to the gym.

[Photo: Splash News]

GUY: Oh, WOULD you hurry up, Queen Madge? We've got a reservation to make.

MADONNA: Listen, Jethro, I've got problems. My satin formal shorts are falling down and my knee's modesty hose are riding up, and when that happens no one can SEE my tights so I need to yank everything up and down and all around so people understand the STATEMENT that I am trying to MAKE, so just LET ME MAKE IT.

GUY: What statement is that? That knee hose are ridiculous? GET ON WITH IT.

MADONNA: May I remind you that you are Guy Richie? And that I am mother-f'ing MADONNA?

GUY: So just because you used to wear cone bras, you can do whatever you want now?

MADONNA: Pretty much, Skippy.

GUY: ...Yeah, I am never going to win this argument.

MADONNA: Nope.

GUY: Carry on.

This afternoon, Heather and I realized that today -- July 1, 2008 -- is Go Fug Yourself's fourth birthday. If this blog were a person, she'd be going to preschool and dressing herself, probably nearly as well as some of the people we've featured over the years. Needless to say, when we started GFY, we had no idea we'd be here four years and countless hissyfits later, and with all snarky bitchery aside, we're tremendously thrilled that we are. It wouldn't have happened without our amazing, awesome readers, and we're so grateful that you guys are checking us out when you're supposed to be working (or washing dishes or exercising or translating Proust, or whatever). You are, to quote the great David Silver, so precious to us; we hope we are precious to you.

As a gift, we present one of the most sterling works of the aforementioned David Silver. No, not his infamous performance of "Precious." Instead, we'd like to inflict upon you -- um, we mean, delight you with -- perhaps one of the most awkward, poorly costumed and excruciatingly choreographed moments in television history, as well as what we suspect might have been the tipping point for Shannen Doherty's descent into on-set assholery. (YOU try being nice to people after you've had to do this on national television.) The video treat is after the jump. Enjoy! Watch it twice, three times, whatever -- it's our birthday; indulge yourselves.

For about an hour now I've been gazing at this photo of Queen Latifah, wishing she were at a Pirates of the Caribbean event so that I could crack, "No, honey, it's 'Pirates,' not 'Pilates.'"



Alas, she's just at the premiere of Hancock, which doesn't lend itself to hilarious and easy workout puns. You'd think she could've shuffled around her schedule so that she didn't have to hit the red carpet on laundry day; maybe the fact that she's dressed to flee doesn't bode well for the anticipated quality of the movie. Indeed, you might say she's expecting it to be a real downward dog. ZING! Thank you! I'll be here all week! Try the chicken and tip your bartender.

So Patricia Arquette is off in Paris at the couture shows, looking arguably far fiercer than ever before (possibly because she's being dressed by people who know what they're doing):

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, her husband Thomas Jane has apparently taken the phrase "meanwhile, back at the ranch," FAR TOO LITERALLY:

WILL: God DAMN, we are hot.

JADA: Hell yeah, baby.

WILL: We are the wickedest couple in the history of badassitude.

JADA: Not to mention dappertasticness.

WILL: And slickocity.

JADA: Sexification!

WILL: Jiggyificence!

JADA: Brangelina WHO?

WILL: TomKat WHAT?

JADA: Asslete? NICE TRY.

WILL: Davitoria Spiceham? I THINK NOT.

JADA: DAMN RIGHT.

WILL: Get back to me when THEY own July 4.

JADA: They would have to buy it off you for $100 million.

WILL: This town is OURS.

JADA: We are FINE.

WILL: Drink it in, Hollywood, because you are about to go on the 21-Day Smith Cleanse!

JADA: Next up: taking over the Hollywood Bowl with my band!

WILL: ... Okay, let's not talk crazy, now. Maybe let's just keep looking fly.

JADA: Oh yeah? Well, just remember who classes up your plaid ass.

WILL: Brad Pitt wears vests that match his suit.

JADA: And how did THAT go for him?

WILL: Point taken. Game, set, and match to my lady.

JADA: Damn skippy.

So, there's "I'm Charlize Theron, and as such, I look good in just about anything," and then there's "I'm Charlize Theron, and I'm so tall and hot that I could show up in a dress that shoves my boobs down to my navel and is thinner than one-ply airport toilet paper, and pair it with bedazzled flip-flops, and you will SUCK IT UP AND LIKE IT."



I'm thinking this one falls into the latter category, and you know what, Charlie? I will NOT suck that up, even if you hand me a bendy straw and tell me it's Diet Coke.

Why is Amanda Seyfried so cute to me? I don't even know. Maybe it has something to do with how hilarious she is in Mean Girls. She's also very good on Big Love. Maybe I have been seduced by the Mamma Mia preview, during which I had the following response: "This looks TERRIBLE. Is that Meryl Streep? But wait...no, this is so cheesy. Although...no, it's....hang on. I feel so confused. ABBA....Colin Firth....Meryl is singing...wow, does that jumpsuit have bell bottons? What's this strange emotion sweeping over me. HANG ON. It feels like...delight. SHIT. Now I think I have to see this movie." I couldn't help it. I listened to a LOT of ABBA Gold during college.  And so I must admit that even though Amanda Seyfried's dress here doesn't quite fit her, as far as I can tell, I think she looks pretty adorable.


What? You listen to "Waterloo" a couple of times and see how you feel afterward. I'll tell you how you'll feel: cheery!