Fug File: purple

(FUG) Days of Summer

It’s a bad sign when your outfit prompts me to wonder if you are one of the many many many MANY MANY Hollywood celebrities who’ve got a bun in the oven/are all sprogged up/ have found themselves up the duff/who’re cooking a human hot pocket in their lady microwave/whatever your pregnancy euphemism of choice may be:

There’s been no announcement of an impending Deschanellette, but of course that doesn’t MEAN anything and if there IS a baby percolating in her slow cooker, then I will of course get to crow about it for WEEKS. And if there isn’t, I wonder why Zooey — who is so pretty — would wear this. Unless it’s just because she’s suddenly become a mega-fan of the grape in the Fruit of the Loom ads and this is like a high-style homage. I get it. The grape is really good in those ads.

For kicks, let’s look at her shoes:


Fug or Fab: Blake Lively

The good: I do love an unexpected pop of turquoise.

The bad: Is this a twinge too small? I mean, not AGGRESSIVELY too small. I just can’t help but think that this frock would look a bit better on Blake — who, let’s get real, has a great figure and looks good regardless as far as that goes — if it had a few extra inches of wiggle room. Like one inch, even.

There’s proof!


Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Fug’hoole

You guys know how much I want to believe Helen Mirren can do no wrong, but… I think maybe she has done wrong. The shrug, the weird stitching, the shrug, the fact that I still think I can see some nipple underneath all that, the fishtail, the shrug, the hair, the lipstick, the SHRUG… It’s not that she isn’t still a silver fox; more that I think she’s not maximizing her silver foxyness in this outfit. I don’t want her to look like the Grande Dame of a brothel or anything, but I REALLY don’t want her to look like the Grande Dame of a picked-over department store sale rack.

Nor the Grande Dame of the Goodwill Store (last picture). You know, Helen, Red was just a job, not a suggestion.


Fug or Fab: Michelle Monaghan

Michelle Monaghan needs to land a juicy part in a decent movie, because I feel like she’s slowly Lake Bell-ing herself — you know, turning into a vaguely recognizable pretty woman who is in magazines all the time and attends events in intriguing outfits but doesn’t really ever seem to be in an actual PROJECT. Consider this a gentle nudge, Michelle (sorry, Lake. Maybe this upcoming year you will surprise me!).

Speaking of intriguing outfits. I kind of like this, but the texture of it also reminds me of the caulk-in-a-tube that you use to stanch any leak around your shower. So that kind of puts the kibosh, you know?

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Well Played, Natalie Portman/Fug or Fab: Natalie Portman

Since the poster for her new movie Black Swan is basically a close-up of her made up to be the love child of Darth Maul and Cruella de Vil, I’m not surprised Natalie Portman went in this direction at an event for it:

She’s so clean and youthful and ladylike, as if she’s afraid you’re not going to nominate her for an Oscar unless you look at her and then say, “Damn, that spring-fresh breeze was the same person who carried this erotic ballet thriller? WHAT UP, BEST ACTRESS!” And yet her shoes are statuette-colored. Savvy, Portman. Savvy. Okay, maybe she just wore something she liked with some heels she’d just acquired, but I like my explanation better, mostly because I got to use the phrase “erotic ballet thriller.” 
Here’s the more grown-up look she sported at a MOMA gala:

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Harry Potter and the Fugly Hallows

Don’t you wish you could get a glimpse into the collective mind of the Dementors* who apparently attended the Harry Potter premiere in London, here spied behind favorite Fug Nation wackadoo Helena Bonham Carter? NOW YOU CAN, thanks to my great skills at Dementor Legilimency. (Today must be so confusing for those of you who never read Harry Potter, to which I must say: you should probably read Harry Potter.)

*Some of you think these are Death Eater costumes and I suppose you are right? I always just think of the Death Eaters as being, you know, Lucius Malfoy running around sans mask. ANYWAY, feel free to mentally substitute DEATH EATER for Dementor as you see fit. And feel free to shun me, although I think I have been OBVIOUSLY placed under the Imperius Curse and FORCED to write it like this, therefore you should be kind:

DEMENTOR ONE: What the hell is up with Bellatrix Lestrange? Hoo boy, girlfriend looks like she did her hair with a Weed Wacker, am I right, or am I right? It’s not the ’80s anymore, sister!

DEMENTOR TWO: Keep it down! You know she’s nuts. I once saw her Avada Kedavra some dude who told her that the tag was sticking out of the back of her robes.

DEMENTOR ONE: She can’t hear me! We’re just reading each other’s minds, remember?

DEMENTOR TWO: We can do that? I don’t think that’s in the book.

DEMENTOR ONE: Um, DUH, how do you think we COMMMUNICATE? We got all into Sirius Black’s head when he was SLEEPING that one time, remember?

DEMENTOR TWO: Still. It seems uncouth to complain.

DEMENTOR ONE: You’re such a wet blanket, dude.


DEMENTOR ONE: But it’s a party! Can’t we just take a break from sucking out people’s souls to talk about OUTFITS?

DEMENTOR TWO; Okay, first of all, I would NEVER do that at a party. Why do you think I always try and wait until the victim is sadly walking down an abandoned tunnel, if I can help it? The answer: manners. But yes, unfortunate coiffure aside, I do like Her Ladyship’s dress.

DEMENTOR ONE:  So do I. It works on her. It’s just that she looks so BUMMED.

DEMENTOR TWO: I’m sure she just misses Lord Voldemort. Where have you been? It’s totally canonical subtext that she’s warm for his reptilian form.

DEMENTOR ONE: But Voldemort is too busy splitting his soul into multiple bits and trying to kill children to have a girlfriend, don’t you think?

DEMENTOR TWO: I suspect that you’re just not very romantic. Be that as it may, it’s not like he’s here anyway.

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Humorously Played: Rihanna

I feel like there are two sort of celebrities that we feature here on GFY:

[Photos: PacificCoastNewsOnline.com]

There are the ones like Rihanna, who generally appear to at least be having fun in their wacky outfits, and then there are the ones (like, say, Maggie Gyllenhaal, at least back in the day) who seem SUPER BORED to even be WEARING $15,000 sequined harem pants and who can’t even believe you CARE what they’re wearing, even though they clearly do because if they didn’t they’d be wearing shorts from Old Navy and a top they got back in college, and whose faces generally seem to scream, SHOULDN’T YOU BE WORRYING ABOUT DARFUR, YOU PLEBEIAN, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE TAKING PICTURES OF MY $15,000 PANTS MY FAME IS SUCH A BURDEN. Obviously, I prefer the former. After all, if you’re going to be wearing — let’s count — a tutu, a giant oversized blazer, and a midriff-baring tee shirt reading, “SHE DIED OF PERFECTION,” you might as well enjoy it.

Also entertaining:
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