These are two women whose Years In Fashion don’t have a lot in common, so it’s going to be a really odd one to ponder.

Anne’s recent fugtastical offerings are probably etched with unfortunate vigor on our frontal lobes. There was the pink satin helltube; a cocktail dress that a bunch of drunk birds and mice with grand delusions tacked an overskirt to and called it a gown; and the never-nips heard ’round the world (obviously we couldn’t see her ACTUAL breasts, but the mere fact that we had to stare SO HARD at them to confirm that is a Prada fail). But perhaps some of her earlier nightmares escaped your memories.

In other words: Summer fuggin’, had her a blast; summer fuggin’, shapeless and vast…

Grabbed a shroud made by Gucci; looked like a lost Shakespearean faerie.

Summer fug, something’s been dug, out of granny’s moldy estate. (WHOA WHOA WHOA.)

Tell me more, tell me more: Were there heinous big sleeves?

(Yes.) Tell me more, tell me more: Did her shoe choice aggrieve?

Okay, I need to stop with the Grease. Basically, Anne did a lot of playing with volume and shapes and levels of edge. But her persona, when she speaks, has all the edge of melted butter, and it’s notable that for the two heavily watched awards shows she went baby-soft with her fashion. So the rest of this — chiefly the Tom Ford dominatrix shoes and the sleeping back strapped to her back — just feels like a kid playing dress-up, but looking a clown.

And we haven’t even touched on her awful Oscar post-party drape, a cocktail frock whose mullet puts hockey coifs to shamethis white Prabal Guring that I really hated on her, Baroness von Fringe, and Captain Eek and the Meshy Slouchathon.

Man, I’m tired just typing how often Anne was out and about this year. Beyonce, conversely, didn’t hit the scene much. But when she did:

This dress, shockingly, made a lot of best-dressed lists. For me, that’s people confusing “attractive” with “OMG I can’t stop looking at it in case a butt cheek falls out.” In fact, the nude-look was big for Bey this year — she wore this to the premiere of her HBO vanityfest, and it’s boobylicious, but it also draws your eye right to the space between her legs. Which is creepy. And then there’s her transparent casualwear:

Strangely, it’s not even the visible bra that’s tripping me up here, so much as the GHASTLY fit of the shorts. It looks like she’s wearing a codpiece. It’s polterwang, inflated. It’s Polteryonce.

And I unearthed this head-scratcher today as well:

This was the Sports Illustrated Sportsmen of the Year ceremony, and Beyonce looks like she’s in her jammies for popcorn and Soapdish.

So who takes it: The gadfly who smoked the fashion crack, or the one who veered wildly from BEYONCE TURNED UP TO ELEVEN to blah?

Archive: Anne Hathaway, Beyonce

[Link to poll if it’s not showing up ARGH.]


Let’s not pretend that the main reason Amanda Peet is here isn’t her Golden Globes Worst-Dressed win:

That is a hospital gown, not a party frock. You wear this to get your meds in a cup and some soothing OJ and maybe sit in a rocking chair playing backgammon with the catatonic girl from across the hall (you almost always win, which is confusing). It’s bad. But so was this:

Such a bad idea. She is Bad Idea Peet.

The thing is, I actually really like Amanda Peet. Studio 60 was an abomination, but despite horrible writing, she managed to be charming on it rather than irritating. I think for whatever reason, even if I don’t love her character, she manages to sell it to me. But she cannot sell me these clothes. It’s not happening. She’s married to one of the Game of Thrones EPs, too, so you’d think people would be a little more plugged in to offering her clothes. Somebody please call her.

Meanwhile, this outfit is pretty much the opposite of anything Amanda Peet has ever worn, ever, in the history of her everness.

This is basically the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, if it were held in 1994 in Victoria’s basement.

“The hip bone’s connected to the… fug bone…”

Girl, you are the most ridiculous delight.  This is like aerobics formalwear. Just tear away the skirt and feel the burn. She also offered up a bra-top gown with a purse that looks like a candy wrapper that went the wrong way through Wonka’s shrink ray; the offspring of a disco ball and a WWE Championship Belt; and oh my God this looks like surgery. These two could not be more opposite: Elaborate grabs for attention versus terrible, horrible, no good, very bad naps.

Archives: Kat Graham, Amanda Peet

[Link to poll if it’s not showing up. ARGH x2]


I have been looking forward to this one. I might just present it to you in relative silence.











Archives: Morena Baccarin, Zosia Mamet


[Link to poll if it’s not showing up. ARGH x3]


It was Jessica who argued hardest for Lily Cole to get an eleven seed. “But those PANTS,” she said. “YOU HAVE TO SEE THE PANTS.”

You do have to see the pants:

The kicker? She wore them twice. VOLUNTARILY. … Wait, I shouldn’t malign her thusly. We have no idea if it was voluntary. For all we know, she got into a huge fight with her mother and said mother burned all the rest of Lily’s clothes. Then again, it’s a terrible sign when it’s BETTER to assume your mother committed fashion arson. A little searching revealed that these are not her only offenses. First there was this:

And then it’s POSSIBLE that two days later — per the dates on the pictures — she also wore it again. I keep vacillating, but I THINK I see the collar peeking out from under the black coat? And these shorts look longer, but the pattern is awfully similar so maybe it’s just a trick of the light? So basically, either she wore one ugly thing twice in three days, or two very similar ugly things. Not that it matters. There is no absolution in Fug Madness.

This is horrible. This is what I imagine the ribbon rack in Candy Spelling’s old wrapping room looked like whenever she went on a massive gifting bender.

A mess. Chloe Sevigny knows a little something about messitude:

This photo makes me laugh every time I see it. THAT IS SO AWFUL. So cheerfully, unrepentantly nightmarish. It’s like sumo-punk-dominatrix-crack. I also giggle whenever I look at this outfit. Click that link. TREAT YO SELF. The look on her face, the cotton-candy puff of a sleeve where no sleeve needed to be — much less THAT particular sleeve — is a hilarious glory to behold. As was her Met Ball gown:

Y’all, Chloe Sevigny might be a fashion comedian. I think she wore this SPECIFICALLY to see how many A-listers would simultaneously check their makeup in her groin.

But there is nothing funny about this. It’s giving me vexation wrinkles. As is this, which is like her Big Love character crossed with that dark, dangerous time in 1996 where everyone wore Tevas.

Also unfunny. WHY, Chloe. Maybe it was for a role? Was this when she was filming American Horror Story: Asylum? Was she ever on-screen long enough for us to notice what her hair was doing? Also: WIGS. I appreciate committing to your art, but there’s no reason to subject yourself to this. Especially not at an event whose FOCUS is shampoo and the hair arts. They probably wanted to kick her out. Also, and this admittedly has nothing to do with clothes:

I just now decided that if they ever reboot The Golden Girls or make it into a movie, here is your Dorothy Zbornak. That is an I-don’t-suffer-fools glare the likes of which Bea Arthur is applauding from her lanai up in Heaven.

Archives: Chloe Sevigny, Lily Cole

[Link to poll if it doesn’t show up. ARGH-O FUG YOURSELF.]