Fugger: Mia Wasikowska

Oscars Fug or Fab: Mia Wasikowska


Well, at least she’s going someplace interesting, as opposed to someplace adjacent to Migraine City (which isn’t on Google Maps — you can get there by banging the heel of your hand against your face a hundred times and then giving up and face-planting onto your keyboard).

The detail is a tiny bit like Personal Grooming Gone Awry, but I have to say, the whole effect is funky, like she’s standing next to Jessica Rabbit and catching her shadow. Also, I love that she wore gunmetal. However: Do we really think this needed the hip napkin? There’s plenty going on here without it. Like when a really hot man grows a mustache. Let’s say Pacey, or Jon Hamm, or Ian Somerholder, or WHOEVER, grew a full Magnum P.I. Would that really be HELPING, or is it just getting in the way of our ogling?

Is the kid all right?

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Mia Fugsikowska


When a friend of mine promised to bring wine over for the Super Bowl, I cautioned him to do the classy thing and ensure it was an open bottle poking out of a crinkled brown paper bag.

I think Mia gave her stylist a similar edict.

[Photo: Getty]

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Fug or Fab: Mia Wasikowska


Mia she accidentally fell off our radar in the past month or so. These things happen. Usually, it’s because we feel like it’s the eighth verse, same as the first, and we’re tired of singing that song and we suspect you’re tired of hearing it. In this case, the song is, “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go So We Can Tell You To Take Off Those Shoes and Maybe Wear A Less Askew Outfit, Yo.” Let’s see if our tune has changed.

So how's she doing?

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[Photos: Getty]

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Fug Eyre


Oh man, Mia Wasikoska:

She’s an excellent actress, and I love that she doesn’t look like every Tan, Extension-ed, Bandaged-Dressed starlet in town. That being said, there is a ton of acreage between Tarty Starlet (Tarlet?) and BLAND BLAH BLAH BLAND from the neck up and Holiday Wine Bag from the neck down, and I just want to KIDNAP HER and do something about it. She is talented; she is lovely; SHE CAN LOOK BETTER than she usually does. Will no one give her highlights? In this whole wide world full of agents and managers and editors and stylists and hair and makeup experts, has no one told her that she need not be mousy? And could also wear things that fit, you know, if she wants to? YOU COULD EVEN GO BACK TO THIS HAIR, GIRL. SERIOUSLY. IT’S BETTER. Just…be more fabulous, is all I ask. JUST BE MORE FABULOUS.

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Mia Fugsikowska


I don’t know what to say or think about Mia anymore.

This isn’t, strictly speaking, fugly. It’s better than a lot of the expensively drab stuff she comes up with, and the expensively weird stuff, but it’s still… not quite there. The matching neck and navel bows are a little precious, and she kind of looks like someone said to her, “Look, they’re promoting that Pan Am a lot — maybe try to look like a stewardess, okay? Flying is so hot right now.”

On me? Sure, maybe — my life is small. But Mia is prettier than this. She’s more talented than this. She should be able to do better than this. SOMEBODY ought to be helping her do better than this. Or else in about fifteen minutes someone’s going to walk up to her and say, “Do you have any Bloody Mary mix? No, wait. Here’s what I want. Regular tomato juice, filled about three quarters, and add a splash of Bloody Mary mix, just a splash, and…a little piece of lime, but on the side,” and then she’s going to find herself walking back to a chair next to the lavatories and trying not to punch the wall.

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The Tree of Fug


Well, the good news is, for once, I can’t see her ankles or her shoes peeking out of a stumpifying skirt. So at least Mia looks tall.

The bad news is, she’s wearing a lace tube top. Worse, it’s as part of an outfit that looks ripped from a  racy ballet called Jane Eyreabesque, in which our heroine gives Mr. Rochester a lap dance with more splits than a blackjack table.

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