Fug The Cover

JAMES MCAVOY: Hi, K.

KEIRA KNIGHTLEY: Hi, J.

JAMES: Can I ask you something?

KEIRA: Of course.

JAMES: We were hot in Atonement, right?

KEIRA: Completely.  Hot + WWII + English = SUPER HOT.

JAMES: I thought I remembered it right. So...?

KEIRA: Like we're in some kind of simultaneously post-modern and low-rent version of Grease. I know.

JAMES: It's terrible. Also, are those your....?

KEIRA: Knickers? So it seems. 

JAMES: But we're so attractive and good in the movie. Why would they do this to us?

KEIRA: Oh, honey. You haven't even seen the worst of it.

JAMES: How is that possible? Do they have an outtake in which I am drooling?

KEIRA: Turn the magazine over.

I'm pretty sure this cover is supposed to be sultry, or something, but instead Reese Witherspoon looks bored. And a little depressed.

[Photo: Splash News]

Reese looks way more like the cover-line cautionary tale of the girl who got caught red-handed in the boss's drawers, and no, not the ones on his desk. Or perhaps the young girl who nailed the septagenarian and is trying to say, "Listen, if I were after his money, this sweater would be a damn MINK WRAP." She does NOT look, tragically, look like a woman with any kind of new passion -- unless, say, it's a passion for staring blankly into middle distance, reading Beowulf in 24-hour spurts, or making a steak every day and then forcing herself to stare at it without ever bringing it to her lips.

Or maybe she's just upset because she lost a sizable bet to Jake Gyllenhaal that Marie Claire would pull together only 350 hot spring looks this year. It'll be okay, though, Reese -- if Jake's that attuned to the mag, then you could still win out, as he'll surely he'll flip through that poorly titled article being pimped just above the masthead, called "What Makes Men Propose." Because nothing is sexier or more strong and independent than trying to understand what to do to MAKE your man propose, right? So cheer up, and let's socially regress together!

So, Monday night, Heather and I were watching some sort of New Year's Eve Countdown Blah Blah Blah Thingie, on which Fergie appeared, and we confessed to each other over our champagne flutes that she has been looking SO adorable lately and has hardly shown up wearing tartan hot pants to anything, and now I guess it turns out we kind of like her and think she's cute.

Well, Australian Cosmo is trying its damnedest to undo all that goodwill:

A) How OLD is that picture? B) How MUCH do they hate her? C) Going down on him could give me WHAT?

All that sex-related rumor-mongering aside (apparently, in addition to giving us cancer, our boyfriends are all tracking us on some creepy website. Is one of the suggested 10 Ways to Feel More Confident Naked, "don't read any other article in this magazine"?), Cosmo's agenda this month is clearly squashing Miss Fergie Ferg's stylistic upswing like a nasty little silverfish. This picture doesn't look remotely like her, AND she's been dressed like a cashier at Forever XXI, but without the benefit of getting fifteen percent off clothes that are already essentially free. Look, I know old Fergs is busy calling all the people who made fun of her for peeing herself and for the meth thing and cackling about her impending nuptials to Josh "Smokin'" Duhamel  and all the mad piles of cash she made this year and how good her legs are (I'm sure my phone will ring eventually), but once she's done with that, maybe she should call her lawyer and see if she can sue for this sort of thing. It's certainly caused ME some emotional distress.

When I originally pulled this Bazaar cover with Uma Thurman, I remember thinking, "Oh, UMA. No."

But now that I am looking at it again, I don't know that my first instinct was right. (Bear in mind that I hadn't had any coffee at that point. What was I doing, making judgment calls?) Sure, she looks a bit orange and I don't know that this is the most flattering pose for anyone (it looks more and more uncomfortable the longer you look at it, though it's ostensibly casual), but....you know, she's hot. And she looks recognizably like herself.  And I kind of appreciate the fact that "TEN LEG LIFTS THAT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE" isn't splashed over her forehead.

And then I saw the OTHER Bazaar cover (I guess one is for subscribers and this one is for newsstands):

Could someone please explain to me what the deal is with Mischa's teeth here?

Right? I mean, she looks generically lovely here -- although not entirely like herself -- but....a bit rabbity, no? And I don't think I've ever thought that about her, not in all the years I spent complaining about how wooden she was on The OC. She almost looks like she's got a retainer in. And other than prompting me to waste twenty valuable minutes that I should be spending wrapping gifts or quaffing wassail on deep thoughts about Mischa Barton's dental situation, this cover has also led me to waste hardcore cookie-eating time on thinking about the 10 MASSAGES THAT'LL CHANGE MY LIFE. For one thing, that sounds dirty. For another, are there really TEN? I can't help imagining the poor writer assigned to this story, stuck on massage number seven and frantically asking her co-workers if they can think of ANY life-changing massages, AT ALL, so she can finish this thing and head down to the pub with everyone else. This wassail's for you, Tatler staffer.

I am really looking forward to Atonement, the project Keira Knightley here is currently flogging. The book is great, and I hear the movie is just fantastic. God knows, I'm a sucker for British period pieces in which women in great outfits run through beautiful fields crying about men. But if Keira has any sense, right now she's running through the streets of London crying about the make-up they put on her for this cover:

DUDES. Last time I checked, K. Kni wasn't a moderately depressed topless mime-clown, nor does she play one in the film, nor are moderately depressed topless mime-clowns all the rage.  So what gives? Did KK accidentally run over Interview's editor-in-chief's dog with her car? Did she burn down the photographer's house? Did she steal the styist's place in line at an open bar? Because to me, this cover looks like revenge.

Well, this is one way to officially confirm your pregnancy:

As well as your tragic addiction to bronzer, last night's eye liner and those bitchin' cropped jackets of fashion's proudest decade, the 80s. There IS something hilarious about this photo being juxtaposed with the headline, "Tanning, bleaching, botox: ARE YOU OBSESSED?" as Xtina here looks to be deeply in thrall to at least two of said vices. I'm just not quite sure what either Our Lady of the Bleach or Marie Claire were thinking: Christina's been nothing if not sexily classing it up since marrying her baby daddy, and while there is a less tacky way to pose nude on the cover of a magazine...this ain't it.

Here's what I want to know, looking at this cover:

Does Julia's MOST INTIMATE INTERVIEW EVER! include tips and tricks on how she manages to turn her head around 270 degrees? Because that, I would be interested to read.

Wow, since when did Jessica Simpson lose every single line in her face?

Please please please please tell me this is what we old fogies used to call air-brushing (every time I use the phrase "air-brushing," I get an email which reads, basically, "IT'S CALLED PHOTOSHOP YOU IGNORANT OLD BAG!!!!" and I do understand that almost no one actually "air-brushes" anymore, but it's just such an evocative phrase that I like to keep it circulating) and J. Simp didn't get an eyelift and beaucoup Botox. I spent ten minutes at my corner market today staring at this cover, Diet Coke in one hand and a bag of half-off Halloween candy in the other, trying to figure out if she looked good here or not. And then I realized, if I have to think about it, the answer is probably no.

Cute dress on ScarJo here, but what's the deal with her face?

Look: I know what this girl usually looks like. And she's really, really good-looking. So how is it possible that ScarJo's been plonked on the cover of Elle looking (facially, anyways) like a moderately bloated, totally cranky college freshman who's just been informed that the cafeteria ran out of fat-free cream cheese? There is no way someone at Elle didn't look at this shot and say, "dude, what happened to her neck?" and then someone else probably said, "You've been watching a lot of Top Model, eh?" and then the first person was probably all, "NO. I...I love it! No one has necks for fall, haven't you heard?" And now, when all poor ScarJo wants to do is read the article about the benefits of alcohol (whoo!) or "What One Woman Did to Save Her Butt" (which I admit that I SHOULDN'T want to read -- because seriously, how bad could her butt have been? -- but I totally do, because HOW BAD WAS HER BUTT? I have to know!) but she is constantly greeted by the image of herself making an uncharacteristically generic bloaty face, kind of looking the way the rest of us do when we stumble into the bathroom after a night of beer and wings. Although thinking about wings makes me think about my own butt and in doing so, I am pretty sure I just discovered the method to this mad, mad cover: ScarJo is merely helpfully illustrating the face that woman made when she realized what she was going to have to do to save her butt.