Solange

February 5, 2009

Bring It On: Fug Or Nothing

You guys, I feel like Solange Knowles has GOT be considered a huge threat in this year's Fug Madness. I mean, just look at her:

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[Photo: PacificCoastNewsOnline.com]

She has got that fire in her eyes. The fire that says, "Bitches, you WILL notice me. I am a FORCE to be -- why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?" Yes, Solange, you do. You appear to be wearing a Breathe-Rite strip that's been color-coordinated with your shoes. And for that, I salute you. I also salute you for making a skirt out of the paper lining that comes with a basket of chicken strips down at Wingsy McGee's Chicken Emporium. That takes gumption. And creativity. And that certain special nameless something that makes you a contender, kid. Actually, it's not nameless. It's called The Crazy. But I appreciate it anyway.
I'm starting to wonder if everything Solange wears is just because of a giant misunderstanding.

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Like, maybe she pointed to some woman and said to her mother, "I like her suit," and Tina Knowles frowned and thought, "Hirsute? THAT'S MY GIRL," and the rest is furry history. Maybe in future they should communicate by chalkboard.
November 10, 2008

Fuglange

I have a bird phobia. I don't mind them chirping happily in the trees, or flying gleefully south for the winter, or whatever. But other than that, I hate them. I don't like them walking around near me. I am freaked out by them in cages.  In fact, I have to stop typing about this right now.  So I am beginning to become alarmed by the fact that nearly every time Solange goes out -- even if she's not technically wearing real feathers -- she looks like she's wearing some kind of giant, crazy bird:

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STOP DOING THAT, SOLANGE. (PS: did you know my spell check wants to change your name to either Melange, or Solarium? Think about it.)

Also, those shoes are terrible with your bird costume. I'm just saying.

November 7, 2008

6 O'Clock Fug

Oh, Solange.

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Did you REALLY think this was going to beat your sister's bionic hand? Or were you guys getting ready together and you were all, "this is easy. Beyonce is just wearing a cocktail dress! I barely have to exert any effort to draw attention away from her! Thank you, God! Thank you!! Massive stripes and sequins the size of silver dollar pancakes -- together at last!!!" And then you were in the limo, and Beyonce was all, "OH! I forgot!" And took her bionic hand out of her purse and put it on and you were all, "FOILED AGAIN!" I thought so.

PS: Was that really you on Ghost Whisperer last week, or did I have some kind of hallucinatory episode?


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."

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[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:
So it appears the Solange Knowles Reign of TERROR continues:

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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? 

August 27, 2008

I Fugged

Solange Knowles' reign of terror continues, and her legs are paying the price! Behold:

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I enjoy that all of the men in the background are very, very studiously NOT looking at her, like if they were to look directly at her tights, their faces would melt off like in Raiders of the Lost Ark. However, I must speak out on behalf of that leg-wear for a brief moment (from afar, it appears to depict rats, but they are horses and elephants, I believe). While they are... most bizarrely heinous on her legs, I rather suspect they'd make for adorable wallpaper.  So at least there's that!

No such back-handed compliments can be applied to this, however:

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I hear you. You're saying, "But, Jessica! That dress is cute! Whatever do you mea- ACK! MY EYES! MY PRECIOUS SIGHT! SWEET GOD, WHAT ARE THOSE THINGS?!"

Let's take a closer look, shall we?
August 26, 2008

Fuglange Knowles

It must be hard to be Knowles The Lesser. It must be close to the modern equivalent of being the younger, lamer sibling of the heir to a throne. You're just Duke So And So and everrrrrrrryone is all het up about your brother, kissing his ass and bringing him candied pheasant tongues and big fat fancy brooches and chatting him up about their duchy or their hot young daughter or whatever in hopes of winning favor, and you're just left alone at the back of the throne room to play with the ostrich feathers in your hat and give him dirty looks and drink copious amounts of mead and then eventually getting so bitter about how no one pays any attention to YOU that you get up a group of untrustworthy followers and try and stab your brother with an arrow or something and then you get exiled to Majorca or whatever and it's all a huge disaster.

I mean, she's already got the feathers:

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[Photo:Splash]

And if this isn't a cry for attention, I don't know what is. Beyonce better up her security, is what I'm saying.
Oh, SOLANGE. Just because you're the Knowles no one remembers, it doesn't mean you have to upholster yourself like a sofa someone left out by the street:

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At the very least, upholster yourself like something that's still in the house.

BEYONCE: Hi, Mommy! Thanks! Thanks for the dress!

SOLANGE: Yeah. That's good. Rub it in.

BEYONCE: Whatever do you mean?

SOLANGE: Oh, nothing. Just that, once again, Mom lets you wear some giant ball gown, and I get to wear a glorified freaking shirt with shoes that look like a five-year old made them. Awesome.

BEYONCE: You're so cranky.

SOLANGE: Wouldn't you be? It's like a funeral tent. Although I don't even like your dress that much. It looks a bit like wet sand at the beach got all over it. HA!

BEYONCE: That's real nice, there, Solange. Real mature. I think I look pretty.

SOLANGE: And your highlights look like refried Tina Turner from this angle.

BEYONCE: It was an homage! For our performance!

SOLANGE: Uh-huh. Right. Mom lets you do all that to yourself, and doesn't let me wear pants.

BEYONCE: Silly child. You have to EARN pants.

SOLANGE: Oh, is that so? Like you did on stage tonight?

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