Fug The Cover

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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?

September 5, 2008

Fug The Cover: Uma Thurman

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

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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. 
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Drunkface strikes again, and this time, she brought her best friend, Tweed. And Tweed went and brought his girlfriend, that bitch Cheap Accessories from Claire's. And she brought her mom, Lame Ass Partial-Fingered Glove.  And she dragged her neighbor, High-Waisted Jodphurs, who insisted on bringing her cat, Mittens. And they were all chaperoned by the person who thought it would be an awesome idea if Nylon's cover models looked Scared, Stoned, and About to Sneeze, respectively.
All righty, you asked for it -- and I do mean that; we got a boatload of e-mails begging us to address this -- and because it's almost the weekend, I'm going to give the people what they want.

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Apparently this pose is an homage to a similar cover Mark Spitz posed for after he won his seven gold medals. But I haven't seen that cover**, so I can only judge whether I think this one works. And, bless Phelpsie's proficient soul, I don't believe it does. For starters, all that red is making my head hurt; plus, with the medals laid out that way, whenever it catches my eye I think he's wearing a halter top.

Let's not ignore the gold-adorned elephant in the room, though: It's not... the best photo of Michael Phelps. And I generally dig the endearingly goofy thing in guys, but he's exponentially goofier-looking here -- and, in fact, in that shaggy-haired Olympic headshot NBC kept using -- than when you see him in motion. Which is probably as it should be; the kid's job is to train, eat, swim, win, not be a pin-up-quality dreamboat. I personally think he's perfectly cute and he just seems sort of uncomfortable in this shot, but it also doesn't even do justice to his remarkable physique. Which ought to be like shooting fish in a barrel, especially since Sports Illustrated is known for its top-notch photography -- you'd think they could've massaged something slightly better out of this idea. I mean, hey, every year they put out a thick, loving tribute to boobs and asses in bikinis; if they'd just devote that much TLC to Phelps, I think SI's female readers (and yes, we are out there) would be hiding this cover in our office drawers so that we could look at it on a rough day and be reminded of all that is good in the world. Sigh. Maybe ESPN's magazine will do it better.

** Aha, here's the Spitz cover. I think it's better -- helped by the thin medal chains. Although he does look a tiny bit like he wants to eat my face, but all that muscle oil is working for him.  I guess it's only fair that Spitz should come out ahead here in SOME way.
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Hee. Don't get me wrong. DebMess looks amazing here. But I find it hard to believe that Town and Country didn't have a workable shot in which she didn't look like she just got poked with a cattle prod. She just looks so....startled. Aren't all T&C cover girls supposed to look like they just rolled out of their Daughters of the American Revolution meeting and are now en route to eat tiny sandwiches and complain about the help? Although, in fairness, I once had a job at a very traditional and fancy company that we'll call The Button Factory. The Button Factory had no internet access, paid me very little but expected me to dress as though my parents had given me a huge clothing allowance (they had given me, in fact, no allowance at all, as I was a grown woman), did not allow me to wear pants, and had nearly nothing of interest for me to do most days. The Button Factory did, however, have a subscription to Town and Country, and I spent many, many days pretending to work but actually reading it because OH MY GOD I WAS SO BORED. So: thanks for that. Don't poke me with that prod for this.
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It's not that Carrie Underwood really looks bad here. It's just that she doesn't look like Carrie Underwood. At all. Every time I love at this cover, I think she's someone else: Kate Hudson, Katherine Heigl, some random girl I've never heard of, a very very Photoshopped Madonna. And pourquoi? Carrie Underwood is a babe. And she looks like a babe here. But a babe we've never met. Why even get a celebrity for your cover if you're going to make sure she doesn't even look like herself?
It's unfortunate for this edition of Glamour that the cover photo was taken before Anne's breakup makeover, to the point where I keep checking and re-checking the date on the masthead just to make sure this isn't accidentally from last year. But fortunately, I quickly get distracted by the cover lines. I love seeing which concepts transcend language -- for instance, apparently the very idea of "big fashion" is universally understood, as it appears in English on this Glamour cover twice:

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The rest, I just enjoy interpreting in my own way. "Ik ben echt een ongelooflijke nerd" is fairly easy, thanks to the universal power of the word "nerd," indicating this is yet another rehashed article where Anne blathers on about being super dorky even though she is a huge movie star. I hope the enthusiastically promoted "folklore" trend means that The Netherlands is about to enjoy a renaissance of Brothers Grimm-themed clothes. I've decided "Miriams Man Bleek Gay" is a review of The Netherlands' Next Top Model. And I don't care what "flirteen heet smirten" really means; in my head, that's how the photographer tried to direct Anne Hathaway at this cover shoot, which explains why she looks both like she's trying to seduce you, and as if she is privately, smugly smirking at you because you have a giant piece of spinach in your teeth and she would rather enjoy your unknowing shame than alert you to it.

The worst part about this cover is how it's NOT overtly crazy and terrible. At least if they were aiming at something super wacky and fell short into fuggery, it would be amusing and maybe interesting. But this is just boring and unflattering -- the Joker smile, the bad angle on her nose -- and mostly reminds me of an Olan Mills portrait she's taking to use as her high-school yearbook's senior picture. About the only thing I DO enjoy about this cover is that it proves Tyra Banks is crazy when she yammers on about how actresses on magazine covers never show any neck. CLEARLY, we can see Anne's; therefore, Tyra is going to have to come up with something new to demonstrate at judging panel this season. Perhaps something that involves the subtleties of how to model makeup and talk with your eyes when you have a bag over your head. 

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I think Vogue left something off the cover. In addition to being (allegedly) a Fashion Star, a Pirate Queen, and History's Sexiest Duchess (A-Dubs knows Pirates of the Caribbean was fiction, right? Or is she peering at Johnny Depp over her sunglasses and thinking, "Johnny Depp looks SO MUCH like that charming pirate Keira is often going sailing with. I wonder if they're related?"), it seems KK is also The Worst-Coiffed Vogue Cover Girl In...Ever. Um, what HAPPENED here? Leaving aside the fact that she appears to have what could very well be a fabulous dress...tucked into...two belts? Over which she is wearing maybe pants?...or a skirt? I am perplexed. Okay, let's leave that aside as promised. Leaving that aside, her hair looks like mine did that time I tried to train it to go longer between washes, i.e. greasy, lank, stringy shapeless, possibly a bit smelly and therefore scraped back into some kind of quasi-up-do meant to disguise all of the above. Surely Keira can wash her hair for Vogue. SURELY, they didn't do this on purpose. Surely.
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It must be really kind of hard to be Miley Cyrus: you pose in a sheet, and people FREAK OUT. You send sort-of-but-not-really provocative camera phone pics to your boyfriend, and people FREAK OUT. You make kind of snide remarks about said boyfriend's new girlfriend and people FREAK OUT. But who is there to freak out when Seventeen magazine Photoshops you until your head appears to be floating over someone else's body -- someone whose elbows have been surgically attached to her dress? I AM. I have commenced FREAKING OUT for you, Miley. You can thank me later.
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I can't wait to get this issue in the mail, if only because "Beverly Hills Derms Battle for Supremacy" sounds hilarious, almost like a parody of a W article, and I've been trying to lose a couple of ice-cream-sandwiches- and-hot-dog-induced summertime pounds so that my jeans fit right again and the idea of a $1,000 skin cream is enough to totally put me off my feed! Does that skin cream also wash my dishes and manage my mutual funds? Because otherwise, I imagine that even the richest, most frivolous woman might look at that price tag and think, "screw that. I'm sticking with La Mer and dropping the other $800 on shoes." While, obviously, the rest of us -- not W's target demographic -- would look at that price tag and think, "or I could pay my bills, you assholes." I am dying to see what Glossed Over says about this issue, because I am scared I might not have the intestinal fortitude to actually read it, seeing as just the cover is getting me all worked up. Also working me up: the idea that they've got an interview with Tilda Swinton in here and still decided to put Kate Hudson on the cover in disguise as an 80s robot car-hop, programmed to stab you to death with the straw from your malted. If Tilda Swinton were on the cover styled thusly, we'd all be like, "Oh, TILDA. You are a kooky, artsy delight! Tell me more about your unconventional romances! You please me!" As it is, my reaction is more along the lines of, "Kate Hudson, you poseur. Nice try." Kate Hudson's entire career is built on being the opposite of being edgy and while in general I appreciate taking things in a new direction, this is like the magazine cover equivalent of that time Denise Richards played a nuclear physicist: hilarious, annoying, and a valiant attempt to ask the public to suspend entirely too much disbelief. Baby steps, Kate. Try dark nail polish first. Then maybe one day we'll be able to look at you all tarted up like a programmed killer escaped from an undiscovered Robert Palmer video and not giggle at you.

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