Well Played

"This performance goes out to my grand old frenemy, Andre Leon Talley. It's all for you, A.L.T..."

"And I am TEEEEELLLLING YOOOU,

IIIIIIII AM NOT CALLLLLING.

You're the WORST STYLIST that I'll ever know.

What the HELL was that gold bolero?!?!?

No, no, no, NOOOOO way,

NOOOOO way

IIIIIII'M letting you clothe MEEEEE.

I don't want to look CRAZY.

I'm free, I'm free!

And you, and you, and YOU,

You're gonna RUE MEEEEEEEEEEEE."

I have a lot of love saved up for Whitney Houston, whose entire first and second albums I used to love belting out in my room when I was, like, eight -- despite the fact that there's no way I should've been singing about spending all night shagging my married lover, and how it was emotionally hard when he was with his family but all worth it when he dropped by my place again for Naughty Time. I even had the piano music for that one; my parents must have been relieved I never whipped either of those performances out in public.

Naturally, then, her descent into becoming the scary-bony woman who told Diane Sawyer she made way too much money to bother doing crack and demanded to see receipts proving allegations she spent $500,000 on cocaine -- because drug dealers are renowned for making sure you have receipts for each purchase -- considerably saddened me. Thrillingly, though, Whitney looks like she's getting back on track.

Pretty! Classy! No bones poking out through her skin! And she's totally fixed up the hair!

My one beef: I am pretty sure those are panty-hose (which I totally wrote as "hos" by accident the first time and had to fix; perhaps this is my subconscious' way of telling me that, deep down, I believe nude panty-hose are the trashy cousins of a good pair of tights). And I hate that with open-toed shoes, especially ones with bling attached that draw your eye right down to the feet, making sure you notice the telltale webbing on her toes.

But other than that, well done, Whitney. One step at a time, right? We have time to deal with this whole panty-hose problem -- something that, not too long ago, I might not've been able to write without secretly worrying Bobby Brown would be the death of you before we got there. But now we've got you looking radiant again, so let's call this one a victory. Dare I suggest she's rekindled the greatest love of all? Oh, I dare, I DARE.

I know! You thought this day would never come! After all, there may be a portion in our book in which we compare Rachel Zoe to some kind of leather goods (and in HER book, she admits that she tans, for real, in the sun, every day, and frankly, I think those two items are connected).  However, never let it be said that we don't give credit where it is due.  I think Zoe looks totally fabby in this. Red is kind of great on her! And she's not wearing what is essentially a giant muu-muu, nor is she covered in wack-ass bangles like Claire's employee who's overly excited about her discount:

I just kind of love it. It's such a refreshing departure from her norm and that's exciting to see on anyone.  Also, I am powerless in face of a metallic shoe. I have to admit it. Round 614 goes to Zoe.

Well, take a look at this!

Frequent fug offender Kristen Bell looks pert and pretty and plain old adorable in something that actually fits her! I am so relieved to see that she's hopped off the 11:05 to Stumpytown and finally boarded the....huh. That train metaphor completely ran out of steam on me there. One might even say it went TOTALLY OFF THE RAILS! See what I did there?  See?! Oh, dear readers, welcome...to Friday. Or as we call it at GFY HQ: Sleepy.

Anyway. What was I talking about? How much I secretly love Celebrity Apprentice because I privately find The Donald kind of hilarious? How I recently tried Alberto VO-5 hot oil treatment for the first time in years and it actually made my hair really kind of bouncy? How STOKED I am about the return of Lost? Oh, that's right: La Bell. She looks a treat, no? Check out the back:

Oh, Amanda Bynes. You're so nice and person-colored now.

And that gown is totally gorgeous -- love that peacock color, love the bodice, love the flirty layers at the bottom, love the way it fits her.  The hair might be a little twee, but you know what? I don't care today. That's right. Dare I say it, I'm in a GOOD MOOD, and looking at this dress only enhances it -- like frosting on an already really yummy piece of carrot cake. I am pretty sure that those boys in the background are trying really hard not to stare at her, but inside, are totally stoked that Hot Amanda Bynes is standing mere feet from them and are planning to tell all their friends tomorrow that they held her hand and that she promised they'd get married in 15 years. Or, you know, whatever it is that boys do. Having no brothers, I can't say for sure. Doodling your names jointly inside a big heart all over a spiral notebook and then frantically doing MASH, trying to cheat so that you end up married, living in a mansion, driving a Ferrari, working as a movie star, having three kids, and owning stacks of emeralds, seems like it's more of a girly response.

Remember the last time we saw Joy Bryant? To say this is an improvement is an understatement:

I wonder if she's got some kind of multiple personality thing going on -- a la Bai Ling but with less nudity (also, doesn't "a la Bai Ling" sound like an option on the menu at some poncy restaurant, like, "the chicken can also be served a la Bai Ling for a surcharge of $8"?). One night, Joy's wardrobe selection is driven by the girl who REALLY loves dressing like an extra from a poorly-produced Lifetime movie about pioneers, the next evening it's propelled by the one with simple, glamourous taste. If I may offer some advice, Joy, see if you can do something about getting rid of Girl One and hang on like cold, grim death to Girl Two.

Here's the thing: I almost made this a "Fug or Fab," until I realized that I pretty solidly come down on the "fab" side when it comes to this outfit.

[Photo: Splash News]

It's a beautiful color on our  favorite tiny Aussie superstar, and she's glowing. It's kind of hard to believe Kylie is almost 40, and that it was a full  twenty years ago that I was sitting in my bedroom wailing along to "I Should Be So Lucky," wishing I had her hair and thinking that crazy hat from the album cover was probably the coolest thing anyone had ever put on their body in the ENTIRE history of bodies (hey, I was young, she was my favorite, it was the 80s... a lot of things I  felt strongly about were, in retrospect, completely ridiculous). Indeed, I should be so lucky as to look that great at 40 AND after surviving both a harrowing medical condition.

My only real moment of concern was whether the tulle wrap shooting out of her right boob was too much -- whether it ended up overwhelming her. But then I decided I didn't care, because she's so regal and pretty and there's something deliciously old-movie about that piece of fabric. Back in the day when people would dress for dinner, getting all fancy whether they were going to a club for dancing and a meal or just coming back downstairs to eat it at their table, I could totally see Kylie swanning in wearing that dress and puffing on a superlong cigarette holder (since of course back then nobody knew or cared that cigs were so terrible for you), dangling a brandy glass from her fingertips and drawling words like "darling" and "devilish" in conversation with the local rogue, whom she will of course end up marrying. Maybe she should MAKE that movie somehow.

Just the other day, I was wondering what Ashlee Simpson was up to. Not in a, "Do you think she's brushing her teeth? Ooh, maybe she's flossing!" kind of way. I am not a stalker. And if I were, I don't think I'd pick Ashlee Simpson as my stalkee.  I would be more likely to stalk, like... I don't know. Ian Ziering, maybe. You know, for one thing, he'd probably appreciate the attention. Plus everyone loves Steve Sanders. Win-Win!

Anyway, it appears that she was actually off dyeing her hair and buying one of those big-ass clutches that I've decided I want (it fits a lot of stuff, AND it's easy to smack people with):

I don't know, you guys! I think she's kind of working it. But I also suffered a head injury this morning when a box containing a pair of wooden heel boots fell off the top shelf of my closet and onto my head. Does she actually look sort of cute - in that prim way that I dig -- or is it just the giant hematoma talking?

This is so exciting, y'all. Okay, so the shirt is all over the place --a billowy and occasionally unfinished-looking mess. In fact, it looks a bit like she's mourning the death-at-sea of her favorite pirate (but don't worry, honey, I have it on good authority that death cannot stop true love; all it does is delay it for a while).  But there's something more exciting at work here to compensate.

Check it out!

It FEELS! It really feels! Number Five Three is ALIVE!

RUMER: I can't believe I didn't get to be Miss Golden Globe.

EMILY: But you look the prettiest I've ever seen you!

RUMER: Whatever.

EMILY: No, really.  I also look pretty, but why shouldn't I, really?

RUMER: I'm just so annoyed. This dress is really cute on me. But I don't even get to be on TV. It's so unfair. But I'm going to slouch over and be all Miss Poor Posture and defeat the entire effect. I'm THAT ANNOYED. I've turned to SELF-DESTRUCTIVE POSTURE. THAT'S WHAT I'VE BECOME.

EMILY: Oh, honey. Have some wine with me, and my charming up-do.

RUMER: I DON'T WANT ANY. I WANT TO BE CRANKY.

EMILY: Just smile for this nice photographer who found us here in this corner. CHEESE!

RUMER: Fine. Freaking cheese.