Ashlee & Jessica Simpson

Jessica Simpson woke up this morning and took a long hard look at her wardrobe.

"I don't like any of this," she said. "I hate all my designer clothing. I hate all my jeans. I hate everything that fits. I loathe anything in here that looks even vaguely clean." She was silent for a long, long, long, long, long, long moment. Thinking.

At last! "I know what I need to do," she announced to the small, yappy, fluffy dog at her feet.

"I need to go Federline."

Possibly realizing that his favorite daughter's angelic image was over the moment her leg went over Johnny Knoxville, quintessential creepy dad Joe Simpson apparently stopped forcing Other Daughter Ashlee to differentiate herself, and instead molded her back into a Jessica clone:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Cleavage? Check. Hearty, alarmingly orange "tan"? Check. Light hair in a bob? Check. Heavy eye makeup? Check. Ill-conceived clothes? Check, check, check, although Ashlee never had trouble with that one. (Unfortunately, singing sappy ballads is a bit out of her reach, as studies prove that whenever Ashlee holds a high note, the Earth's crust cracks, gas prices soar, and a kitten explodes. Ergo, Joe's going to have to make Ashlee brush up on her lip synching skills, which right now are about as polished as a junkyard Pinto.)

Maybe Joe is only trying to trick Johnny into knox-ing boots with this one instead of Jessica. That way, maybe the family cash cow will forced to consider returning to her starved marriage, thereby allowing Clan Simpson to milk her for a new show about about counseling and pre-nups.

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

STOP TANNING, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. People aren't supposed to look like that. I don't care if it's spray-on or sun-seared -- she's going to look like a pair of old boots when she's older. God. What's wrong with being flesh-colored?

Poor J. Simp.

First, Paris Hilton's T-Mobile gets hacked and the entire world reads that, among other juicy tidbits, Justin Timberlake shot Jessica down and she had to settle for nailing Adam Levine, and that she's addicted to the power.* And now, this:

Sigh. The Scarf Tied Around the Leggings is this millennium's variation on the If I Tie This Sweater Around My Hips, My Ass Will Look Smaller epidemic of 1995. You might feel like some camouflage work has been done, but it's really just drawing attention to the very area you're trying to conceal.

And then, there's the shirt. In a way, it's supportive and sweet of Jessica to be wearing Ashlee's merchandise. On the other hand, man, that's a bad concert tee. If only Tee Shirt Ashlee was wearing a shirt that had Jessica on it. And if the Jessica on this fictional tee shirt was wearing a shirt that had a picture of Ashlee on it, then....wow, now my head hurts.

Let us not even speak of the Return of the Leggings. No. Hush. I can't handle that today.

*Allegedly. Look, I'm just repeating what I heard from Paris.

Won't someone just put this girl out of her misery?

She's got a target right there on her chest already.

It's official:

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

Dear Ashlee Simpson:

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

Love,
The Fug Girls

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

"Hi, y'all! Come on, give it up for me! Yeah! I'm battling through a frightening attack of acid reflux disease -- you might have heard about it, because it forced me to use a vocal aid during my Saturday Night Live performance. That pesky acid reflux is a throat-killer! I was hoarse, y'all! This is dangerous stuff!

"But I strapped on my wrestling boots and my tutu and I'm fighting it, y'all, and tonight I'm standing here proudly in my black bra and green belt that matches none of what I have on with it, and I'm going to sing WITHOUT help! That's right, you heard me even through my decimated acid-reflux voice, which sounds exactly like my regular voice but with more of a complaining tone. NO HELP! Nada! And you are going to like it!

"Sure, it might sound like wailing, and sure, you might want to plug your ears, and yeah, they might start to bleed. And fine, okay, my Dad is a scary and controlling jackhole. But you have to be as brave as I am, yo! We can't let terrorists like acid reflux and my father win, y'all -- and I am going to lead the charge. In the immortal words of Enrique Iglesias, 'Let me be your hero!'"

In scanning a handful of photos from the Teen Choice Awards, I have found some compelling examples of people rampantly abusing their decision-making powers. Would a mirror have helped? Perhaps, but maybe it was just a shocking error in taste.

Exhibit A: Rachel Bilson.

Now, Rachel Bilson is adorable. If she'd just stuck with the dress and ditched the Half-Pint hairdo, she might've had a chance. Sure, it's a little rustic, but in a potentially very fetching way. But when she walked outside and thought to herself, "It might get a little chilly tonight -- I need something to cover my shoulders," she marked her doom by selecting not a classy wrap, or a cute coat, but in fact a castaway from the defunct Little House On The Prairie costume department.

I can't explain the choice of hairdo. Perhaps when she fugs it up, she refuses to half-ass it.

Exhibit B: Jojo

This kid is, like, thirteen, or something, which is a little bit ooky for me actually -- I feel like pop music, much like the professional tennis tour, shouldn't let anyone below a certain age participate. But, fine: Jojo has a hit song out while she's waiting for puberty, and so she gets to go to awards ceremonies.

However, Jojo committed the cardinal sin of changing outfits during the show without making sure it was an upgrade. On the red carpet, she chose this fetching peach top:

Very pretty -- she looks classy, if a bit like she's trying to outgrow her age. Still, she acquitted herself well here.

Yet by the time she hit the press room, Jojo had gone completely insane and dressed herself up like a flavor of Hubba Bubba gum:

Such are the component parts of this Ashlee Simpson outfit from the MTV Movie Awards last month:

How do you take a boring blonde and differentiate her from her heinous fair-haired sister? Go through the bargain bin of bedsheets at a Cost Plus/World Market, fashion a "dress" out of one that's the color of cow's vomit, and cinch it with a giant leather yoke once used to rein in some oxen. Dye her hair, caution her not to wash it, and the throw in scraggly extensions that only go halfway around her head, serving to underline the natural lankness of her hair rather than thickening it.

Then give her those shoes: not a flat, not yet a wee kitten heel. An unholy way-station between two undesirable styles.

This is not the way to become the endearing Simpson sister.