Fugger: Tilda Swinton


Wow. It’s like… a suit cocoon.

It’s a sleek planet indeed whose alien beings hatch out of lapels.

[Photo: Getty]



SWINTON is just so groovy.

I just want to go over to her house, where I assume she will be wearing this and she’ll hand me a weird cocktail and then we’ll go out into her treehouse — don’t be misled, it’s actually a very modern structure — where she will give me blunt and excellent romantic advice and then leave me to go canoodle with one of the men in her household, asking me to rearrange her slacks wardrobe as payback. AND I WILL HAPPILY DO SO. I mean, truly, I would look like an IDIOT in this ensemble — trying too hard, party of one — but she seriously just….looks like this. Teach me your ways, O SWINTON.

Even this is good on her:

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BAFTA Awards Wah-Waaah Carpet: SWINTON

Man, usually people save the best for last. And when SWINTON busted out a big gun at the Golden Globes, we were so excited at where that meant the lunacy would end up come Oscar time.

Instead, she’s been dressing like a woman who is really not all that excited to be attending her own third and fourth weddings.


SAG Awards SAD Carpet: SWINTON

I am worried about SWINTON:

This is so staid. Almost NORMAL. Even…BORING. Where is the delicious wacktacularity, the delightful weirdness, the glorious Bowie-esque bad-assery we’ve come to expect from SWINTON? She looks less like SWINTON and more like swinton. I’m seriously concerned. Can someone go over to the Bel Air Hotel — actually, what am I saying? SWINTON surely stays in some fantastic post-modern glass treehouse in the backyard of, like, a Cal-Tech rocket scientist/conceptual artists with whom she once spent a glorious naked weekend in the Maldives. Regardless, can someone go over there and make sure she’s not running a fever? Because something is amiss.


Golden Globes Well Played Carpet/SWINTONly Played Other Carpets: SWINTON

It seems only fitting that our first post in what will be exhaustive/ing Globes coverage is the High Priestess of Fabufuggery. Personally, I unironically and unabashedly love the hell out of this dramatic suit — I want her to wear it to a wedding at which her salacious affair with the groom will be revealed, or to a press conference where it’s revealed she is David Bowie’s sister — but the other stuff she trotted out this weekend was more SWINTONIAN in its boxy starkness, the  kind of thing we either love without reason or dislike with great affection. Join hands as we plunge into the SWINTON vortex.

[Photos: Getty]


We Need To Talk About Fug

While watching the premiere of Project Runway: All Stars, I realized that the divinely straight-shooting and cool Joanna Coles of Marie Claire — she’s the Tim Gunn of the series, and I have to say, she is making it work — reminds me a lot of SWINTON here. Both physically, and in the sense that I feel if I went to them with any kind of life crisis, I would get seized by the shoulders and given a mellifluous and true speech steering me away from shenanigans.

I would like to return the favor, except right now I sound like a small family of bees has taken up residence in my nasal canal, so it wouldn’t be so much “mellifluous” as “unpleasant and droning.” But I do think I’d have cautioned Our Lady of Wackitudinal Yes against pants whose only true hem is the floor. I’m also not wild about the dueling purples, and frankly, the rise on those trousers reminds me of nothing so much as Apu from The Simpsons. For what it’s worth, if SWINTON ran a convenience store, I would shop there unreservedly. I would be her best customer, get fat on her shriveled and warmed-over hot dogs, and go broke on scratch lotto tickets. But I would still probably warn her off the pants. They’re just not worthy. They are the Wayne Campbell of pants.

[Photo: Getty]