Fugger: Gwen Stefani

Fug or Fab: Gwen Stefani

There is something endearing about the fact that Gwen Stefani has an item of clothing she loves so much, she keeps wearing it no matter how many years ago she first clutched it to her red-lipsticked bosom and begged it not to ruin the moment with a lot of talk.

[Photo: WENN.com]

Tragically, that item is this pair of white footless tights. They’re distracting me from this suit, which much of the Internet — if our Inbox is to be believed — found to be a crime against stripes, lapels, the baby clothes that are clutched to it, and the Coca-Cola name. Me, I find it oddly fun, as if she made it out of an old pair of Gavin’s pajamas, rolled it up, put it under her pillow with a photo of Joan Collins, and then woke up and found it was finally was done cooking. But maybe that’s just because I love pajamas and Joan Collins.



[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

So, this post was going to have a dialogue — something about Gavin Rossdale showing Gwen a photo of herself that proves wearing a shirt with tails is ridiculous, especially when you pair it with athletic pants, as if your gym towel got stuck in the waistband. And then something about how her shoes look like she went to a foot-binding clinic, and it would all end in a tiny little testy moment in which it’s implied that Gwen is really pissy about the fact that Gavin didn’t just tell her this before they left the house. But you guys, it was NOT FUNNY. Like, at all. It just sat there like a dead fish on a cutting board, waiting for me to gut it, which would never happen because I hate both fish AND guts, so I’d be stuck with nasty rotting seafood stinking up my kitchen while I refused to confront my fear of anything icky. (Tangibly icky, that is — obviously, icky clothes in photographs are fine, mostly because my nostrils remain unmolested by them.) I think channeling Kanye sapped my first-person mojo for the day. Hopefully not forever. 
So now I need something to talk about here. How are you? Did that thing you were doing end up okay? What about that trip you took to that place? Can we talk about how constantly cutting to Jennifer Hudson singing “One Shining Moment” during the basketball montage last night completely ruined it, because it made it about her and not about the tournament? Maybe we should discuss how I don’t mind that Lost is totally cracked-out and uneven this season, because I think it should die as it lived. Or how the word “nougat” makes me giggle. Or how Mercy is actually kind of great and it’s probably going to get cancelled, which sucks, because James Van Der Beek is hilarious on it, and so, surprisingly, is Michelle Trachtenberg. Maybe we can discuss how I can’t break my cycle of having a peanut-butter sandwich for lunch almost every day. At least THAT brings us back around to he giant black napkin swinging from Gwen’s buttocks, which makes me feel like all this typing was not for naught. Nougat. Hee.

Fug or Fab: Gwen Stefani

The most distracting thing about this for me — aside from all the eyeliner, belts, and snort pants on display — is that I keep glancing at this too quickly and then having to do a double-take to determine that it’s not Madonna.

Not that, on many levels, there is anything wrong with being mistaken for a legendary Queen of Pop. But in general when I see Madonna, I lunge to protect all my major arteries to prevent them from being milked like an udder by her Olympic weightlifter arms, and Gwen might not want to foster any kind of relationship with that reaction. 
Next up: Trying to determine if that’s a tiny wee skirt, or shorts. I THINK I have come down on the side of skirt, although there’s some polterwang-adjacent bunching that makes it hard to tell ANYTHING definitively except that if Darth Vader had a favorite hostess at the Death Star Hotel & Casino, she would be wearing this.
Taking all that into account: Does Gwen pull it off anyway?


No Fugbt

It’s always tough to fug people’s winter wear, because when it’s freezing outside and there’s just been a snowpocalypse, I am of the mind that one should put on whatever one needs in order to live. 

[Photo: WENN.com]

And if that happens to be a coat that’s an ode to color bars, well, so be it. As an added bonus, if Joseph’s technicolor dreamcoat gets lost at the cleaners, she can sell him this replacement. Easy money.

Fab or Fug: Gwen Stefani

Wow, I just got really distracted by Gwen Stefani’s face:

She kind of looks weirdly like Judith Light to me here — or, as one of our photo sources labeled her today, “Judy Light,” like the editor there went to high school with her or something. I mean, she looks like Judy Light’s DAUGHTER or similar, of course, not as though she is Judith Light’s current age, although I’d also like to take this moment to note that I think Judith Light looks great for her age and also I love her on Ugly Betty. But — questions regarding who may or may not be The Boss aside — Gwen normally doesn’t look the way the person in this picture looks. Is it because, without her trademark red lipstick, my brain doesn’t recognize her? Like, I have no muscle memory for THIS Gwen Stefani, so I find the whole thing off-putting on a chemical, neurological level? What I’m saying is: I fear this make-up may have gone a wee awry.

But let’s look below the chin and check out the rest of her get-up:

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Fuggaback Girl

I know that whatever a woman wears to take her kids on a hike is her own private business, generally speaking. But… you guys, I just had to make sure I am not hallucinating these pants.

[Photo: PacificCoastNewsOnline.com]

You’re seeing tie-dyed harem leggings too, right? Are those even actually TECHNICALLY harem pants? What is the term for pants that are tight on the legs but have enough room in the crotch to hide Gwen’s other child? Why do we live in a world where such a noun is necessary? Crotch-slings? Knee bags? Pantaballoons?

Also: Whenever I see anyone in pantaballoons like these, I wonder how they do not drive themselves insane wearing them. They’re built to replicate the feeling of having your pants fall off as you’re walking. Incidentally, I saw that happen to a guy on Ventura Blvd. He was strolling along with low-rider pants, and with each step they sank lower and lower until they finally fell off his ass and started flopping toward his knees, exposing his boxers. He kept right on going as if nothing had happened. Maybe HE’S the guy who pioneered pantaballoons.