Fugger: Nelly Furtado

Fugs and Fabs: Hip Hop Honors

This was honoring the Queens of Hip Hop, but if you didn’t know that, it would be fair to assume they were celebrating questionable pants.

[Photos: Getty]


MuchMusic Awards 2012 Fug Carpet: What Was Going ON Up There?

You guys, I think Katy Perry MIGHT be trying to tell us something. Whatever could it be?

[Photos: INF, Getty]


Billboard Music Awards Fug Carpet: Nelly Furtado and Amber Rose

I didn’t realize I’d missed Nelly Furtado until she vanished. Remember when she marauded in tournaquet rompers┬álike some sort of knee-hating pirate wench? Good times.

Now, instead of looking like a buccaneer, she just looks like the decadent light fixture one of them strung up in his ship’s private treasure-stroking room. How better to lustfully gaze upon one’s haul than by the light of a large pearly wedding cake? Imagine if she’d vacated the black bra and ditched the choker, and worn fancier, more creative shoes. Not bad, right?

Amber Rose has a different type of “too much” going on here:

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This outfit reads like a bad date.

As in, a guy invited her out and didn’t tell her what he had planned for the evening, and despite the fact that she gussied up in her very best forest-green sequined strapless romper, he proceeded with Plan A and took her bowling. Although in the guy’s defense, he couldn’t have been expected to NEED to warn anyone against wearing her very best forest-green sequined strapless romper, because a) it sounds like a garment spawned at the intersection of prom and Sonic Drive-In, and b) there is no best version of it. 

Fug or Fab: Nelly Furtado

Let’s talk about Nelly Furtado.

First of all, am I the only person who thinks Nelly looks like Courteney Cox? Not exactly, but as though they could be related — like Nelly is Courteney’s cousin, or something. Angle for a gig on Cougar Town, Nelly. I hear it’s funny.  Second, this outfit: I feel like it’s SO CLOSE to being awesome, and yet something about it has pushed it off the Awesome Highway and into the gutters of Almostville. I fear I must lay the blame at her hose and shoes. They’re sort of dragging your eye down, like an anchor. And the last thing you want your legs compared to is an anchor, am I right?


Nelly Fugtado

Happy Friday, everyone! I have a gift for you — something I know you’ve all wanted. Ready? Here it is:

That’s right, MORE see-through stuff! Here, we have a nice little lace chunk on Nelly Furtado’s chest — it’s like a soul patch on the theoretical chin of her boobs. But as you can slightly tell from this photo, it doesn’t stop there — no, the fun rages on:

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Grammy Awards Fug-or-Fab Carpet: Nelly Furtado

As ever, I with Nelly Furtado would stop making that face on the red carpet like she just downed an entire roll of SweeTarts that had been marinating in lemon juice. But I will try and set that aside, as it might take a lifetime to deprogram that instinct from her and I have far too many seasons of The Wire to get through; instead, let’s focus on the rest of it.

I’ve never liked the blonde hair on her. Especially here — it looks like she dipped a comb in some peroxide and ran it through once before leaving. As for the gown, I think it’s a perfect example of how all the romantic draping can backfire on a girl — instead of making her look floaty, it pulls around her hips, gets all bunchy, and essentially makes you stare at her midsection trying to figure out what’s her and what is courtesy of all those folds. She’s looked better, is what I’m saying.

And she can’t even stand comfortably in it without creating some weird, unflattering angles. Learn your angles, Nelly! Did Tyra Banks create magical, magical television for NOTHING? DO NOT MAKE TYRA’S LABOR IN VAIN.

I do, however, love the color.

It’s like she came so close to a victory, but in the end,  has to
settle for Miss Congeniality. Although in this case, it’s Miss Biting
The Insides Of Her Cheeks Because She Kind Of Wants To Cut That Bitch
Who Won The Crown But Instead She Needs To Keep Smiling And Just Think
About World Peace. So I’m throwing it open to the masses to see if the hue saved her or if nothing could — or, if the world thinks she’s a beacon of deliciousness and I should just let my tiny ship crash on the rocks and reveal my secret cargo of hot pants.  One thing’s for sure, though: Based on that last sentence, I should not fug before I’ve had breakfast. Strange things happen.