September 2008 Archives

There was so much on Gossip Girl that was inaccurate about Fashion Week last night. For one thing, Heather and I rarely have the kind of awesome seats Eleanor Waldorf gave us:

It's always a relief when Katy Perry isn't wearing hot pants, or tight satin, or outfits with unexplained airplanes all over the place.


[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

Although maybe that just means my standards for her are far too low, and she could leave the house in a purple bedsheet and I'd praise her to the heavens for not acting like the flesh incarnation of Betty Boop. But honestly, I think she looks cute here. It's still a bold color, the coat is kind of edgy without being garish, and even the length doesn't stumpify her the way it might a lot of other people. It's almost -- dare I say it -- classy. And definitely still fun.

Or in other, more punny words, I unfugged a girl and I liked it.

I have been back and forth on this, because on the one hand, Dita Von Teese pulls off things that mere mortals cannot -- and you have to give her props for being consistent, and consistently off-beat.

But on the other hand:


[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

I wouldn't have given this outfit another look -- well, except to confirm that her pants are hemmed properly -- if not for the lady top hat glued to her forehead. As innately glam as Dita is, I still can't quite escape the feeling that she's been appointed the ringmaster of the Mad Hatter's Fantabulous Wacktacular Dormouse Circus and Tea Shed.

So, I was having my usual Monday night -- deep-conditioning my hair, watching Gossip Girl, eating delicacies wrapped in bacon, drinking heavily, worrying about my investments, thinking about boys, and catching up on my blog reading -- when I came across this particular delicacy (thanks to Girl With a Satchel). Cleo is an Australian magazine, and it looks rather entertaining, although I suspect I always think foreign magazines seem more entertaining than American ones just because I can't find them easily here and they therefore remind me of the kind of kicky vacation I cannot afford. That being said, I am pretty sure -- just from reading the cover! -- that I HAVE "shoppers dysmorphia," and also that I probably need to read about penis sprays, if only so that I can turn to my dining companions the next time I'm at brunch and go, "So I was reading this article about penis spray..." But we need to talk about J. Simp.  Sweet merciful hot pants, I will give someone a dollar if they can get Jessica Simpson to appear on a magazine cover without looking like (a) someone just hit her on the head with a two-by-four or (b) as if she's a Fem-Bot whose settings are stuck on KILL WITH EXTREME BOREDOM. Really, a whole dollar. I know it's not much, but shouldn't we all be taking what we can get right now?  

LILY ALLEN: Hey, Emma.

EMMA WATSON: LILY!

LILY: What's up? You sound upset.

EMMA: Are you going to Dior today?

LILY: Yeah.  I'm walking over there right now.

EMMA: ME TOO. I'M SCARED.

LILY: Why are you yelling?

EMMA: I don't know.

LILY: Can we just talk when we get there, love?

EMMA: No. I told you, I'm scared. I'm scared you're going to show up with pink hair or wearing some kind of crazy dress with Bambi roasting on a spit or something and we'll be photographed together and people will think I approve. I need to know if I should bring a bag to put over one of our heads.

LILY: First of all, why don't you worry about YOURSELF? You could show up wearing some kind of wizard robes and carrying a magic stick.

EMMA: I've NEVER worn my Harry Potter costume out and about. And it's called a WAND, for your information.

LILY: Whatever. You've totally gone out in some crazy shit and I don't care. Loosen up, babes. For what it's worth, I look swell today.

EMMA: Well, so do I.

LILY: Really?

There are times when I look at Mischa Barton and I think, "Mischa Barton, why are you still famous?"



It certainly can't be because we're all so enamored of her fringed jackets - this one, I believe, may actually be trimmed in dog -- and sour expressions, can it? Maybe it's because her constant hat/hair combos of late have started reminding us all of Bret Michaels, and we're just waiting for the inevitable moment when she bursts into a verse of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," THAT is going to be awesome.

I've developed quite an affection for Rachel Bilson, due in part to how cute she was on The O.C. and in her Chuck episodes last season, and also because she's been looking super cute lately and I've got a serious case of wardrobe envy.

So it hurts me to say this, but ... when did Rachel Bilson become the fourth Jonas brother?


[Photo: WENN]

I mean, I try not to live by too many hard-and-fast rules, but I always sort of thought that friends don't let friends turn into the Jonas Brothers. Unless they are trying really hard to make 14-year old girls scream and cry and pass out in malls.

But the thing is, somehow, I secretly think Rachel doesn't look terrible. I suspect it's because she HERSELF is so friggin' adorable, and not because we all need to run out and turn our stash of wrapping ribbons into neckties that match our bowler hats.

Oh, Posh. You are an endless delight:


Once again, Ms Beckham has managed to turn the laws of physics -- as well as gravity, and probably the space-time continuum -- upside down by wearing certifiably insane latex shoe/tights without crashing headlong into: Becks, a wall, the crush of photogs, or the ground. And, seriously, these are some crazy-ass shoes. Let's go to the close-up, shall we?
 

Okay, so you know that old theory that people start to look like their pets?


[Photos: Splash News]

Tom is trotting her out, in their matching suits, with all the pride of a puppy owner who's just knitted them both matching sweaters and is debuting them in the dog park. I hope this is just an appetizer, and that the main course is them showing up to a movie premiere in matching strapless Versace.

It's going around, too -- check out Kate Moss and her new toy:

It has been an extremely long week, so it's possible that I've entirely taken leave of my senses, but I feel like...Paris Hilton looked kind of great heading into see Letterman:


That color is great on her, that dress isn't too fussy. I don't care for the bag, but she looks sort of like....chic and relaxed. What's the DEAL? Is it because she's all in love? Is it because she's mellowing with age? Is it her hair cut?

Seriously, let's look at the haircut:

There is so much to discuss about this particular ensemble that I don't even know where to start. Julie Andrews, of course, told us all to start at the very beginning, but despite the fact that I defer to her on many things (like whether or not to used coded whistles to call for people), today I think I will start at the end:

Oh, Traci Bingham. It's HARD to make the back of your hair look as good as the front. I get it. Also, is that quasi-snakeskin you're wearing? Turn around and let me look at you.


ARRRRRRRRRRGH. That's....kind of...you're....WOW. Okay. Okay, sure. Sometimes you just feel like...whatever you're feeling here. Scaly, but in need of ventilation? Okay. It happens to the best of us. Squish those suckers down in good health! But wait! What's that I hear? I should take a look at the rest of the dress? Okay. I pray you're talking about a wee little flap to cover that wayward nip....

Some days I feel so indecisive.



I just can't come to a final opinion on this dress, so maybe I'll make a good old-fashioned Pro/Con list.

PRO: It fits her.

CON: People are going to think that mark on her left boob is a majorly misplaced nipple.

PRO: It probably isn't a majorly misplaced nipple.

CON: Is it?

PRO: No. It can't be.

CON: Whatever you say.

PRO: Stop it! No one has nipples in their armpits.

CON: Sure, fine.

PRO: Snap out of it. Hey, she has nice shoulders.

CON: But look how skinny that thing makes her sternum look. I could play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on that sucker.

PRO: Oh, you are so crabby. She's always been thin and she looks way healthier now than she did on some seasons of Will and Grace.

CON: True, and her hair does look sort of great.

PRO: HEY. BACK OFF. You are stealing my positivity.

CON: Fine, fine.... okay, here's one: I am not wild about all that tulle.

PRO: At least the silhouette is interesting, though! And I mean, she's looked way worse before. Remember this old thing?

CON: Dude, I could never forget. And this one was even worse! The MAKEUP!

PRO: I think I just wooed you onto my side.

CON: I hate it when we agree.

Well, you certainly can't accuse Aubrey O'Day of failing to declare herself.



She's clearly stating that she's pretty sure if she lets enough boob hang out in the breeze and turns her dog into a walking Sno-Cone, you won't notice she's dressed like a washed-up disco queen who just found out "Swingtown" is not an actual place you can live.

Pop quiz: You have tickets to Broadway's opening performance of Naked Daniel Radcliffe. You probably shouldn't be so excited, because there are horses involved, but you can't help it because little Harry Potter is all grown up now and he's pretty damn cute, and it's all legal, so everyone should just CHILL and enjoy the fine, fine acting.

Would you:

a) Try and look as cute as possible, because a night out on the town is worth some hot shoes;

b) Brush your hair and put on some mascara; or

c) Dress up like an ER nurse who, on her way to her night job at the soup kitchen, got cornered at one of those old-timey photo booths where they put a costume on you and then snap your picture in sepia-tones.


[Photo: WENN]

Well, I guess they do say that when in doubt, pick c.

So, I was totally on board with Weeds for like a really long time. And then at some point this season -- I believe it was when Whatshisnuts started sleeping with the high-end cheese shop woman -- I was like, "Oh my god. I am OUT." Life's too short, you know? Besides, all the bits about Mexican drug cartels just made me miss Kingpin. That show had A MAN-EATING TIGER. And VOODOO. And Bobby Cannavale. NBC, you broke my heart when you decided against any more man-eating tigers. ANYWAY. Weeds did give me a new appreciation for Mary Louise Parker, whom I'd previously dismissed as someone who seemed like a dead-eyed pain in the neck. She's actually really good on the show. Her character, however, has a tendency to wear super cute dresses that have the major drawback of being incredibly, inappropriately short. I mean, she's got great legs, but there's looking leggy and then there's -- to borrow from AbFab -- making the world your gynecologist. And unfortunately, this seems to have bled into her real life:


I mean, the dress is gorgeous. But this length makes it feel a bit....Tinkerbell: Night on the Town. No?

No, no, Nicole Scherzinger. I should be saluting YOU.

It's your relentless commitment to helping the girls put the "tart" in "tartan" -- not to mention the "arg" in "argyle" -- that keeps me cheerful and optimistic. Because I know that in either fallow OR fertile fug times, you and your expensively homeless-looking band of burlesque demi-nudists will always be there for me. It's your faces that are etched in the Mount Rushmore of my heart.

Also, could you recommend a good strapless bra? I mean, you show us yours so much, it's only fair that you drop a little hint now and again. Come on, help a sister out here. My only criteria is that it not be covered in TOO much glitter or sequins. That itches, plus -- and I realize this may not be something you ever need to consider -- it's a real bitch to wear that UNDER your clothes.

Sometimes here at GFY HQ, Jessica and I have to make important decisions, like who has to start writing the NY Mag column this week, or who has to tell Intern George that we blew his Hallmark card budget on Diet Coke and Ruffles. And over the years we've developed a pretty mature, thoughtful strategy for addressing these sorts of dilemmas: flipping a coin. Since we're always losing our favorites, I've decided we need to start making more commemmorative ones, and I may start with these photos of Golden Brooks.

This could be heads:



And this would be tails:

So, apparently, you can either use your FEED bag to carry your groceries...



... or you can use your FEED bag to, ahem, carry your groceries.

Oh, KIM STEWART:


Please tell me you're leaving rehearsals for Cabaret Starring Sienna Miller, and that you are playing the Sienna Miller As Sally Bowles role. Because otherwise, I am not really sure what  to say about this. Other than that walking around with a lollipop in your mouth is a good way to end up in tears/blood/toothlessness if you trip and/or fall. Did you pay no attention in pre-school at all? Are you going to be running around tomorrow, holding scissors blades-up and not sharing your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while using your outside voice and peeing your pants? If so, I'll see you back here!

CHARLIZE: Hey, Stuart?

STUART: Yes, Charlize?

CHARLIZE: You know how they say couples who are together a long time start to look alike?

STUART: Yes, Charlize.

CHARLIZE: Well, you're doing it. Right now.

STUART: Oh yes, Charlize?

CHARLIZE: Yes. My lip-pursing sourpuss thing. You're doing it. And did you HAVE to wear a skull-and-crossbones shirt on the same day I'm wearing my lace-up pirate frock?

STUART: Yes, Charlize.

CHARLIZE: Even our skin is the same color. You've clearly been using my bronzer.

STUART: Yes, Charlize.

CHARLIZE: What's next? My flats? My lip gloss? My coif? I know I'm hot, but isn't this a little Single White Female-style extreme?

STUART: Yes, Charlize.

CHARLIZE: And is agreeing with me all the time part of your plan?

STUART: Yes, Charlize.

CHARLIZE: Well, here's one for you: Are you NEVER going to work in anything interesting again?

STUART: Yes, Charlize. ... Wait, what?

CHARLIZE: HA. Gotcha.

So, it seems Rachel Hunter has launched her own clothing line, like 87% of all celebrities currently living. And this is what she looked like promoting it:


[Photo: Splash]

I was all set to love this dress when I saw a thumbnail of this photo. And then:



Another beautiful moment ruined by the wrong undergarment. I love a red bra -- or perhaps more accurately, red boob patches -- as much as anyone, but methinks the jazzy lingerie turns sour if it makes people stare at you, brow furrowed, wondering if they should alert a medic to your bleeding chest wounds.

Poor T. Mom:


Her stylist haaaaaaates her and/or has her confused with some other Taylor -- one who is old enough to vote. Elizabeth Taylor, perhaps, as she appears to be dressing her like an oft-married film star with fake hair. (PS: That is NOT her left nipple poking out of her dress, just in case you were worried. It's a stray bit of tulle from the flowers on the bodice. THANK GOD.)

On the whole, I think this dress is rather pretty. It's just...a lot. A lot for a FIFTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL. I know we're always squawking about how young she is, but think back to when you were fifteen. Fifteen is rather young for this much cleavage. My mother would have screamed if I'd tried to wear this at 15, and then shoved me back into the house and wrestled me into a cardigan. And on the other side of the coin, in addition to being so low cut, it's so LONG. Wouldn't a high school sophomore be better served in a cute, short, kicky cocktail-length dress that had a bit more coverage upstairs? Why doesn't anyone just ASK ME THESE THINGS?

We touched on Marcia briefly in yesterday's NY Mag piece, but it bears repeating: This dress evokes nothing so much as memories of my sixth-grade Science Fair project.



It was called "Spoil Spores," because even at that age I was a sucker for a terrible pun, and it was all about mold. I grew it in different conditions and on different substances: bread, cheese, orange juice, and pieces of wet cloth, and let me tell you, the penicillin mold that bloomed in my glasses of Tropicana were utterly magnificent. Had they not smelled musty and strange and been gaggingly furry, I probably could've swallowed all of them and become invincible. So whenever I see Marcia up here, it conjures images of going into the laundry room every morning to check the fridge and the windowsill and the shelves to see how far my mold had crept along overnight. And I'm not sure embodying the fruits of a third-place science experiment is exactly what Marcia had in mind.

However, she has inspired me to take "Spoil Spores" to the next level: a ballet. In that twee, stumpifying tutu, Marcia could play the lead -- a rogue mold that falls in love with the food she's supposed to ruin, culminating in a heartbreakingly luscious pas-de-deux that ends in death. Bring Kleenex, people. It's going to change the way you look at those pita pockets that have been sitting on the counter for two weeks.

Oh my god, it's so nice that fall television is back. At LAST, something to entertain me other than my own thoughts. For example, I've missed the stylings of one Mr Chuck Bass:



Don't mind the strange orange reflections in these photos. Think of it as the glowing light of the sun on Planet Misguided. For example, while no one -- NO ONE -- loves smarmy, delicious Chuck Bass more than I do...why is he wearing a purple suit? With a bow tie? And slicked back hair? I get that Chuck is kind of retro (for lack of a better word) but I fear that by the end of the season, he's going to show up somewhere in a beanie with a propeller on top.

That would improve SOME PEOPLE'S looks, though:



No wonder Vanessa looks so depressed. Her hair appears to have been caught in a tragic vacuum accident and could only be rescued by emergency surgery performed with an Exacto knife. Although, she might also be sad because she's so very stupid. Everyone knows that when you find out the dude you like is accidentally kind of a prostitute who is sort of also involved in a faux-incestuous love quadrangle, you LET BLAIR HANDLE IT.

Speaking of bad hair, I just wanted to let you all know that I think Chad Michael Murray has given up on his head-hair and is now playing around with his facial hair:



At one point last night, I looked up from my Lucky Magazine to see this and I might have actually screamed, "IS THAT A MUSTACHE?" I think it's actually a goatee, but his upper lip seems to be beating his chin in the hair-growing contest. Because what CMM's character really needs is to be able to stroke his goatee whilst pontificating on how hard it's been to have two-to-three women pining for him at all times, all while balancing his career as a novelist/basketball coach with a father who's currently being held hostage by a crazy nanny who has prevented him from getting his heart transplant. Also, I suspect his eyebrows are making a run for each other.

And while we're on the subject of heart problems, this almost gave me an infarction last night:

I sort of feel for Amanda Seyfried here:


In that (a) I think I might own this dress, and (b) it does look REALLY comfortable, and kind of cute. I can see looking at this hanging in the closet and saying, "Ugh, I am totally bloated. That sack dress is pretty cute. AND it has pockets. AND I can eat in it. SOLD." But then you show up places and people are like, "Ooh, bad break-up?" and you're like, "What? I'm fine." And they're like, "I know, honey. I know." And it's because you're kind of accidentally wearing the dress version of sweats with no jewelry and your hair tied back. Seriously, it happens to the best of us.

I think Grace Park used to be on Battlestar Galactica, which I watched obsessively for like 1.5 seasons until I realized that literally nothing funny ever happened and I couldn't take it anymore. Not that I require everything to be laughs-a-plenty, but, seriously, there were more moments of break-the-tension levity in all eight hours of both miniseries about the Menendez brothers. Anyway, I believe Ms Park is now on that new Benjamin Bratt show, The Cleaner, which I trust is not about, like, what it's like to have a really neat roommate, and here she is at the Emmys:



This is cute! Right? Super cute! Just so cute...for like a night out with your boyfriend. I am not the sort of person who is all, "MY STARS! PANTALOONS ON A LADY? I NEVER! ELOISE, FETCH ME MY SMELLING SALTS!" I once quit a job in part because we were not allowed to wear pants. You should have HEARD my ranting about all the sorts of pants that were appropriate for the office. I LOVE pants. I am wearing them now. However....for the Emmys... perhaps a wee casual?

Trust me, I hate to beat the same drum over and over again, but the thing is, apparently I am a natural percussionist. So I am compelled to point out that as much as I love Cynthia Nixon, she looks way, way too skinny:



I just want to yank this dress up, buy her a necklace, and hand her a plate of wienerschnitzel. But first I might need to borrow her purse.

"Yeah. I know. No, really, I PROMISE. I KNOW."

Oh, you have GOT to be KIDDING me.



Leaving aside for a second that mention that her nightly bronzing rituals clearly don't extend as far as her feet, how does one woman -- who runs a boutique, no less -- own so much nearly identical leopard print? I mean, REALLY? You could fit her imagination inside an egg and still have room for the yolk. And maybe a meatball.

In addition to Continuing Emmy Coverage here on GFY, we also contributed a piece for NY Mag.com today, all about -- what else? -- the red carpet:

"Fanciest Toga: House's Jennifer Morrison must have thought being gorgeous would allow her to get away with wearing a tremendously shiny sheet. News flash: No one can get away with wearing a sheet, especially not one that needs its own blotting papers."

Read the rest, if you're so inclined, on The Cut.

When I saw this woman in this outfit arrive at the Emmys last night, I thought to myself, "What the hell is Alyssa Milano DOING?" And when I spoke to Heather later that evening, I said to her, "Did you see Alyssa Milano? She was wearing some kind of TRAGIC RUFF." And apparently the dudes at our photo licensing house had the exact same conversation, because this photo was marked "Alyssa Milano" and even ones correctly identified were just stuck in the "Alyssa Milano" section, as though she was close enough:


Of course, this is NOT Alyssa Milano, and is in fact habitual fuggee Christina DeRosa doing a very decent impression of La Milano, who, I'm sure, was at the Dodger game last night and is this very morning sending out a mass email to make sure that everyone she knows is aware she would never go to the Emmys in...this. And especially not carrying what looks like a ceramic fan-purse. La DeRosa, on the other hand, is at home applauding herself in the mirror, both for getting so much attention and for managing to get to the Emmys on the strength of what appears to be -- thanks to the handy PR dude behind her -- called Sex Chronicles for HBO. The new Real Sex, I presume? Then surely, we'll be seeing her again.

"Hello? Can someone out there help me? I am REALLY HUNGRY. Seriously. I gave up anything with texture about five months ago and now I look like Lara Flynn Boyle and I am STARVING and, seriously, if someone doesn't give me something to chew I am going to eat this carpet that is so very red, like rare steak... oh, sweet, delicious steak... No. NO, I have to snap out of this. Look, if you have ANYTHING in your purses, will you just toss it into my skirt? I'll catch it. I promise. Granola bars. A Kit-Kat. Even breath mints would be divine. I bet I can fit like three cheeseburgers in here -- plus this sucker is made of Quited Bounty, so it'll absorb all the grease. Please, someone. Anyone. Is ANYONE listening? Hello? HELLO?"

Dear Cojo,

So. It's come to this. I should start, though, by saying that I'm sorry you had all that kidney trouble. When Wikipedia told me just now that your last transplant in 2005 went very well and that you're doing swimmingly, I thought to myself, "How nice, because I was sorry he had all that kidney trouble."

But I'm worried that, BECAUSE of the aforementioned medical drama, maybe people aren't telling you certain truths. Like they're afraid your kidney will get upset. But I am not afraid, and indeed believe that all your internal organs will thank me for pointing this out: I HATE your hair.



No, really. A LOT. The makeup I will forgive, because you are always doing TV and they slather that stuff on with a trowel. Am I thrilled that your outfit looks a bit like the Tin Man dropped some butternut-squash pasta on his neck? No. But mostly, I need to get the hair thing off my chest. Our readers may know Robin Weigert from her work on Life, or Deadwood, but she is nearest to my consciousness because every time I see you, I think to myself, "Why does Robin Weigert have stubble?"

Granted, it used to be worse:

LO: Hang on a sec... hold still...

LAUREN: What? What is it? Is there something on my dress?

LO: Not exactly... I'm just... where IS it?

LAUREN: Where is what?

LO: The interesting part. I'm SURE it's here somewhere...

LAUREN: I don't understand.

LO: Everyone made such a huge deal out of how you "designed" this dress, and the one that the Emmy girl wore, but... I mean, is there something I'm missing? It's a bit basic, no?

LAUREN: I think it's pretty.

LO: Sure, but... I feel like a child could have designed this. I could have designed this. Hell, AUDRINA could have designed it, and she can't even make eye-contact with things. Is this really the best you could do here?

LAUREN: Well, the Emmy girl's dress is totally different.

LO: How?

LAUREN: There's a strap on one side.

LO: Right. So let me get this straight: You're trying to be a serious designer, but your only ideas involved sketching approximately four lines on a piece of paper and then adding jewelry that is more interesting than the actual semi-maternity cut of the dress? Am I following along correctly?

LAUREN: Audrina's right. You ARE mean.

LO: It's called honesty, babe. SOMEONE had to tell you.

It's always unfortunate when someone takes a color risk, and then shows up and learns that another actress took the exact same risk -- a bit like, say, if you showed up at a Halloween party dressed as the magic mailbox from The Lake House, and ten minutes later someone else with the exact same idea arrived, but they'd decided to add a plastic house and a driveway to the costume, and suddenly, you were just the sad person with a large metal compartment sticking out of your stomach. (I am sure that has happened to many of you out there.)

In the case of the Emmys, it's tough to decide which is which, but I think Mariska Hargitay here might be Mailbox: Original Flavor, because her interpretation of canary yellow lacked any bells and whistles.



I mean, it's FINE, and everything -- it fits, her junk is covered, and her skin tone is right for the bright hue. But it's definitely toga-adjacent, and frankly, kind of a snore. Although perhaps it's hard to judge, because when you are standing in front of Kynt and Vyxsin (the neon goths from The Amazing Race) and one of them appears to be wearing shoes with springs on the soles, you are always going to look totally boring. Parentheticaly, I sort of feel like Vyksin is staring at Mariska and wondering if it's worth challenging her to a duel, with the fate of the Earth's solar system at stake. In fact, I have it on good authority that as soon as Mariska hit the red carpet, nine round things spontaneously appeared and began orbiting her at different speeds.

This all makes Teri Hatcher version 2.0 -- the more elaborate version of the same basic thought:

JENNIFER LOVE HEWITT: I am SKINNY and TAN now. I'm like the Lauren Conrad of ghost whispering!

HAYDEN PANETTIERE: Do I look old enough to be dating a 30-something man? I do, right? This is sufficiently mature, isn't it? I look like a grown-up woman, don't I? 

J. LO. HEW: Take that, all you douchewads who said I was fat! Wait until you have to sit through the 90-minute infomercial for the diet and exercise DVD I'm making right now! I'm calling it Party Of Five; Eating For One, Exercising for Four and you can get it for only five low payments of $79.99!

HAYDEN: I really don't want anyone to pay any attention to me, actually. Maybe if I could just blend into the background. Please, please don't ask me if Heroes is better this year.

J. LO. HEW: I didn't need those boobs!!

HAYDEN: I have like fifteen years to look young and hot, right? I mean, I'm going to be nubile for a while, aren't I? Like, I can be super demure right now and then later, I can pull out all the Hot Young Girl stops, can't I? I have some time for that, right? I mean, I'm not blowing my chances right now, don't you think? I'm not going to look back on this and me all, "damn, why didn't I just wear open toe shoes?" am I? I'm not going to regret this, am I? AM I????

J. LO. HEW: WHEE!! US WEEKLY, CALL ME!!

So, all appearances to the contrary, there's no way that Kathie Lee's skirt actually ratchets up and down like a fussy bedroom shade, right?



I mean, just because her dress appears to be hastily made out of sheets doesn't mean it's THAT authentic.

I hope.

Every time I write about Phoebe Price, I close the browser window and say to myself, "self, that's it. No more. No more Phoebe Price. She's bad for you. And you're only giving her what she wants. What has she done for YOU lately?" But P Squared is like the ex-boyfriend who only ever calls you when he's bored and you know you ought to ignore him, but you're curious and he's sort of entertaining when he's not making you sick. And the next thing you know, despite your best intentions, you're buying that guy a beer.

Model Erin Wasson recently announced that she thinks homeless people are like TOTALLY chic.



Which explains why she seems to be wearing items picked at random from a bin.

Just when you think Little J couldn't get any more annoying...

I feel like the Dakota Fanning heads in those posters are glaring at Kirsten Dunst, all, "Oh, GREAT. Is THIS what I have to look forward to from my twenties?" Because as charming a person as Kirsten might be, this outfit just makes me depressed:



It's just so SAD. The shlumpy blue camisole, the little string suspenders attached to her sack skirt that doesn't appear to fit, those piffling white flats, no makeup, bangs in her face... seriously, "sad sack" is the phrase. If 80 percent of Paul Giamatti's resume could be interpreted sartorially, it would look like this. And it's confusing, because I thought Kirsten was dating Justin Long. Isn't he packing some kind of magic man-wand? Remember how glowy Drew Barrymore got while they were hot and heavy? I mean, he's freaking MAC, for God's sake. According to all those 30-second spots on my TV, everything he touches turns to happy. So what are you waiting for, man? TOUCH HER, JUSTIN. TOUCH HER LIKE YOU MEAN IT.

So....please tell me Daisy Lowe was leaving some hilarious London Fashion Week costume party and she didn't just pounce out of the house wearing a leopard print leotard?


[Photo:Splash News]

Because if this were taken on Halloween, I would be like: cute! I'd add a little tail and ears! Like in Josie and the Pussycats! You're only 19 and you just had a break-up! You SHOULD be running around town dressed like a kittycat! Do it before it gets totally embarrassing! But if it's not a costume....love, Halloween is not that far away. You can't WAIT before you prance out in the bodysuit? Because right now, people are wondering what in the name of little green apples you're doing without your pants.

MEG MATHEWS: Smile, darling! We're at a fashion show!

ANAIS: But Mummy, I'm hungry.

MEG: Ssh, not now, darling. Mummy's got her goods on display.

ANAIS: But MUMMY, I have to go to the loo and I want some candy.

MEG: Yes, darling, just hold on a little bit longer, okay? Mummy's busy playing Spot The Nipple with the nice man and his camera.

ANAIS: Ooh, is this the game that ends in Daddy saying that he can see everything except your dignity?

MEG: Humph. Children. They can be so inappropriate.

ASHLEY...SURE, LET'S CALL HER THAT: I really drew the short straw with this one.

MELODY: I am soooooooooooooooooo happy I didn't have to shave my legs today!

NICOLE: That's right. This is a latex cocktail dress. Did I hear you ask which one of us got to look the sexiest? Will you EVER ask that again? I didn't think so.

THE OTHER BLONDE ONE: I hate everyone.

THE ONE WHOSE HAIR THEY JUST DYED SO SHE LOOKS LIKE THE ONE WHO QUIT: I am like one pair of retro hotpants away from looking like Katy Perry over here.

ASHLEY: This get-up they stuck me in looks like a Project Runway reject. It doesn't even fit.

MELODY: I LOVE it when I get to wear jeans or jeans-like pants! Nicole had to be covered in baby powder just to get that thing on! Her team will be peeling her out of it later when I am down at the bar drinking a beer like a normal person!

NICOLE: My body IS amazing. That's right. Drink it in. You'd look this smug, too, if you were me. No, no -- I'd rather not discuss where my back sweat is pooling right now. Let's move along.

THAT ONE: I think this is actually from the Avril Lavigne collection. Are they trying to make me quit? They are. They are. So Robin Antin can have another dumb reality show. WELL, IT'S NOT GOING TO WORK, ROBIN.

THE OTHER ONE: Maybe I AM Katy Perry. I mean, who ARE we, anyway? Truly? How do we know who is who, truly? God, my head hurts now. 

Wow. I hope model Agyness Deyn's 15 minutes are ticking to an end, because I am seriously, seriously over this ass clown:


[Photo: WENN]

I mean, COME ON. I'm sure she got this from some designer at London Fashion Week because she walked in his or her show, but Agyness, you don't have to wear all of this stuff for REAL. You treat it like any other pastel nightmare of a Cosby sweater that your grandparents gave you for Christmas: You hold it up, you exclaim something vague and not-entirely-fibbed like, "Oh my, that pattern is so unique," or, "Hooray, you remembered that the circle is my favorite shape," and you might even put it on for an hour in the safe confines of your own home just so they think they've hit a home run -- and then as soon as you're out of their eyeline (or faced with leaving the house), you put it back in the box and think, "Damn, I dodged a bullet there, I am GOOD," and give it to Goodwill. But not before you write a thank-you note saying something about how the design totally changed the way you look at coasters. Now, for the love of God, GO INSIDE, crackmonkey.

Is this what happens when that menacing rhythm lives up to its threats and FINALLY gets you?


[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]

I mean, it's cool, I just want to be prepared. There's nothing worse than going about your daily business without a care in the world, then looking down and realizing that something has gnawed through your leg flesh and turned them inside-out into a mess of bloody pulp and dying tissue. So if I see any rhythm coming, I want to KNOW whether I should barricade the door and put on some iron pants. Please advise.

Hey, at least Selita Ebanks is WEARING a bra:


And it appears to be a nice, sensible Victoria's Secret bra as well, which will make her employers happy at least. Maybe this is part of a guerrilla campaign on the part of VS to advertise their newest line of lift and separators. I admit that I am terrified of having this happen to ME in some alternate universe -- where for some random-ass reason they're making us all walk the red carpet before we run into the deli for big fat carby sandwiches and tabloids. I'll see you there. WEAR A BRA.  Because, you know, I feel like it's totally possible that this sort of thing could easily happen accidentally and you would NOT KNOW until it was TOO LATE and then some asshole blogger would be like, "NICE BRA, MORON. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??" and you'd be all, "I DIDN'T DO IT ON PURPOSE," and then everyone would be so sad and mutually misunderstood. At least we'd have those sandwiches, though. They would help.

That being said, she may also have on a sheer-ish skirt.

So, we mentioned this during Fashion Week, but Renee Zellweger has seen better days:



She is kind of starting to look like one of those women you see in a Lifetime movie who used to be all beautiful and fresh but married a total asswad because he had money and good hair and she thought that was enough and she had to escape her hardscrabble life somehow but fifteen years later, she's totally brittle and depressive and she starts drinking at 10 a.m. and by 5 p.m. she's yelling at the staff and falling over her Louis Vuitton hat boxes and then passing out on top of her minks and then her youngest child finds her drooling on a fur ruff and cries and cries because Mommy won't wake up.  I mean, this dress is full-on 65 Year Old Woman Attending A Party At the Met in a Dress She's Had Since 1981. But I could work with that except for the part where OMG RENEE. STAND LIKE A NORMAL PERSON. All pursed lips, contorted body, hands placed as close together as possible on the waist so as to make it look smaller. I feel like she does this wackdoo pursy contorty thing all the time and it looks so purposefully awkward and I can't figure out  WHY she keeps doing it. Like, this is not a Broken-Down Doll challenge on ANTM, so what's the deal?

OMG YOU GUYS. I am SO excited about Mischa Barton's new movie!!!!


It's called Shitty Posture: A Love Story: Starring Mischa Barton as Slumpy: And Introducing Leo and Leora Leopard Print, the Matchy Twins! It's going to be so awesome! I heard from this guy on the escalator at Century City that's totally more heartfelt and touching and layered and complex than Beverly Hills Chihuahua and he swore he worked at CAA so he TOTALLY KNOWS. See you in line!!

A number of readers have written this morning to express concern for Blake Lively, who evidently failed to impress last night in her chosen ensemble. In order to tackle its assorted issues, I thought I'd put her triphasic outfit on trial.

Exhibit A: Arrival.



The prosecution sneers at the semi-haphazard layering on display and gears up for a rousing chorus of "You've Got To Pick A Pocket Or Two." But before it can burst into song, the defense jumps in to point out that it was probably somewhere in the low 60s in New York last night, so the layers may have had an actual purpose. The judge sustains that objection and the defense celebrates with a kick-line.



Next up for your consideration is Exhibit B:

If you checked the site and saw a Blake Lively pic with a bunch of random f's underneath it, well, don't worry -- we haven't cracked, and you don't need to learn a new and frightening tongue in order to read the site. For some reason, we had a post magically publish itself even though we we had only just begun working on it.

It'll be up properly soon. In the meantime -- SPOILER -- I didn't like what Blake Lively was wearing.

Let's start with the positives: I love the color of this dress. And Rosario has gorgeous skin.



But the cut is a bit unflattering to her abdomen, and... how to say this... I think the universe was trying to tell her something when it made sure she was photographed across the street from a very visible neon Hooters sign.

It's worse in the close-up:

This picture pleases me so much.


[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]

It's like La Barton is secretly a Swedish exchange student who got arrested for a public display of installing ruthlessly efficient, cheap, and minimalist lacquer shelving, and is laughing it up in the drunk tank because her lawyer posted $20 and some DJAAARF bedside tables as bail. If this is what we have to look forward to from Mischa's new headband-designing venture, then I have high hopes for a bunch more inane yet pleasing sightings where her noggin adornments coordinate with a fabric strip she's glued to her front. Bless her overachieving heart.

So, it's about time we addressed the giant, poorly acted, psychedelic (yet somehow still dull) elephant in the room: The 90210 reincarnation. It may not shock you to hear that Jessica and I cherish the old show, in that we-loved-it-in-its-prime/we-lovingly-mock-it-now/oh-my-God-Emily-Valentine-just-put-U4EA-in-Brandon's-drink-this-can't-end-well/please-David-stop-singing kind of way. But even the addition of Brenda and Kelly (and Jessica Walter playing Lucille Bluth on muscle-relaxants) cannot save the new class.

The show is SO BAD. Like, wow. Last week was about bowling. I'm not even kidding. NOTHING HAPPENS. All the characters are boring, and their conversations are excruciating. About a third of the scenes play out thusly: "Hey." "Hey." "Haven't seen you." "I've been around. How are you?" "Fine." "Well, uh, how's your brother?" "Good." It's like the most terrible, dry raw footage from the world's worst reality show, replete with as many local cultural references shoehorned in there as possible: "I've got tickets to Sea Wolf at Spaceland." "Remember when we were at the L.A. Zoo?" "So, Vampire Weekend is playing a secret show at the Avalon..." "Oh, they just finished renovating the Mark Taper Forum and it's really become a fantastic space." My husband turned to me during last night's episode and said, "It feels like this show is written by L.A. Weekly."

And the clothes. The CLOTHES. Maybe these people would have more interesting conversations if they weren't filled with obvious self-loathing about their wardrobes. Take, for instance, Naomi -- a.k.a. the character played by Drunkface, a.k.a. AnnaLynne McCord. (As always, apologies for the poor quality of the photos.) Now, Drunkface spends most of her time in these episodes stomping into rooms wearing ridiculous shorts and twitching while she plays the exact same story point over and over again. 



Here, for example, she has donned her very best bloomers and French-Revolution Aristocrat In Prison shirt in order to tell her mother that Mr. Drunkface is having an affair. The ruffles spill forth from her chest like painful truths from her soul.

Contrast that with the scene in which she stomps into her mother's bedroom to whine about Mr. Drunkface's indiscretion -- a deeply emotional moment for which she chose to dress like a call girl:

"YES! I DID IT!"



"I FINALLY FOUND A LEGGINGS-BOOTS COMBO THAT MAKES MY THIGHS LOOK DISPROPORTIONATELY HUGE! GIVE IT UP FOR ALL THE GIRLS LIKE ME WHO WORK REALLY HARD FOR AWESOME TONED BODIES BUT ARE ADDICTED TO UNFLATTERING PANTS! HOLLA, BITCHES! ARE YOU WITH ME?"

Reader response to this dress has been mostly negative -- or, I should say, the readers who were galvanized enough to e-mail us about it all hated it.



When I first saw it, it felt pretty and different and a little romantic, and because Beckinsale sometimes comes off a little bit brittle to me, I liked that about it. In fact, what bothered me most was the heavy shoe and the lone black strap hanging out up there, which together ruin the whole floaty, dreamy effect.

Then again, I suspect this is the type of thing you need a friend with you to wear, so that when you get up after sitting for a long time, she can fluff your curlicues. And from even MORE steps away, there is a part of me that says, "Wow, that looks like it was made out of expensive coffee filters designed by Paris Hilton."

[Photo: INFDaily.com]

MELODY: Oh, shoot, Nicole, I just realized something.

NICOLE: What's that?

MELODY: No, don't look up -- keep your head down, keep moving forward, let's just get out of here as fast as we can.

NICOLE: Why?

MELODY: Well, we're two of the Pussycat Dolls.

NICOLE: And this embarrasses you NOW?

MELODY: No, no, I mean... look at us.

NICOLE: I don't follow.

MELODY: No corsets. No rubber. No latex.

NICOLE: ... Oh, God. Wait, I thought YOU were going to wear the crotchless hot pants with polka-dot tights and suspenders made of human hair!

MELODY: WELL I DIDN'T.

NICOLE: Shoot. Robin Antin is going to kill us. Is there a tutu shop nearby?

MELODY: All is not lost. At least I'm wearing some fairly unattractive high-waisted shorts.

NICOLE; Oh, thank God, and whatever you've got over your arm has fringe on it, doesn't it? We're going to be okay! I can turn that into something deranged, I'm just sure of it.

MELODY: Let's find a phone booth...

NICOLE: Ew, YOU find a phone booth. I'll find a bathroom.

MELODY: Whatever. Just hurry up, because we don't want any more photos of us looking relatively normal. Robin will take away our credit cards.

I don't know.


[Photo: Splash News]

On one hand, some mornings you just wake up and think, "Damn, it feels good to be a robot! I'm just going to throw caution to the wind and go out undisguised today! Yes! I am just going to toss some oil into my handbag in case my neck sticks and go!"  On the other hand....then you end up going outside looking like this.

I'd like to take this moment to thank Great American Actor Al Pacino for kindly demonstrating for us the dangers of too much bronzer. These horrifying photos were taken a mere day apart. Behold! Beware! Bewail! Be aware that it's possible one of them may actually be a photo of a wax figurine about to be rolled into Madame Tussauds!



Actually, sorry -- they're both human. I just had a moment of hope thinking that Pacino's Man Makeup was merely the attempt of a waxetician to make a plastic version of him look like a real person, but in fact I fear it was a misguided attempt by his makeup bitch to make him look well-rested or fresh from vacay or something. Personally, when I want to look fresh from vacay, I just put on a huge floppy hat and sunglasses and start talking to people in an exotic, annoying accent. We KNOW he can do that.

"I know, Heidi! I'm happy about Fashion Week being over too! You should see my blisters! They concern me."

So Heather and I are back in the bosom embrace of GFY HQ here on the West Coast, but we'd be remiss if we didn't share with you, dear reader, all the shenanigans of our last day at Fashion Week (which was Friday. We....running a bit behind right this exact minute.):

A) We got to go to the Project Runway finale! (No spoilers in the piece, but the site's overall discussion of the finale does spoil who showed. That being said, if you're caught up on PR, you won't be spoiled, since they used several decoys, we think). Can we just reiterate that we're pretty sure H. Klu is going to smack J. Lo next time they run into each other at the Beatrice? She couldn't even come up with a better excuse for dropping out of judging than a "foot injury"? Try "food poisoning." Man, I hate it when people don't even think their lies through fully.

B) We spotted Real Housewife of New York Ramona Singer at Badgley Mischa. Oh my god, dudes, if I were on that show, they would already have a reel of me telling her to shut up. She talked so loudly throughout the show, we could hear her from several rows away.

C) And finally, we wrap up the week. Includes shots of dudes dressed like Janice Dickinson and...well, really pulling it off.

Thanks for taking the Fashion Week journey with us, everyone! We're now finally officially back to your regularly scheduled fuggings.

SPENCER: My girlfriend is starting to look like an alien.

HEIDI: My boyfriend is starting to look like a lumberjack.

SPENCER AND HEIDI: I wonder if I can get out of this contract.

I haven't seen hide nor hair of Chloe Sevigny in ages. Maybe she's too busy filming Big Love to get out much anymore, or maybe she's just been hanging out at home working on a giant jigsaw puzzle of Mount Rushmore and drinking cocoa or something. At any rate, I admit that I am pleased to see her out and about once more:


And I actually think she looks kind of awesome. Sure, the top of it is kind of unusual, in a way that could get sort of Springing-Out-of-an-Envelope-y, but I think it works. But it's entirely possible that I've been so Sevigny-starved that I have no idea what I'm talking about.

[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]

"LOOKIT! HAHAHAHA! Now who's winning medals, eh, Dolphin Boy? Did YOU have two babies first? Did YOU have to wear bike shorts and arm cuffs? Did YOU swim your silly laps with a stubbed toe -- ay, I mean, a DEVASTATING and RARE injury that affected the part of your foot that you use to judge clothes? Is medical science going to name the 24-hour cure for that condition after YOU? I DON'T THINK SO. Your medals might be gold, Freak Giant, but my medal is the color of SACRIFICE. Dig it, tonto! DIG IT HARD!"

"Are you there, God? It's me, Mr. Snuggles."



"Can you help me with something? Would you get rid of this camera that wants to photograph me, and then maybe zap Aubrey away with it? Her outfit gives me a headache. It's puzzling -- first, because the damn thing is SHAPED like a jigsaw piece, and two, because I have no idea what in Satan's chafing dish I am supposed to make of that pink layer. Is it sewn onto the dress? Sold separately? A metaphor for intimacy, or an ACTUAL dickey? What? And why does the rest of the pattern make me feel like I'm hallucinating the existence of a vortex right in the area of her upper thigh? Oh, I can't look. I'm just going to stare at the floor.

"Except, then I might see my shadow, and that will just depress me, because you know what? DOGS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE PONY TAILS. OR PINK HAIR. Or pink stomachs, or pink... well, you know what, I am not going to show You. I am keeping my legs crossed because unlike 90 percent of this silly town, I cherish the mystery of my own privates. Humph. Why is she dragging me into this? Is it because I am cute? Because I have news for her -- NO accessory is going to make this next outfit okay:

I saw Jada Pinkett Smith on the Today Show some time this week and turned and said to Heather, "Damn! Jada looks GOOD." And she did. She looked like a 22 year old who'd just gotten back from six weeks at a spa.


So riddle me this, Batman: why is she wearing a cupcake liner as a top?

The following took place between 6:21 p.m. and 6:22 p.m.



HILARY SWANK: Dude is that... John Legend?

DIANE KRUGER: It is. Why is he wearing his tie hanging out over his sweater?

HILARY: I was just going to ask you the same thing! That's so Milhouse to me.

DIANE: I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. I am probably never in my life going to wear Tommy Hilfiger.

HILARY: Yes, you're way too avant-garde for this. Although I noticed you're mixing plaid and polka-dots, so clearly you're finding a way to make Hilfiger weird.

DIANE: And you're wearing a terrible haircut. The Fug Girls are going to make a crack about how it looks like you're going to play Matt Damon in a movie about his rise to fame.

HILARY: Yeah? Well, nice boots, Julia Roberts. Heading out to work the Boulevard later?

DIANE: Oooh, good one, Renee Zellweger.

HILARY: YOU TAKE THAT BACK.

DIANE: Ha ha! Gotcha!

HILARY: My hair looks much thicker than hers, I'll have you know.

DIANE:I really don't understand why you haven't grown it out yet. You can't STILL be playing Amelia Earhart. Nobody needs THAT many takes to get it right.

HILARY: Wow. You are... wow. I have two Oscars. Want to borrow one so that you know what it feels like?

DIANE: Oooh, burn. I'm bored of you, Mr Ripley.

JOHN LEGEND: Damn, you know what would taste good right now? Nachos.

CAMILLA ALVES: Hi, honey. I thought you were going to change before you left the house.

MATTHEW MCCONAUGHEY: Nah. It's all good, baby.

CAMILLA: From across the room, I thought you were wearing some crazy jumpsuit.

MATTHEW: Just keep livin', Cam. Just keep LIVIN.'

CAMILLA: I AM living. I just would have hoped that you would put another shirt on. You've been wearing that one for three days now.

MATTHEW: Parenthood is WILD, man. It's just so WILD.

CAMILLA: (giant sigh) It is wild, Matthew. But we're in public. This is your movie. I'm tired too, you know, and I managed to put some effort into my appearance.

MATTHEW: I'm just so stoked and awed by the miracle of life, man. We should all be naked right now.

CAMILLA: I do not know what I'm supposed to do with you. 

No, Janet Jackson, NO.


[Photo: WENN]

By which I mean, YES, Janet Jackson, YES. The two of us just clapped and screamed, "THANK YOU JESUS."

It's like she's the lead vixen in Snow Plow: The Musical, about an alien race of galactic warlords who travel by chair lift to conquer the universe, and the rebels who slalom their way to freedom. Clearly, Grace Jones would co-star. In fact, Grace Jones is probably sitting at home thinking, "Damn, girl, I wore that to dinner last night, thank God we didn't bump into each other."

Sigh. I know I'm totally late with this, but we saw the pictures RIGHT as we were leaving for Fashion Week, and I was too tired to confront it.

So, you all remember how much I loved Diane Kruger in this, right? Tragically, what I thought was just light catching the skirt lining turned out to be... well, see for yourself:



OH, DIANE. Why is it ALWAYS something with her? It's like every single thing she wears has to make some kind of HUGE conceptual statement. Apparently "Grace Kelly" wasn't enough of a message; it had to be, "Grace Kelly at a pool-party funeral. Wearing a glorified tutu." Doesn't that ever exhaust her? It makes me tired and all I have to do is look at it.

[Photo: WENN]

KEIRA: ... and so that's why my hair has been looking fantastic lately.

REGIS: AMAZING. Now maybe you can sit down with GELMAN. He needs the HELP.

KELLY: I'm sorry, I have to say this -- that is a terrible jumpsuit.

KEIRA: Well, I wanted to wear something striking. Like the costumes on my character in The Duchess, which...

REGIS: You know what strikes me? It looks like PAJAMAS. Are you in a bedtime MARCHING BAND?

KELLY: I mean, you KNOW it's cuffed, right? And you wore it anyway?

KEIRA: I am a very independent thinker, which reminds me of The Duchess, because...

REGIS: You know what I think? Notre Dame 617, Michigan -6. THAT'S RIGHT. And I'm gonna score one of them on the ground! I've got ELIGIBILITY LEFT, GELMAN.

KELLY: UGH, it's making me tense just looking at you in that thing. I just want to rip it off and loan you a cute dress.Please, can we stop tape and go into my closet?

KEIRA: Listen, if I go, will you let me talk about the bloody movie?

REGIS: You're in a MOVIE?

How sad am I that security wouldn't let us get anywhere near the front rows at Calvin Klein? For that reason I missed the sassy anecdote that I'm SURE should accompany this photo of Lauren Hutton:



I hope she's saying, "What the hell is with these jumpsuit cuffs? Am I on death row? I DON'T THINK SO."

-- Also at Thursday's Calvin Klein show: Miss Tyra totally stole all the thunder and a paparazzo yelled at Rachel Zoe. I never thought I'd feel bad for her, but lo and behold, my heart grew three sizes that day.

-- We were very concerned that Anna Wintour's longtime boyfriend's daughter might go into labor in the middle of the Vera Wang show. That would make one hell of a review: "So good, my water broke!" Also, does that make Anna a step-grandmother of sorts? I'm sure the very thought gives her the vapors.

-- At Phi, Emmy Rossum wore dominatrix shoes. Also, in typing up that story, I kept mistyping the word "public" as "pubic," and then I would notice the typo and go in to fix it and type "pubic" AGAIN. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

-- Cynthia Rowley tried to kill everyone at her show. She may not have REALIZED that's what was going on, but seriously, anyone who wasn't Julia Stiles or Tatum O'Neal put his or her life on the line just trying to get into a seat.

-- Diane Kruger didn't bring Pacey to Tommy Hilfiger. HOW DARE SHE DO THAT TO US?

I don't really have the energy to continue trying to understand this woman -- why she's invited places over here, why she's so freaking skinny, and why I can't just ignore her.

But:



I have three shouty things to say:

1) STOP TANNING.

2) START CHEWING.

3) FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHERE ARE YOUR BOOBS HERE?

That is all.

I'm surprised we haven't seen more of this type of thing at Fashion Week.



Clearly, it's the latest wave in solutions for indecisive dressers: A wearable green-screen, onto which someone can project an image of anything you like. Feeling plaid? Done. Want to wear George Clooney? Now you can. Ever wondered what it'd be like to walk the red carpet while the baseball scene from The Naked Gun plays across your abdomen? Well, congratulations, your dream can come true. It's too bad Katie Lee Joel's appears to be broken, because we're dying to know if she'd have chosen to wear her husband's old "Uptown Girl" video, or whether the ex's presence in it would be, well, awkward. Besides, stills of Padma Lakshmi on the Top Chef set would be more wry.

I fugged a girl and I liked it.
Bad taste, stupid outfit.
I fugged a girl just to try it.
Hope her PR don't mind it.
It looked so wrong
It felt so right.
At least she's not wearing hotpants tonight
I fugged a girl and I liked it.

No, you don't even know my name
It doesn't matter.
Your attention-seeking game
Is mere celebrity nature.
It's just what
These girls do
It's how they all behave
My head gets so confused
Brain feels concave.

I fugged a girl and I liked it.
I could not stand her outfit.
I fugged a girl just to try it.
Hope her PR don't mind it.
It looked so wrong
It felt so right.
She wants attention tonight
I fugged a girl and I liked it.
I liked it.

 

Well, well, well. What have we here? Could it possibly be the first HB cover in eons that I've looked at and thought, "Hey! I totally am going to buy that!" (Airport bookstore, here I come. Although I still haven't read my September Vogue. It's like almost too heavy to hold up to read. I have carpal tunnel, Anna. I can't deal with your 11-pound baby anymore.) It helps that I have a fondness for Kiki D, despite her penchant for showing up places looking like she got conned into wearing the worst dregs of a church jumble sale. She just looks so HAPPY. And while I know that the red lipstick can be a bit much, I think she's pulling it off. It helps that her smile is so distinctive, so the lipstick isn't wearing her as much as it might wear other people. Plus, I am a fan of swimming in jewels. Aren't you?

So, because we're at Fashion Week and totally crazy, it is possible that I missed the explanation for why Jessica Simpson showed up on Today wearing...well, this:

Let's see....what happened yesterday? We did not end up stuck in an elevator with Anna Wintour. (If this happens, I plan to talk to her about tennis.) We did not talk our ways into a cameo on Gossip Girl (I want to play the crafty blogger who makes out with Chuck as a way to help him make Blair jealous).  We did not trip out of our high heels and land in the laps of any luminaries. However, we did see this:


"Hee hee! Tell me again how pretty I am, Mr. de la Renta. TELL ME!" If you can only have one celeb at a show, it might as well be Ms Lo.

Also included with purchase:

Emmy Rossum + Leighton Meester = I don't know how to feel.

It turns out that Lauren Conrad is lovely in person and Lo looks like she's about to tell you to f' off.  And, in fact, probably wants to, at least in my case.

Blake Lively was very pretty at Michael Kors, but could she outshine BETTE FREAKING MIDLER? What do you think?

Oh, Amy Lee. Your name rhymes with Anna Sui. And how crazy you be.

You can not IMAGINE my excitement when I saw Manfaced Lindsay from One Tree Hill in person at the tents today! (And that's not me being mean. The show has actually CALLED HER Manfaced Lindsay. That's too funny not to adopt.) You remember Lindsay! She's Chad Michael Murray's book editor who he almost married but she left him at the altar because she realized that he's still in love with Peyton after she read his second book which was all about how he's still in love with Peyton, which will make an awesome sequel to the first book of his, about how he's still in love with Peyton. So he's all, "I do," and she was all, "for maximum dramatic impact, I will break up with you now," and ran out and then everyone forgot because Baby Jamie was KIDNAPPED by his evil nanny who is NOW holding Jamie's evil, brother-murdering, grave-immolating grandpa hostage as revenge for rescuing the kid in rather awesome fashion. Anyway, she's on Law and Order: Sports Utility Vehicle now, but she'll always be Manfaced Linsday to me, even though her face is actually not manly. Or WILL SHE?

"Dude, what? This isn't the 'Raid Ant-And-Roach-Killer Present: A Tribute To Vincent Gallo' party? DAMMIT. I AM SO GULLIBLE."

For Paris Hilton....

I'm starting to think the Knowles family needs to retreat to Sedona for some meditation, family therapy, and an afternoon of communicating only in "I" statements. For example, Solange could say, "I am desperately attempting to self-actualize by wearing things that make it impossible for you to overlook me in a crowd."


[Photo: Splash News]

A lot of people ask us why celebrities stand like this on the red carpet, because it does look a little bit like she chugged a Double Gulp in the limo and desperately needs to find a portable toilet. From what we've heard, they're told this body position streamlines the figure because it takes the attention off the leg on which you're putting all your weight. It's supposed to be slimming for your body even if it implies your bladder is fat. But the problem is, NOTHING streamlines your body when you're wearing a giant funeral wreath that's raining hoo-ha. We've said it before, and we'll say it again, Solange: You will not rain on Beyonce's fame parade by disguising youself as an actual storm cloud.

For her part, Beyonce's important therapeutic admission would be something like, "I can't stop agreeing to share the spotlight with living-legend singers and then trying to one-up them by proving I'm totally the better, newer, awesomer version that has rendered them obsolete." First she tried that with Tina Turner, and now Etta James is her unwitting victim:

AHOY MATEYS!

JENNIFER: No, no, amiga, OPEN your mouth. Make them think LOVE is about to come out.

POSH: I'm just... I think the hair is bad. People are looking at me oddly.

JENNIFER: Pish! Do you know what I say when that happens?

POSH: What?

JENNIFER: NOTHING. HA HA HA! Nobody ever looks at me oddly. They know better. But seriously, twig lady, do you really care about them? Eh?

POSH: No...

JENNIFER: Do you know what I said when everyone asked me to congratulate Ben and his walking nap for having another baby? I said, "ONE AT A TIME IS FOR LAZY PEOPLE."

POSH: Right...

JENNIFER: And when the world licked the feet of that silly Flipper Boy who won all his medals just for swimming a bunch of laps over and over again, do you know what I did? I went out and trained for a triathlon and shouted, "ONE SPORT AT A TIME IS FOR BORING LITTLE MAGGOTS WITH JUG EARS. GET BACK TO ME WHEN HE GIVES BIRTH AND HE HAS TO FIND TIME TO WORK OUT WHILE PICKING OUT CRYSTAL CHANDELIERS FOR THE BABY'S CLOSET!"

POSH: So you're saying I should buck up and do my own thing, then, yes?

JENNIFER: Si si, Cheekbones!

POSH: Maybe you're right. Maybe this haircut WILL work.

JENNIFER: Yes! Go get them, Halle Berry!

POSH: Wait, no. It's not Halle, darling, it's Victoria.

JENNIFER: AAAAAH! Victoria BECKHAM? ARE YOU SURE?

POSH: Fairly.

JENNIFER: MADRE DE DIOS!!!! IT CANNOT BE!

POSH: But you just said...

JENNIFER: Ay, no, I cannot be here. You are TOUCHED. Step away from me now before I catch your devil insanity.

POSH: ... Great.

So, I had no idea what Christina Millian was up to lately. I sort of thought she might be making a new record, or off vacationing in a series of sunny, warm places and running through any money she might have made in the past, a la Vanessa Minnillo, or maybe designing her own line of, like, designer tube socks or something. But no:

Okay, could someone please explain this to me?


Is it me, or does Pink look suddenly about 56 years old? Like, the grey hair? And the dress that appears to be made out of awnings? And have I mentioned the grey hair? And the dress made of awnings? What about the grey? Have I told you about that yet? I mean, I love a good stripe, but there's stripey, and then there's "have you seen the fabulous new cabana we put out by the pool? Call Morgan Fairchild and Lorenzo Lamas and have them over for a pitcher of Tom Collinses! I feel like getting a little crazy tonight."

MAX AZRIA: Hello everyone! I am here with Taylor Momsen, the hot twenty-eight-year old star of Gossip Girl!

TAYLOR: Actually, I'm fifteen.

MAX: Nonsense! Come on, Taylor, talk about this look. Inspire the crowd!

TAYLOR: Do you really want that? Really?

MAX: Out with it, darling! Tell the world!

TAYLOR: Okay. I look like Pat Benatar.

MAX: We belong to the night!

TAYLOR: Crossed with Debbie Harry and one of the chicks from Heart.

MAX: Oooh, barracuda!

TAYLOR: With a bit of Bret Michaels and Kim Cattrall from the opening scenes of Mannequin.

MAX: Yes! Talk dirty to me! Nothing's gonna stop us now!

TAYLOR: Times someone whose mouth has been erased.

MAX: Right! Wait... um...

TAYLOR: And a dash of E.G. Daily.

MAX: You're losing me... Um... er... smelly cat!

TAYLOR: Close, but I had another one in mind.

MAX: Hmm. You'd be better off dead?

TAYLOR: Bingo.

Keri Hilson invites you to the opening night of her new play, The Adventures of Knockers McGee:



The curtain's going up right now at the Hilson Torso Theater; you have ten seconds to take your seat or else you'll miss all of Act One, in which she tries to gain admission to the VMAs wearing nothing but a WWE championship belt and a head-suit made of paintbrush bristles.

Whoever told Little J this haircut was a good idea should be shot.

DUDE. We GET IT, Katy Perry. You're WHIMSICAL. You KISSED A GIRL! You think your ex is "so gay" because he has a scarf from H&M or something, according to the lyrics of your other single, all of which indicates a kind of very shallow take on sexual politics.  You are coy! And twee! You probably have a lollipop in your bag right now! You always dress like the girl on the side of some hot WWII-era fighter pilot's plane. WE KNOW.

One of our eagle-eyed reader sent in this pic of Christina Aguilera, noting that when she first caught a quick glimpse of it, she thought, "Damn! Donatella Versace got some good work done!"

OH. MY. GOD. Y'ALL. Where have I been for the last year or whatever?

So it appears the Solange Knowles Reign of TERROR continues:



What has she got on under there, I ask you? IT COULD BE ANYTHING. You know my theory that, as the Lesser Knowles, Solange is a loose cannon -- obsessed with stealing the spotlight from Beyonce -- and not to be trusted. This coat/dress/coatdress could be concealing any number of lethal weapons. A blowgun full of wee poison arrows just longing to bury their tip in Beyonce's tender arteries, for instance. Several vials of iocane powder to be slipped into Beyonce's latte as the occasion warrants. Maybe even the errant accent that you know she's just plotting to add to the "e" at the end of HER name. And where will we be when that happens, I ask you? (Emotionally, I mean. Physically, I hope to be in Hawaii.) WHERE? 

When I noted that Blake Lively wore an unfortunate jumpsuit to last night's Miss Sixty show, I was NOT KIDDING:

AND WE HAVE LOHAN:

And Ronson, too. Photo by Heather, who managed to get much closer than I did.  Lindsay was NOT wearing leggings -- or even any leggings-esque jeans -- which is probably good because who knows what we would have said to her if we could have gotten her attention. Oh, let's be honest: it probably would have been something like, "Your shoes are awesome." The crush of paparazzi around the lovebirds was a sight to behold. You can read all about it here.

What else did we do today, other than stalk Lindsay Lohan, you ask? We swam through a tropical storm, took shelter in many of Manhattan's finest bars, and:

-- Observed a way-cranky Andy Roddick, whose post-US Open loss funk could not be lifted even by Chuck Bass-esque menswear at Lacoste.

-- Decided we saw Evangeline Lilly in ugly pants at Rosa Cha. Now we're not sure it was her. But it might have been. Oh, eyesight. Why have you forshaken us? Also at the same event, we managed not to run over to Zoe Saldana and scream, "I'm the best goddamn dancer in the American Ballet Academy. Who the hell are you?"

-- Had our first glimpse of A Dubs, who was wearing a sweater and a coat in 135-degree heat and 100% humidity and yet never broke a sweat, because she has ice water in her veins.

-- Underwent tragic umbrella-stealage and less-tragic Becki Newton-stalkage at Vena Cava.

-- And finally, we ogled the boys from Gossip Girl and floated a theory as to why Mary-Kate Olsen suddenly looks....well, really cute and totally clean.

It had been years since we gave Leonor Varela a second thought -- probably, in fact, almost a decade, since she was Cleopatra in that terrible TV movie starring Billy Zane (!!) as Mark Antony. And yet, in just our first hour at Fashion Week, we nearly saw too much of her:


[Photo: Splash News]

I have no idea how, but despite this dress's best efforts, nary a nip slipped. She'd get major points for this, had she not made it all the way out of her hotel and to the show without realizing her assets might be compromised. Also, she totally should have turned her head to the right, because as we realized later, gymnast Alicia Sacramone sat two seats down -- and toting her newly minted Olympic silver medal. We are kicking ourselves that we didn't find a way to fall into Alicia's lap so that we could then accidentally touch it. Sigh. Jail would've been worth it.

When Intern George isn't rubbing our feet, scrawling "Mr. George Fug Girls" on his Trapper Keeper, or peeling grapes that he then feeds us from a silver platter -- as we lounge on our chaises and swoon, "Dahling, WHITHER the fug today, I shall simply PERISH if Mischa Barton doesn't soon leave the house in a Value Village tee!" -- we sometimes let him answer our mail. And today, we decided to let him print some of his answers. We swear on all things holy (so, on George himself) that these are all VERY real e-mails we've received at GFY HQ, with names removed to protect the somewhat innocent.

---

E-mail #1

Subject line: (no subject)

hi... i been working at my job for almost 3 years.... should i start to look for another job

right back

[name redacted]

Dear Friend,

Aha! A dilemma! Nothing makes me happier than picking up the puzzle fragments of a broken soul and putting them together, creating a brand-new abstract picture of Abiding Joy holding a martini. And a puppy.

Start by connecting your precious edge pieces. Do you enjoy your work, or do you cry? Do your bosses greet you with flowers and weep with joy that you flavor their day with your soft hair's soothing salt-and-pepper tang, or does the light in the bathroom make all your pores look ten-feet deep and your skin seem jaundiced and dry? These are important questions to ask yourself, preferably while a loved one is applying gentle hug-like pressure to your hand.

Next, begin assembling the warm, gooey center of your emotional jigsaw: Have you recently feared that you poisoned your chauvinistic boss by swapping rat poison for his usual artificial sweetener, then discovered after you took him to the morgue that he was NOT dead, forcing you to kidnap him and tie him up while you run the company in his place?

Finally, look at the resulting photo: Is it of a smile sitting on a rainbow, eating Oreos while it rains wigs? If not, then try The Notebook. It's where I find my answers when I'm in a work pickle.

Good luck, brave soul! Fight with the strength of a thousand Olympians in a sit-up contest.

Wax on,

G

---

E-mail #2

Subject line: courtney its me [name redacted]

i l;ike you for who you are i need to here your side of everything please call me at [number redacted]... i really want to get a hold of you mi allways liked you nomatter what the f**k people think ... i really want to see you not like a fan but like a brother I really cared a bout kurt and i grew up with him all i want to do is talk to you for ! min and if it dont jive i will never bother you again

Dear Friend,

Oh, it jive, tender arm-spreader. It jive. Trust me, if she's conscious, Courtney just got goosebumps. I know I did -- you'd need an off-road vehicle to navigate the uneven terrain of these arms. For so long I roamed this thankless globe worried I was alone in my quest to squeeze the hate out of its people, one torrid embrace at a time. But now? This love-wolf runs in a pack, and tonight, we hunt -- if only in our dreams.

Letting the bed-bugs nibble because they need affection too,

G

---

E-mail #3

Subject line: (no subject)

IM SICK AND TIRED OIF SEEING ANGIE AND BRAD !!!!!!! THERE ARE CERTAINLY OTHERS THAT ARE LIVING CHRISTIAN LIVES THAT YOU COULD BE WRITING ABOUT AND PHOTOGRAPHING

---A CONCERNED WRITER

Dear Friend,

What a volcano of feeling! And its lava reeks of truth. They are so many Christian lives -- there's Christian Slater, Christian Siriano, Kristian Alfonso (she was so marvelous on Days of our Lives when she was suspended in a cage over a vat of acid!)... Come to think of it, I owe Christian Bale a bundt cake. Ergo, Concerned Writer, let my phantom thumb rub the worry lines from your countenance before it cracks two eggs over a mountain of purest flour. There WILL be pictures.

Beating until smooth,

G

---

E-mail #4

Subject line: from [name redacted] -- pakistan

Hello Barton,

As i heard that you are in hospital. God may give you good health and keep you in good health and happy all time. My many best wishes for you and good give you good health.

Ok Barton have a nice day and take care.

yours sincerely.

Dear Friend,

Yours is the soul of an angel, coughing as it fights the infections flu of global negativity. May I be your Zicam? Are you a lozenge person? Do you prefer oral mist? I hear marvelous things about the nasal swabs; just press me to your nostril and let the healing begin.

Boosting you,

Vitamin G

I have to discuss something with you. An ad I saw the other day as I was speeding down Pico Boulevard here in Los Angeles, the horror of which almost lead to my crashing my car through the plate glass window of a nearby Coffee Bean, which probably would have killed countless marginally employed actors/writers. Something so disgusting that I must put it behind a jump. (It's safe for work. BUT NOT FOR YOUR APPETITE.)

This is one of those ones where the person's expression sort of says it all:

It's not that Uma looks BAD, per se...



But doesn't this photo make you wonder what, exactly, happened to Uma during her "wild year"? Based on her facial expression, I suspect that she strained her neck in the middle of yoga class -- and while she was laid up on the couch, her kids fed her enough Skittles to give her a raging cavity and then put gum in her hair everywhere but in the very back, forcing her to cut it all out and leave nothing but an awkward rat-tail. And poor Uma hasn't been able to make it to the dentist, her hair salon, OR her massage therapist because she's been too busy shopping for a bra that will fit her now that her left boob has migrated out toward Armpit Country, so she's just working through the pain and hoping no one will notice. And the In Style people were all, "Well, whatever, it's the Fall Fashion Fever issue -- it'll just look like she's the throes of a particularly debilitating case. MAKEUP! Let's get her looking flushed, people. Can you grit your teeth a bit harder, Uma? PERFECT."

Of course, that's all a guess. Maybe she just rediscovered her love of calculus and got a crick in her nape falling asleep on her open textbook, or found an old Bangles cassette and threw her neck out trying to walk like an Egyptian. Or she forgot to get a manicure and needs to hide her nails. But whatever it is causing that tension in her face, it definitely doesn't make me want to shop for pants, no matter what miracles they want to work on my thighs. 

So, it's not inaccurate to say that this is A LOT of dress:

I mean, a LOT OF DRESS:

"Hello? America? Are you looking at my nipples? Just checking. Okay, talk to you later! Bye!"

I only chose a photo with Ralph Fiennes in it because we have a long-standing fictional relationship:


I loved him so passionately in college (circa Quiz Show) that I was known around college for the high quality of my shrine to him -- and this was BEFORE THE INTERNET (because I was a student when dinosaurs walked the earth), so keeping up with the latest Fiennes information took constant vigilance. Now I look upon him fondly, like an ex with whom I parted on extremely good terms, and just think things like, "do you think his hair just looks like that now, or he's growing it out after shaving it to be Voldemort? I'm glad he at least stuck his nose back on."

But anyway: Keira. I think I might LOVE IT. But the tulle at the bottom has me perplexed. I can't find my way to the truth.

[Photo: Splash News]

L.C.: Sniffle. Whitney, it's just so awful!

WHITNEY: I know. I know.

L.C.: I just didn't see it coming. I mean, I guess there were signs... I just didn't SEE them, you know?

WHITNEY: I do.

L.C.: Maybe I just didn't WANT to see them. I wanted to believe the best in you.

WHITNEY: Wait, what? ME? What did I do? What are you talking about?

L.C.: What were YOU talking about?

WHITNEY: I don't know. Whatever dumb thing we were fake-telling each other for The Hills. I know I'm always questioning you about stuff, but it's not in my contract that I have to listen to your answers -- they only pay me to ask and nod.

L.C.: Oh. I was talking about your pants.

WHITNEY: What's wrong with my pants?

L.C.: LOOK at them.

Katie "Jordan" Price may actually be some kind of marketing genius. I know she apparently rides and has a kiddie-book series about horses, but seriously, the fact that ANYONE paid her to come out with a line of equestrian gear is hilarious.


[Photo: Splash News]

I realize that an "equestrian" doesn't have to be anything more than a person who rides horses, but I always think the word evokes those who wear blazers and jodhpurs and hats while they do dressage, or compete to see who can leap over all those cute fences the fastest and with no mistakes. So naturally, the best person to design gear for horses and riders would be a woman who's mostly famous for being crass and flashing her ginormous knockers everywhere (I know that's tacky, but seriously, at that old enormous size, "knockers" is what they were). Clearly, we are just a step or two away from the entire United Kingdom's equestrian team adopting these as the official uniforms. If you think THAT horse looks terrified at the idea of Katie throwing her leg over its back in that skirt, just imagine what will happen when, say, jumper Michael Whitaker has to do it. I think you can be arrested for that in some countries.

At first, this photo made me scream because I thought it was a jumpsuit, so at least Alexa Ray Joel gets ten points for the fact that it is not ACTUALLY a jumpsuit:


[Photo: WENN]

However, she loses them immediately for making a cocktail of other bad trends that merely LOOKS, from afar, like it could be a jumpsuit. Leggings AND formal shorts AND a figure-hugging cardigan-sweater-vest? Sweet sassy pancakes, child, did you just roll up the finale of Grease and smoke it?

Uh, you guys? Which one of you said you were going to talk to Christina about her makeup?

Listen, I know Hayden Panetttttttttiere probably feels some pressure to dress really maturely, so that people can trick themselves into being less wigged out that she's dating her 31-year old co-star.  But I think she's taken that a bit far.


[Photo: Splash News]

I mean, is she a cute young starlet, or is she Krystle Carrington, fresh from some rigorous flower-arranging in the main hall and headed upstairs to don a floor-length satin nightie so she can shower her husband Blake with motionless, tight-lipped kisses before letting him take her on on the bearskin rug in front of the library fireplace?

It's even creepier from the side:

Lily Allen doesn't look bad here exactly, but it's disturbing that when I saw this photo in thumbnail, I thought it was Jessica Simpson:

Clearly, Natalie Portman is going through a phase.



This is not the first time she's cloaked herself in layers of needless, fussy hoo-ha -- remember this? Perhaps she's desperately trying to communicate something very important to her fan base, or her manager. Or her mom. What do you think it is? That her life needs more clutter? Because she doesn't get enough catalogs in the mail, or never runs across informercials, and therefore is living a live stripped of pricey modern annoyances like the broken Magic Bullet sitting in the kitchen, the closet full of Yoga Booty Ballet DVDs she never uses, and a dresser drawer full of demagnetized Clever Clasps? The poor girl. Quick, somebody send her a care package of Mighty Putty, PedEggs, and books by that strange Andy Dick-looking nutball who wears suits with question-marks on them. This is a cry for help that needs to be answered the way that only a Hairagami piece can.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have about ten Tae-Bo video tapes that I need to lock away so that Billy Blanks' eyes of judgment no longer stare at me every from the package while I'm on the couch eating cashews.

I just got sucked into watching National Treasure the other night, and boy, is everything about that movie laughably terrible, including -- but certainly not limited to -- Diane Kruger's performance. And Nicolas Cage's hair. Seriously, he needs to donate his piece to the Smithsonian or something. Then maybe National Treasure 3 can be about how the underside of his toupe has a map to the bank where he deposited his paychecks for the first two movies.

Anyway, clearly, I am not surfing any raging tide of goodwill toward Diane Kruger, which is how I know I must really like this dress. There is something so deliciously Grace Kelly about it:


[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]

Generally I'm not a huge fan of the black transparent stuff -- which I'm sure is its technical name -- but this entire outfit catapults me to another time in such a romantic way. I could totally see her playing Princess Grace in an elaborate biopic called Dial M For Monaco, all about Grace's alleged and actual lovers and full of dishy stunt-casting. Ewan McGregor as Bing Crosby! Robert Downey, Jr., as Oleg Cassini (putting that mustache of his to better use -- I don't buy that Sherlock Holmes excuse; the Piped Wonder doesn't NEED a welcome mat under his nose). And good ol' Pacey Witter up there looks pretty dapper in his tux. Since I've heard his new FOX show is a bit terrible, maybe art can imitate life and Josh Jackson can swoop in as Prince Rainier and romance the hairpins out of her.

Great, now I need a yacht and a Mimosa. That is so unfair on the first morning back from a yachtless long weekend.

THANDIE NEWTON: As long as I'm standing still, this should be totally fine.

GUY RITCHIE: I'm not looking. I'm not looking. See? Hand on wife's hip. All good.

MADONNA: How dare that woman expose more flesh than ME. I am MADONNA. Did she not get the memo that I have decided to look like a candidate's depressed wife? Do I have to feed her skinny ass a knuckle sandwich?

GERARD: I can't believe Guy isn't even looking. I would be looking.

THANDIE: Whoever stole my boob tape is in big trouble later. It's bad enough that I have to clutch the front of my dress between my legs.

GUY: Oh, God, I'm like ten seconds away from seeing nipple AND crotch. NOT LOOKING. NOT TOUCHING.

MADONNA: I wonder if Thandie knows I've got pipes like a 25-year old bodybuilder. They will be so helpful when I strangle her with that useless little modesty strip and then hang her from a flagpole.

GERARD: I can't believe Guy isn't even TOUCHING. I would be touching.