Well Played

In case you were wondering, I want to be Sigourney Weaver when I'm 60 years old.

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Hell, I want to be Sigourney Weaver RIGHT NOW.

September 18, 2009

Well Played, Salma Hayek

Oh, Salma.

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You are glorious. I love how you used accessories to jazz up a very straightforward little shift, and I would like very much to find out that you and I share a shoe size and that you are willing to loan me, a total stranger, those silver pumps. I promise I will only wear them while vacuuming.

That's really all I have to say, but I guess I can stay and chat for a while. How are you? Are you coming back to 30 Rock any time soon? How was working with Alec Baldwin? Because I find him inescapably, irresistibly hilarious, and yet I suspect his personality could be somewhat tough to take, given that he flew into a rage and called his kid an ungrateful pig that one time. Maybe the love of a good woman will cure him. Can you do something about that? I know you're married, and all, but maybe you have a friend? No? Well, it'd be nice to see you on the show again. So get on that, at least, please. Thanks.

September 15, 2009

Well Played, Diane Kruger

Lordy, Diane Kruger is busy. She just got off the Inglourious Basterds carousel (and WHAT is with my pathological inability to hit the 'D' key correctly whenever I type that movie's name? I had to fix it TWICE) and now she's in Venice promoting something called Mr. Nobody. Thank God she probably has people sending her free clothes by the trunkload, because between acting and promoting things and then getting freaky with her maybe-fiance, I don't know when she'd ever have time to go shopping.

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I love this. I kind of want to try it on, except I know how it would go: I would get starry-eyed and excited and then put it on and realize that there's no way in hell I could pull it off without a bra, and then I'd yell at my boobs for a bit, and then apologize to them and take them out to a nice lunch. You know, as one does. But it's all adorable on her and it reminds me that I need to get reincarnated next time as a person with an unlimited wardrobe budget and legs for days. Must put that on my to-do list.

Also... I don't usually like bringing this up, but because I know we'll get a shitload of e-mails about it, because that happens any time we show a photo of a woman who DARES to have any kind of natural flesh folds at all around her armpits, I am compelled to say: THOSE MOTHERF'ERS HAPPEN. To EVERYONE. Or at least everyone who has flesh. FLESH IS NOT A FLAW. Thank you. The end.

September 1, 2009

Well Played, Rumer Willis

By George, I think she's got it.

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[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

That might be the best I've seen Rumer Willis look. It's probably no coincidence that this is also the most like Demi I've ever seen her look, but regardless: The kid has been through some REALLY rough phrases. Remember this? That mammarial crime made my soul yawp. And the experiment with red hair had really mixed results. There's so much more where those came from -- an entire Fug Madness nomination's worth. I mean, essentially, Rumer is only famous for a) being Demi's daughter; b) having Demi tell her at the Golden Globes, DURING the telecast, to stand up straight; and c) for wearing strapless dresses that constantly sagged south, limply, on her frame. So I'm relieved for her that she looks cute, clean, and well-made-up for this Letterman appearance. Maybe a role in ABC's rumored St. Elmo's Fire TV series is not far behind.

... Although I hope it is, because that remake sounds like BLASPHEMY. I mean, one of the producers said they imagine it having a similar tone to Friends. ST. ELMO'S FIRE IS NOT FRIENDS. Did Joey play the saxophone, rock a mullet, and deflower his cardigan-wearing best friend? Did Chandler stalk a really wooden doctor of dubious appeal? Did Monica open all the windows in her empty apartment and sit there crying in the cold breeze while Rob Lowe banged on the door? NO. And I definitely don't recall Ally Sheedy doing this:

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Kinda would've ruined the emotional climax of the movie if Ally stuck her head up the business end of a turkey before pulling a Kelly Taylor (in fact, beating Kelly Taylor to the punch by about ten years) and choosing herself.

I'm sure Rumer Willis would be THRILLED that a post in which I finally compliment her has devolved into an excuse to post that photo of Monica shimmying for Chandler like a stripper with a Thanksgiving fetish. But, hey, kid, take your compliments however they come.
We learned from Lynn Collins that this terrible backdrop does nothing any favors. But amazingly, it's not preventing me from deciding I kind of like this outfit:

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Yvonne here has been featured on the site only twice, for being togged up like it's a gymnastics prom and for a peekaboo bra incident, and if those incidences have taught us anything it's that a) her taste is unreliable and b) I have a total girl crush on her. So maybe I'm being influenced by that, BUT: How cute is she? This is such an improvement. I love the way the shirt and jacket lie together, I love the casual roll of the sleeve, and I LOVE the bold red shoe.

I admit, I don't always know what to make of floating belts, but this one does at least APPEAR to have the nudity-preventing, cinching purpose of preventing her buttonless top from flying open and announcing her bra size very loudly to the assembled masses. And really, I think that is a victory for every woman, except maybe Lady Gaga. And indeed, not sinking into Gagadom is ANOTHER check mark in the "win" column. Yvonne's racking up points all over the place here. Way to go.
Since I whiffed so badly last week and put up that photo of Fergie that I didn't realize was old, I'm compensating by addressing two of her recent outfits. And yes, I checked the dates. Which is not to say I won't do anything else stupid -- I mean, this morning I put the margarine away in the cupboard. It cannot be long before I'm washing my hair with the toilet duck and making my own leggings from back issues of The New Yorker.

None of which has anything to do with this photo, except perhaps in the sense that Fergie here has NOT made leggings that way (at least, not that we've seen).

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In fact, she looks delightful. Yes, okay, that dress reminds me a bit of glowsticks. But I have happy associations with those batons of fun: Last time I basked in their petite radiance, I was in London at a performance of the absurd yet awesome We Will Rock You (because I am a total sucker for all things Queen), and not only had I just had a great time, but I was giggling at the signs outside the theater that pimped the show by saying things like, "The band is amazing," and, "It really reminds you how great Queen was," which have to be the most carefully written compliments in the history of West End reviews.

Bringing my digresion back to its point of origin: Fergie's electric dress here is fun and light-hearted and a pretty intelligent way to clothe herself for an awards show at which teens are choosing things. She doesn't look freakily mature or half-naked, nor did she pick something so precious that it's like she's trying to be 14 again herself. The shoes are wicked with it, and the arm cuff... well, look at it. Stare really hard. Does it not remind you of a metallic Sam the Eagle from The Muppet Show? I love that crabby bird. And so I endorse this outfit, and I thank her for not going the Lady Gaga route and making an accessory out of Sam's ACTUAL head.

I am not as comfortable with Fergie's next choice:

Oh, Leighton, all is forgiven:

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You look so pert and adorable in this, I just can't stay mad at you. Aren't you SO RELIEVED?

August 10, 2009

Fug.I. Joe

Even though Sienna has gone on a full-on charm assault during her press tours, I'm not completely on Team Miller. The whole Balthazar Getty thing -- all that willful frolicking, knowing they were being photographed -- was a little too gross for me. But I have to give credit where credit is due; shady taste in dudes and some tacky half-naked episodes on the prow of a boat don't change the fact that I find myself rather charmed by this:

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Would I prefer it wasn't quite such a dingy beige? Maybe. Then again, maybe not: It's not washing her out, thanks to that fancy-pants blood-red lipstick. All told Sienna emits an aura of being a darling bridesmaid from a Jane Austen wedding, presumably one in which there is a haughty groomsman who is infatuated with her sassy intellect and refusal to be impressed with his money, yet aggrieved by her lower social station and off-put by her grasping mother... and then suddenly their mutual lusty loathing turns to curiosity. WITH SEXY RESULTS. Okay, that last bit might be more in the vein of a Pride and Prejudice copycat bodice-ripper by, like, Jane Boston. But you get the gist. I dig it.
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KIRSTEN DUNST: Hey, Demi.

DEMI MOORE: Hey, Kiki.

KIRSTEN: Do we look nice, or what?

DEMI: We do. Of course, I almost always look great.

KIRSTEN: What are you insinuating?

DEMI: Nothing!

KIRSTEN: I KNEW IT. We look totally boring.

DEMI: Speak for yourself! I think we look great. You know, Kirsten, it's okay to look NICE sometimes. You don't have to always be, like, avant-garde.  It is okay, now and then, to just comb your hair and put on a cute dress and look pretty. You don't ALWAYS have to set the world on fire. And when it comes to you, I kind of suspect that people are stoked to see you out and about again, no matter what you're wearing. We've kind of missed you lately.

KIRSTEN: Really?

DEMI: Yes. Remember, you used to go out all the time, in all kinds of crazy get-ups? And then you sort of disappeared?

KIRSTEN: Uh, yeah. I was in rehab.

DEMI: Oh. Right.

KIRSTEN: It's cool.

DEMI: Anyway.

KIRSTEN: Yeah.

DEMI: So I shouldn't break the tension here by suggesting we get a drink?

KIRSTEN: Let's just get back to admiring each other's shoes.

DEMI: We really are glad to see you out and about again.

KIRSTEN: I'll drink to that. AND our cute dresses.

DEMI: Cheers!
Wow. This is a very pregnant woman.

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Rock on, Marley Shelton, for being able to walk the red carpet while you are so actively gestating. Seriously, that has got to be hard. Walking to the car when you're that pregnant is hard. Walking to the bathroom is hard. Walking to the couch so you can sit on it for eight hours in a row is hard. Walking at a slow pace so people can snap photos of you trying not to give birth in the middle of a movie premiere -- in heels, I assume, and formal wear -- has got to be a nightmare. So well played, Marley, and an extra congratulatory thump to your water for not breaking. ... Oops, perhaps not a thump. Maybe more of a friendly hand gesture.

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