Fugger: Brangelina

Fug or Fab: Angelina Jolie


Look, we really need to work on Angelina’s feet now. She’s starting to break out of her billowy rut, but her shoes are duller than Ivanhoe. On the one hand, yes, it’s great that she’s not cutting off the circulation or wearing something that jacks her pinky toe so far off to the side that it’s practically a thumb.

But on the other, eight times out of ten they’re dowdy satin snoozefests — including at the Globes, when she otherwise rocked some serious, if slightly stiff, glamour. It deserved better than white satin hooves, and this is being similarly robbed of its full potential. How is it possible that Angelina Jolie almost always seems to dress without joy? Has she SEEN herself? If I were in that body, I would bring more heat than a SWAT team.

All that said, I do appreciate that this is interesting, and in fact I don’t hate it. Although I can’t figure out the back:

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Golden Globes Battle of the Red Flap: Angelina vs Natalie


It figures that the one time Angelina switches it up and goes full Movie Star I Could Kill You With A Bat Of My Eyelashes glam on us, someone else shows up with a similar bodice motif. The dresses themselves aren’t a match, but still, if I were Natalie Portman I would watch my back in case a cane gets thrust at it. How handy that Angie’s plus-one gets to carry a weapon.

Who takes it?

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[Photos: Getty]

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Well Played, and Fab It Up, Angelina Jolie


Considering that a ding against Angie is often follicular limpness — or, remember those half-hearted bangs? — I thought I’d lead with the close-up.

Shine! Body! It’s almost Middletonian. I hope the two of them have become secret e-mail friends. Angie can coach Kate on how to handle magazine covers announcing that you are pregnant, and Kate can provide shine-boosting tips and volumizer samples. And then they can both talk about whether Jennifer Aniston is doing the right thing, because you know that comes up.

Let’s check out the rest of the outfit:

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Fug or Fab: Brangelina


BRAD: Good evening, ladies and germs!

ANGELINA: Oh, God.

BRAD: Feeling boffo tonight, boys, no hokum for you, it’s all high hat and shopstoppers, ya see?

ANGELINA: He did it. He’s doing it. He said he would and he did.

BRAD: Doing what, little lady?

ANGELINA: Going vaudeville.

BRAD: I’m just living the cane, sunshine. Just living the cane. At least I left my dummy at home.

ANGELINA: No comment.

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[Photos: Getty]

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Well Played Cover: Angelina Jolie


First of all, my favorite thing about this cover is how TINY the mention of Project Runway‘s winning collection is.

I wonder if they were contractually obligated to do it, but then punted as best they could at the last second because it was so underwhelming a season. That thing is written in, like, eight point font, tucked above the masthead in a spot where you almost never look because the only information that’s usually there is the date and price of the issue, or maybe the URL.

But also, you never would look there, because you are too busy being arrested by Angelina Jolie’s face. That is a compliment. She is arresting. This is the second cover in as many months on which Marie Claire has made someone look better than they recently have on the red carpet (the first being Kim Kardashian), all by keeping it deceptively simple. The quizzical face and heat in her eyes might be a little edgier and foxier than Marie Claire traditionally goes for, but that’s kind of why I love it. She is RIGHT there, coming at you, without any bells and whistles except the ones her genepool (and maybe a nose sculptor) gave her. And it works. This is the fire that tends to be missing from her on the red carpet — this is the Angelina I wish we got more of, the one who is feisty and stunning and sassy and makes it impossible to look away. I’m almost bashful under her stare. I want to apologize for my face, or my shoes, or my hair, or the weather. Sure, there is something a little ooky about how disembodied all the parts look — that arm could as easily be a mannequin hand someone jammed into the shot, and her hair is covering up enough of her neck that she almost looks to be missing a chunk of it — but overall the effect is really hypnotic. Magnetic. Arresting. There’s the word again. But it is. I feel cuffed to it, thrown against a car, and read my rights in a rushed and perfunctory way — a grudging courtesy, as everyone knows nobody ever fully pays attention to that spiel because the fact of what’s happening is too distracting. I want her simultaneously to slap me and be my best friend. It’s strange. Which I guess means it works. Or that I just fell in dysfunctional love with her. Or both.

 

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Fuggelina Jolie


Right now the one celebrity I most dread leaving her house is Angelina Jolie. Because I know she’s too famous to ignore, and people will be curious about what she’s wearing, but nine times out of ten lately I have nothing to say about her clothes.

I mean, this happened. It’s black. It’s fine. It’s there. It exists. It is made of atoms. Jessica Simpson would wear it, if the skirt were short. The necklace is great, the hair is limp. She’s just so exhausting for a blogger. What new angle is there on her? Most of the time it’s like she’s not even trying, and worse, she’s aggressively not trying. And we complain constantly about the celebs for whom the effort sits on their brow like a visible film of sweat, an unseemly exertion, but Angie is the opposite: She absolutely wants you to know that she doesn’t really care, because she is Angelina Jolie, and she figures you will love her or obsess over her or chase her down the red carpet (sorry, Seacrest, but you will never live that down) no matter what, so screw it, let’s just throw on some billowy this and some plain-old that and maybe run a comb through the ol’ hair, assuming that scamp Pax has not jammed it into an air vent somewhere.

And she’s probably right, we do all still care, and she knows it, and the more we care the less she wants us to think she cares. Because she’s that girl in high school who thinks visible caring is uncool, and ends up wasting herself on a C-minus average just because she believes doing homework and actually studying to earn good grades looks so needy. I actually suspect she keeps things boring when she’s there in service of Brad, rather than out on her own (see: the Salt and The Tourist outfits), and I suppose that’s an act of benevolence on the surface, but to me it’s dysfunctional. Like, “Oh, honey, no one will notice you if I go all-out, so I’ll just play it quiet.” Girl. We notice. You know it.

I also enjoy how she seems to try and create this rapport with the camera that says, “That Bradley, he is just incorrigible, with his hockey player haircut. You see it. I see it. We are as one.” But the worst part THERE is that he is not creating interest here EITHER because it’s not even as bad as he’s ever looked. I actually saw this and went, “Oh, now nice, Brad is handsome again.” This is what has become of him: such greasy lows that we look at this coif and think, “What a wonderful improvement.”

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