Fug File: celebrity fugshion lines

Fugbrey F’Fug

Seriously, is Aubrey O’Day bored? I thought she was taking a break from Danity Kane to do Hairspray. Are you telling me she has no time to work with the band that made her famous while she’s on Broadway, but she DOES have time to hang out at TRL and chit-chat all the time wearing dresses with built-in capes?

Maybe not the best use of her time. I’m just saying.

This is, however, better than any of the t-shirts, headbands, and briefs Aubrey is selling (because these days pretty much any person with a Mystic Tan account also has a clothing line). We should all say a quick prayer of thanks that Aubrey has decided not to run around town hawking her own wares. But the tragedy of it is that ANTM winners Jaslene and Caridee were dragged into the fracas. It’s like Aubrey’s only editorial directive was that all the girls should hang open their mouths in a semi-drugged stupor:
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Fugly Lohan

Stop the presses! We thought we should let you all know that Lilo’s Leggings Line is — at last! — for sale at Intuition. And it is all we could have hoped for. One pair — charmingly called the “Mr. President Leggings” — feature knee pads, presumably so you can wear them whilst gardening? Stay classy, Linds!

Another pair have stirrups, BUT are also the least expensive of the bunch at the low, low, low, low price of $99. For a pair of shiny, dry-clean only stirrup leggings. Because you’re also using dollar bills to light your crack pipe.


And, finally, the piece de resistance, what Lilo is calling Leopard Ankle Gloves:
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Heidi Monfug

Apparently the only qualification you need to design a clothing line is a face that’s appeared on TV (next, look for “Briefcase” by a Deal Or No Deal girl, and of course, “Can You Wear Me Now?” from the Verizon dude). Ergo, Heidi Montag debuted her “Heidiwood” collection this past weekend, humbly choosing only models that were near-clones of her, and strutting the runway herself in one of her designs.

Groundbreaking stuff. I’ve never seen anything like it!

Well, except for this:

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Opening Fugemony

All of yesterday, we assumed we’d just been hallucinating — that our elevated temperatures and wilting brains had invented the horrors of Chloe Sevigny’s new collection for Opening Ceremony. Surely it was too absurd to be real, we figured, or they were prank photographs. I mean, she’s a fashion nutjob, but she’s not THAT off her tree any more, is she?

Well… apparently we are too trusting. Not only is this real, but it’s Ultimate Fug. It’s borne of the bowels of fug, rolled in a crispy fug coating, and deep fried in fugpura batter.

Unless your name is Tawny Kitaen, and/or you’re working on your Rock Of Love audition tape for the inevitable next season, you have no business wearing this.

All of the photos, and outfits, look oddly like posters for really terrible old Lifetime Television For Women movies. You know, like, Her Stove Was Hot: My Wife, My Ho: The Trixie Lynn Bakerberry Story.

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The Fug Show: The Long National Nightmare Continues

So, Amanda Bynes is still on her Dear horror tour, making it yet ever more clear that she needs to stick to acting, as there’s really not a huge hole in the Boring and Cheap Looking Casual Wear That I Could Pick Up at the Student Union Between Psych and Poli Sci When I Get Cold arena:

I mean, other than the fact that she suddenly looks about ten years older than she actually is, she looks….you know, okay. Fine. Not naked. But it’s kind of unbelievable to me that we’re all supposed to pretend that this stuff is at all special, or interesting, the way clothing ought to be if it’s marketed as being specially designed by someone special. Let’s be honest. Essentially, this is just random crap that you wear for three months before burying it at the very bottom of your laundry basket and then find when you’re looking for the other sock with the pumpkins on it around Halloween, and you go, “dude, I totally forgot I owned this!”  And then you throw it back in with the rest of the dirty laundry and forget about it again.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with basic generic hoodies and tees — hello, what else are we supposed to work out in? — and I find actor- or model-designed clothing lines to be theoretically kind of hilarious and entertaining, but DAMN this stuff is BORING. Whoever designed this stuff for Amanda Bynes could not have been less invested in making her look like she knows what she’s doing, and, frankly, she herself doesn’t even look that stoked. I mean, this is the epitome of what Tyra’s talking about when she tells a model she’s got Dead Eyes. So either Amanda is irked by the way this whole thing is unraveling (as, clearly, I seem to be. I never would have thought I’d get so agitated about Amanda Bynes’s boring sportswear. God, I want to tell me to go outside.) or she’s actually gone and got herself some baby Botox. Let’s all pray to God it’s the former.


Fug, By Nicky Hilton

In a move that’s a bit like asking Joan Rivers to give you a face-lift just because she’s had eleventy-five of them herself, heiress and renowned do-nothing Nicky Hilton has begun designing clothes. And what perma-puckered-up shop would possibly plant so gushy a smooch on Ms. Hilton’s Mystic Tanned behind? That would be the L.A. boutique Kitson, once fun but now intoxicated on the juice of its own ubiquity, which has fermented in the spotlight liberally afforded it by celebrity-stalking magazines.

So get thee to Kitson immediately if you want to buy a pair of jeans for $100 that a) look like Nicky based them on those old Calvins she drew on in fourth grade, b) have had the pockets removed, but boast a shadow of dark denim there as a nostalgic nod to what once was; and c) make a skinny model’s butt look diaper-clad, or as if it belongs in orbit around the sun.

(And while you’re there, don’t pass up the rain-and-ice cream-themed hoodie, which I believe is either abstract art decrying lactose intolerance, or a picture Nicky drew in her youth entitled, "It’s Fun When Nanny Cries").