Fug File: You The Jury

XFugXFug, Gossip Fug

A number of readers have written this morning to express concern for Blake Lively, who evidently failed to impress last night in her chosen ensemble. In order to tackle its assorted issues, I thought I’d put her triphasic outfit on trial.

Exhibit A: Arrival.

The prosecution sneers at the semi-haphazard layering on display and gears up for a rousing chorus of “You’ve Got To Pick A Pocket Or Two.” But before it can burst into song, the defense jumps in to point out that it was probably somewhere in the low 60s in New York last night, so the layers may have had an actual purpose. The judge sustains that objection and the defense celebrates with a kick-line.

Next up for your consideration is Exhibit B:
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Teen Choice Awards Fug Carpet: Fergie

Well, I’ve gone back and forth and around in circles on this Fergie outfit. I am just about ready to pull out all my hair and move to Alaska, where Geo Beach can do a whole episode of his show on how blogging there is way harder than anywhere else because — oh, I don’t know, my fingers will be too cold to type, or something.

So I’m going to turn it over to the professionals and let you be the jury.

The prosecution is ready, having been gagging over the giant dried-out-looking braid for about three hours now, noting that they haven’t seen a rope that unappealing since the one their seventh-grade gym teacher made them climb in class. Since the defense momentarily passes out from the potency of its rope-burn flashbacks and subsequent lifelong inadequacy issues, the prosecution charges forth with the suggestion that this is not Fergie at all — that the Fergie WE know would never stick a disco belt over a clashing caftan and call it genius, which therefore forces them to conclude that Fergie skipped this event entirely in favor of making lasagna with Josh Duhamel, and sent her waxwork in her place.

The defense stands up and congratulates Fergie on that choice, because really, given the choice, we would all rather spend the evening making lasagna with Josh Duhamel; the prosecution objects, claiming the defense is simply trying to woo the jury by tweaking its hormones. Forced to make an actual statement, the defense decides to point out that the red parts of the fabric are really pretty; that the hot pink, while maybe a little overly bold, does at least add some drama;, and that it’s all light-years better than when Fergie wore cropped ties and shirts tucked up into her bra. Confident in a victory, the prosecution shotguns a case of Diet Coke and breaks into a rousing rendition of “My Humps,” until the defense — misinterpreting “a rousing” as “arousing,” hops on You Tube to look for some of Duhamel’s greatest hits from his days on All My Children, forcing the judge to send the jury out to deliberate.



So, it turns out Charlize Theron is in Hancock. Are you surprised? I am. From the previews it seems like the movie is just Will Smith flying around and being cranky and doing the smashy-smashy for two hours, with occasional asides from Jason Bateman. (To be honest, though, that’s probably enough for me to go see it, because Will Smith’s action movies are a guilty pleasure of mine and the brilliant Jason Bateman is a non-guilty pleasure, so that right there is a savvily mixed cocktail of awesome.)

But yes, apparently Charlize — an Oscar winner, but hey, who cares about stuff like that when Will Smith is wearing tank tops? — tags along for some of the ride, kind of like making sure there’s beer at the party for dudes who don’t drink the hard stuff. However, the jury is having a tough time rendering a solid verdict on Ms. Theron’s various outfits. That’s where you come in, sweet readers.

Let’s start with London:

The defense is busy drooling (just like the guys behind her in the photo), so the prosecution takes this moment to jump in and suggest that one should never stand like that while wearing a dress that’s cut so severely, because it makes you look backwards, and as if you have shoulder blades for boobs. Also, her shoe looks a half-size too big, and it’s all a little bit The First Lady Attends A State Funeral. The defense chokes back a randy comment about her legs in favor of pointing out that ANYONE showing up at a funeral in a dress cut that high would put the “fun” in “funeral” and should therefore be considered a hero.

Now let’s jet back in time, to Paris:

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Cannes Fug-or-Fab Carpet: Natalie Portman

Much as Gwyneth got roughly to third base with her obsession with microminis, Natalie Portman has been doing heavy flirting with ruffles this year at Cannes. And I’m doing a lot of waffling on whether I think they’re pretty and flirty, or kind of crazy. Don’t get me wrong, I love waffles. Just not mind waffles. So you, dear readers, need to put on your special baby-soft clicking glove of judgment and prepare to be the jury.

Exhibit A for the prosecution:

The defense argues that this is quite pretty and elegant on her, and is an amazing color. But the prosecution wants you to know that the ruffle flipping up around her chest could have been a valance in another life. Or in this one, until twenty minutes before Natalie left her hotel.

Exhibit B:

The prosecution whispers furiously with each other — one of them was heard to say, “You’re telling me you wouldn’t try that on if you had her figure? PLEASE” — and then feebly suggests that a
strong breeze would expose Natalie’s portman to the world. The
defense raucously chest-bumps each other and stars singing “Livin’ On A Prayer.”

Exhibit C:


The prosecutors are momentarily at a loss for words, because this is another really lovely color, but they’re about to recover long enough to note that this is the sort of thing — and, indeed, the red number as well — would ONLY look good on someone as tiny as Natalie Portman. Anyone with an inch to pinch and real-woman hips would look like a very cold Christmas tree.  Meanwhile, the defense is making margaritas and toasting the fact that, really, who cares
how it
would look on a normal person if Natalie looks cute in it? The
prosecution responded by passing them a note that said, “STOP LAUGHING
AT US. It’s sort of old-looking! Right? What if she’s giving someone bad ideas? Also, can you pour us one on the
rocks with salt?”

And finally, Exhibit D:

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