VMA Fug Carpet: The Duffs

Hilary's recipe for dressing up as if she belongs at a rock event:

1. When in doubt, wear black, especially smeared under your eyes.

2. The more suspiciously superfluous straps, the better, especially if at least one is falling down off your shoulder.

3. Gold chains make anything look hard-core -- when you think you've got on exactly the right number, add two more.

4. Do not be afraid to mix metals, such as heavy gold accessories with heavy silver trim on your shoes. It gives the appearance of not having tried.

5. If you have stumpy gams, share them! Mere hours before the ceremony, take scissors -- the world's greatest fashion tool! -- and hack off the bottom of your designer trousers to create a kicky shorts-based ensemble.

6. Slouch! And then, slouch more.

7. Bring a tranny with you so that everyone will be buzzing about whether it's a pre-op or a post-op, instead of talking about your lame outfit.

VMA Fug Carpet: Hulk Hogan's spawn

I know Hulk Hogan is from a world where women are encouraged -- nay, ordered -- to prance around in at least half of a bikini, if not a whole one. But I feel like it becomes much creepier when he's got his daughter dressing in a similar manner.

Adding to the skeeve: The fact that he appears to be gesturing toward his daughter's barely-concealed crotch, as if to say, "See this? Would you like some?" Although it's also possible he was talking to Lil' Kim at the time, and simply pointing out how a girl can wear a revealing dress and still not leave her clitoris hanging out.

Still, this whole mer-goddess look does nothing for me, and honestly, I don't think it does much for La Hogan either. I feel like Britney would have worn this to the VMAs... two years ago.

But at least she's not going to get any bug bites with all that mosquito netting swirling around her legs.

VMA Fug Carpet: Lil' Kim

I was going to compliment Lil' Kim on her relative modesty this year, considering that only 98 percent of the total acreage of her breasts was visible to the public. Not a nipple in sight. But then I caught a full-body shot of her arrival:

In that dress she looks like some kind of deranged peacock-turned-synchronized swimmer. Also:

Dear Lil' Kim:

Congratulations. You have a vagina. But you know what? So do I. Yet when I'm in public it somehow, magically, manages to stay inside my pants. If you would like some tips on vaginal concealment, I suggest that you contact some professionals -- like, say, Diane Keaton's stylist. I think that person could teach you a lot.

Yikes,
Heather

VMA Fug Carpet: Lizzie Grubman

Lizzie Grubman is very embarrassed that she forgot to put on her dress over her slip:

Lizzie Grubman is also embarrassed that she backed an SUV into a crowd of people, has overbleached hair, never got braces, has tanned and starved herself into looking like old pal Tara "Implants of Granite" Reid, and has become so desperate for fame, redemption, and recognition that she hired a bunch of pretty girls so that MTV would agree to make a show about the "exciting" world of cock-sucking -- er, "public relations."

But that's embarassment on a more long-term, cosmic level. Right then, in that photographed moment, she was just kind of humiliated about the dress thing.

Dr. Fuggood!

I read today that both Tommy Lee and Vince Neil are going to have reality shows. Tommy Lee's is going to be about him going to college [and, presumably, banging co-eds in the back of the student union]. Vince Neil's is about his attempt at a comeback, with the help of a makeover. Um, yeah. I think Vince could use a makeover. Regardez:

Tommy looks decent -- he even looks somewhat like an aged pre-mullet JC Chasez in that photo -- but Vince? Apparently his house of whores turned into a house of horrors turned into a House of Pies.

I'm A Slave For Fug

Ma! Billy Ray! Break out the Cheetos and the Two-Buck Chuck, ya heah, 'cuz Cousin-Aunt Britney done near outfugged herself:

Look, Brit, there are some things so easy that even a female Ralph Wiggum like yourself can figure them out. Like underpants. THEY GO UNDER THINGS. Like, say, YOUR PANTS. Underwear is not meant to wrap around your thigh -- it's meant to leave something about your pubic grooming to the imagination -- and it's not meant as a protective measure so that you can wear fugly loose-fitting clothes that fall off your soiled ass, yet not worry about the paparazzi snapping a picture of your (wilted, dying) flower. And see those seams halfway down your shirt? Those are supposed to be BELOW your breasts, not riding so far up above one of them that you're fixin' to get put into some kind of cotton chokehold.

Finally, for the love of god, BRUSH YOUR HAIR.

That is all.

For now.

Back to the Fug: Famous Fugs in History

Ah, August. When celebrity events are few and far between and Hollywood's fugliest have retreated to their barracks to rejuvenate with refreshing chemical peels and microdermabrasion, and the chroniclers of Fug find themselves Fug-free, and at loose ends.

Friends, it is then that we look to the past. Shakespeare -- a man who really knew how to wear a pair of pantaloons -- said, "What is past is prologue," and, as usual, he was right. What goes around once usually comes around again, and, man, have we seen some fug in our time. And what better way to fight the fug than to acknowledge its place in our shared history?

And thus we begin with one of the defining moments in the history of fug, Demi Moore's Fug Heard 'Round the World:

Cue Bruce Willis's inner monologue:

"Dear God, what is Demi wearing? Did she forget the front of her dress? Or is it... a train? Or... something? I'm so confused. Should I say something to her? But what would I say? 'Honey, you didn't attach the front part of your dress'? But maybe she's wearing this on purpose. But how is that even possible? Everyone can see her whatcamacallits -- her control top body slimmer short thingies. But how could she have forgotten something as basic as her skirt? All the rest of her is totally done up. The short thingies totally don't match the rest of her get-up. It's got to be a mistake. Should I have said something before we left the house? I should have. She's going to kill me for this. But no, it must be on purpose. She would feel the draft otherwise. But how could this be on purpose? She's wearing bicycle shorts. I don't understand. I'm just going to stand here in my tuxedo and look uncomfortable. Man, I don't know if I can take this anymore. Maybe we should get a divorce."

Mystery Fug

I know we just recently visited this territory, but the repeated appearance of Courtney Peldon at various events alongside people of demonstrably greater purpose in the acting world begs the question: Seriously, and we're not kidding, who are you, Courtney Peldon? And why do you keep showing up places dressed like a buffoon and posing for photographers in impossibly cutesy, saccharine contortions?

In a SHOCKING turn, Courtney has gone with something short and form-fitting, with thigh-high boots! Who could've predicted it! The strange stain-like blotch is an interesting wrinkle. It's very hip to run around town looking like you just dropped a meatball on your lap.

But who is this bozo? Aside from guesting on episodes of Boston Public and MTV's Undressed, Courtney Peldon hasn't done that much -- but she has achieved one remarkable feat: At the ripe young age of 23, she has given herself the look and feel of a 32-year old woman who is desperately trying to trick people into thinking she's 19. It's quite a stunning achievement.

Perhaps the question is, who the hell does Courtney Peldon think she is? I suspect she thinks she's Hilary Duff or Kaley Cuoco, but really she's some hybrid who has tricked people into thinking she might be Hilary Duff, so they'd better not turn her down at the door, or else she'll start singing as a form of torture. There's a touch of The Insanity in her always-wide-open blue eyes, and there's a touch of the ho in all of her clothing.

I mean, honey, if you HAVE to advertise...

IMDb is no help as to understanding this Courtney Peldon thing -- her bio names her, first and foremost, as "Ashley Peldon's older sister." Okay. And who the hell is Ashley Peldon? "Younger sister of Courtney Peldon." It boggles the mind. I mean...

Who wears this to a CELEBRITY GOLF event? Don't they know that "golf clubs" are a THING and not a mad-hip party place? WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE AND WHY ARE THEY INVITED TO THINGS? That only encourages them to put on hooker shoes and pose! Stop the madness!

8 Simple Rules For Fugging My Teenage Daughter

Kaley Cuoco and The One On The Left With The Red Hair Who Isn't Kaley Cuoco showed up at an American Eagle event looking like their closets threw up on them.

For starters, less-Famous Redhead, that is WAY too many inches of flipped-up cuff. It makes you look strange and squat. And I just kind of hate the shoes -- I have a real thing against clear shoes. There is nothing attractive to me about shoes that are transparent. It looks like a giant fly landed across her foot.

And so we come to Kaley Cuoco, whose outfit is so fug that even if one were color-blind and seeing it only as a series of grays, it still would look wrong.

Kaley, three words: We get it. We KNOW you are thin. We know you have a tan. We know you have nice abs. You are to be commended for this; now, please, you don't need to push down your pants while posing on the red carpet. Incidentally... are those pants? Or are they capris? No trouser should hit you at the ankle, least of all greenish-hued businessy pantpris that not only look silly with your "rocker chic" upper half, but with the bright yellow shoes you're sporting. Those, alone or with a different outfit, might have worked. But with your insistence on looking like you want to hang out backstage at a Stones concert in the hope that Mick Jagger might come offstage, trip, and accidentally find himself tearing off your shirt... well, leave the yellow pumps out of it, please.

Fugroads

I guess Taryn Manning didn't get the memo about how we're not supposed to be putting our entire pelvis on display anymore. [Look, it was in Vogue. Super-ultra-mega-low riders are out. And while I have nothing against low-slung pants, my personal rule of thumb is, if you need a bikini wax to wear it, it's too low-slung.]

But the Pelvis is the least of Ms. Manning's problems. There's the Giant Rabbit's Foot Purse [one wonders, did she kill the Easter Bunny?] the ugly flat slouchy boots that cut off her legs at precisely the most awkward point possible, and, best of all, what appear to be snakeskin epaulets slithering like wee serpents all over her bony little shoulders. And let's not even mention the hair cut, which looks like something Joan Jett would have rejected as "too shaggy"

We should, however, mention that this ensemble made its debut at the same event that the 8 Simple Blah Blah Blah girls appeared. That evening must have just been a buffet of fug. A Fugffet, if you will.

Lois and Fug

A couple years ago, when Teri Hatcher showed up on those Radio Shack ads as Howie Long's female companion of an ambiguous nature -- who is in real life married to someone else but who nags and rags on Howie like they're having regular sex, making us want to ask, "Just how-ie long is he, Teri?" -- we thought to ourselves, "Damn, someone put her away wet. Girlfriend's looking ridden."

Now, there is nothing wrong with aging. But there IS something wrong with trying to cover your aging by turning yourself orange (Katie Couric, we're looking at you -- but with shades on, because the brightness of your unnatural hue burns our retinas to a crisp).

Somewhere, behind the teeth and the Mystic Tan and the simian hairline creeping down her forehead like it's staging a land-grab, there lies the natural good looks of a woman who was once considered quite a sexpot. Now she just looks tired. You would think that being divorced from Jon Tenney, and thereby freed from the strain of staying up nights convincing him that he DOES have talent and WILL have a huge career someday, would have freshened up Teri and made her spry. Instead she looks like she went on a celebratory Carnival Cruise and forgot to get off the conga line for two months.

Teri: Take a nap. Wash your face. Put on a little powder, because the oil deposits up there on that forehead (really a three-head; you might consider waxing back your hairline) would make Blake Carrington weep with joy. And then STAY OUT OF THE TANNING BOOTH. You'll thank me when People then profiles you in its prized "Fit, 40, and Fabulous" issue this year -- because the writer will have realized with a jolt that you are not, in fact, 46.

Fug House

Sure, I'm glad she's not wasting away and/or strung out on coke anymore, but... is there such a thing as style rehab?

Let's just run this down. Mary Kate "Skinny Cokehead" Olsen appears to be wearing: lace-trimmed men's basketball shorts layered over black capri-length leggings, a long black shapeless [sweater?] vest over some kind of patterned bra/bikini/halter top, purple jelly shoes, a turquoise clutch and, as the finishing touch, a bright orange plastic-y necklace. At least she looks like she may have, in fact, had a sandwich in the last two weeks. Sadly, the nutrients probably sped right to, like, her vitals organs or some shit, leaving nothing for the Outfit Selection cortex of her brain.

Ashley "Fat Twin [Save the Hate Mail, I'm KIDDING]" Olsen is no better in what looks like khaki Bermuda shorts, heels and some kind of I'm All Grown-Up Blazer thing. I'd say more, but it's too hard to see her in this photo and God knows, I wouldn't want to make assumptions.

And I know we're all worried about their mental health and their lunch selections and Oh My God Are They Still Virgins? and whatnot, but why hasn't anyone said anything about their hair? It's. So. Stringy. Comb your hairs, Olsens!

Fug Star: Celebrities Who Think They're Musical

Apparently, if you are famous and considered gifted at something, it's common to think you're therefore good at everything. That is why we think so many celebrities start their own bands.

It was endearing and quirky when Kevin Bacon did it. It was low-key when Keanu Reeves did it. And it was embarrassing when Russell Crowe, Bruce Willis, and Matthew McConaughey did it -- although to be fair, the latter was just in his house at a party, nude and high and banging the bongos [note: not a euphemism]. But we bet he was still pretty embarrassed, if only because he was arrested for it.

Now, a rash of female celebs have decided they're rock stars, and have apparently decided to dress the part -- which is to say, as if they are blind.

Consider Jada Pinkett-Smith:

Now, I'll give Jada that she looks comfortable. But I don't think someone who is approximately four-foot-six should be wearing loose-fit jeans and a tie-dyed pashmina-type item that looks to be about as tall as she is. But, okay -- really, the most amusing thing about this photo is how she looks while in the impassioned heat of the musical moment. So, with the point made that Jada's biggest issue is just that she really needs to go pants shopping, we shall move on to Juliette Lewis:

Juliette: You are not rock's answer to Wonder Woman. You should not wear a capri-length jumpsuit with red accents and matching crimson boots. Once you've crossed into that territory, it doesn't matter if you can sing. It doesn't matter if your lyrics are the most heartfelt expression of human emotion since Jewel so memorably crooned, "My hands are small, I know," or Bryan Adams pondered so seriously, "Have you ever really, really really really, for reals, yo, really, no I mean it, REALLY, like, totally really, loved a woman?" It doesn't even matter if people in the crowd appear to be enjoying themselves. Your actual level of talent is MOOT when you are parading around in a costume they tossed off the Thunderbirds set for being too cheap-looking. Steven Tyler is allowed to try things. Hair bands from the 1980s are allowed to do whatever they want. But you, Juliette, are not allowed to wear that.

By the way, that's a remarkable pit stain. Maybe next time you decide to thrash on a hot stage, you shouldn't wear full-body spandex, or... whatever that godawful substance is. And while you're at it, pose carefully, because that position makes it look like you're wearing a man's protective cup over your Triangle, if you know what I mean, and I think that you do, because it's very clear that I'm talking about your vagina and the lumpy, extra-dark quality that particular nether-part takes on in this costume.

Off-topic: Every time I look at her face in this photo, my first thought is, "Did Stockard Channing give birth to this woman?"

Courtney Fugdon

Somehow, I recognize Courtney Peldon's face, and know her name, despite the fact that I've never seen anything she's ever been in, and the only project on her CV that I recognize is the MTV soap/trainwreck, Undressed, which wasn't known for showcasing stellar thespian efforts, to say the least. She was recently the beneficiary of a piece in The Star which said, basically, "Courtney dresses like a two-dollar whore, but she's a good sport about how we make fun of her crappy outfits, so thanks, Courtney!"

To which I respond; Courtney, you dress like a two-dollar whore. What is going on here?

Those are boots that Julia Roberts's character in Pretty Woman would have rejected as being "too trampy," even pre-Gere-Makeover. And what's she wearing around her waist? Is that a... what is that? Is it an angora obi? Did she decide to wear one of her mini-skirts as a belt? Is she attempting to single-handedly resurrect Units, except this time, fluffier and with less 80s Japanese influences? Or is it the hem of a fuzzy strapless top, the rest of which is buried under her wifebeater? And the skirt? Is that pink Astroturf? Is she auditioning for the role of a PowerPuff Girl? A heretofore unknown and clearly kinda sluttly PowerPuff Girl?

No, seriously. Who is Courtney Peldon and what is wrong with her?

Moulin Fug

This fug stands as a sterling example of how a beautiful woman can totally fug herself up by succumbing to the triplet evils of Botox, Aktins and peroxide.

Nicole Kidman, before:

Nicole Kidman, after:

Her forehead is so large and shiny now [thanks, Botox!] that I imagine you can see your own reflection in it. Which makes it handy, I imagine, if you'd like to reapply your lipstick whilst chatting with Ms Kidman, but it certainly isn't doing her any favors. She looks so washed out! She looks so wan! She looks so like a bleached and waxen version of her former self! She looks like she hasn't laid eyes on a carbohydrate-based food-form in months! She looks like she might cut someone with those kneecaps! It's really just so sad; what can she possibly see in the mirror that makes her think this Nicole -- overly blonde, kinda sallow, far too thin -- is more attractive than the former Nicole?

Goodbye, Fug -- For Now: Christina Aguilera

This is a bit of a departure for the Fug Blog: A compliment for Christina Aguilera.

True, a post-makeover Xtina still looks like an old-school screen siren by way of a French bordello and as if she still never met a pair of tweezers she didn't try to use in a booze haze. But, sincerely, she actually looks better than she has in a long time. After years of truly aggressive hair and makeup and some strange clothing that didn't fit her changing figure as she (admirably) packed some pounds on her skinny frame, La Fuguilera has been making way better decisions lately -- at least with regard to her mug. (Is that a bathrobe she's wearing? I can't tell. But as long as it doesn't have cutouts in the wrong place and a vagina fire, then we're okay.)

Although I should point out that the reason this photo caught my attention in the first place was: There's something so amusing about the expression on the sweet dog's face. It says, "Sigh." It says, "Don't even start. You don't even know." That pooch is staring straight at the camera and practically cocking an eyebrow at you in total acknowledgement that you and it are communicating the real story. Has it peeked into the wardrobe of Xtina and seen that the days of relative modesty are coming to a disastrous end? The little angel, whom I want to scoop up and carry off into the sunset, knows something, and he's pretty sure we know it too, deep down in our hearts.

As Ms. A has publicly stated that she is beautiful no matter what we say, and words won't bring her down, I feel no remorse in positing: Maybe the dog knows that you can give a girl ringlets, a comparatively modest dress, and eight pounds of comparatively tasteful face paint, but it still won't clean the crust off her tainted hooch.

But, so what? Bravo to her for the external makeover. May she keep the fug at bay.

Fugcentennial

For our 100th post, it seemed only right to revisit everyone's favorite fugging ground: Courtney Love, canker sore on the bitten, chapped lip of the Fug Prince.

Courtney, here arriving to defend her latest drug-possession charge, has apparently decided that if it looks like she knits in her spare time, she'll be spared hard time. I also hear she churns her own butter. Dangling at her side would appear to be a spare pair of overalls in case a cow needs milking, and I believe that's a book she is "reading" clutched under her arm ("What book are you reading, Courtney?" her lawyer asks. "It's about a baseball player dipped in alcohol," she says, gesturing glibly to her pristine copy of The Catcher in The Rye).

But what really strikes me is: From a distance... are we SURE that's not just Cameron Diaz with a bad peroxide job?

I mean, Cameron's already started taking a page from Courtney's novella -- it's not inconceivable that she's continued the metamorphosis.

Fuggy Pop

I know Iggy Pop is cool and all, but would it hurt him to put on a shirt? Because, in all seriousness, I am sort of scared.

He looks so stringy... and waxen... and confused. I expect to see him plundering something -- a village, for example -- rather than singing for a paying audience. He looks like he might be more comfortable sitting on a bale of hay, stroking a sweet, helpless orange kitten -- and then accidentally snapping said kitten's neck.

Seriously. This is moving from Wardrobe Malfunction: Form of Man Who Desperately Needs A Shirt At His Advanced Age, Despite Rather Impressive Muscular Tone For Someone Who's Basically The Walking Embalmed and right into Nightmare Fodder: Oh My God, Iggy Pop Wants to Eat My Brains For Elevenses.

The 2004 Teen Fug Awards

In scanning a handful of photos from the Teen Choice Awards, I have found some compelling examples of people rampantly abusing their decision-making powers. Would a mirror have helped? Perhaps, but maybe it was just a shocking error in taste.

Exhibit A: Rachel Bilson.

Now, Rachel Bilson is adorable. If she'd just stuck with the dress and ditched the Half-Pint hairdo, she might've had a chance. Sure, it's a little rustic, but in a potentially very fetching way. But when she walked outside and thought to herself, "It might get a little chilly tonight -- I need something to cover my shoulders," she marked her doom by selecting not a classy wrap, or a cute coat, but in fact a castaway from the defunct Little House On The Prairie costume department.

I can't explain the choice of hairdo. Perhaps when she fugs it up, she refuses to half-ass it.

Exhibit B: Jojo

This kid is, like, thirteen, or something, which is a little bit ooky for me actually -- I feel like pop music, much like the professional tennis tour, shouldn't let anyone below a certain age participate. But, fine: Jojo has a hit song out while she's waiting for puberty, and so she gets to go to awards ceremonies.

However, Jojo committed the cardinal sin of changing outfits during the show without making sure it was an upgrade. On the red carpet, she chose this fetching peach top:

Very pretty -- she looks classy, if a bit like she's trying to outgrow her age. Still, she acquitted herself well here.

Yet by the time she hit the press room, Jojo had gone completely insane and dressed herself up like a flavor of Hubba Bubba gum:

The top seriously does look like the packaging on some insanely sweet 1980s-era sugar candy, like Nerds or some kind of watermelon-flavored chews. And maybe it's not even that horrible, or I'm just giving her some credit because she's thirteen. I'm not thrilled about the ruffle...It makes her hips look Duff shaped. If you want a ruffle on your clothes, you have to think about the ruffle. You have to map our your ruffle as it relates to your physique, and make sure the ruffle doesn't betray you. You need a ruffle strategy. Jojo, I believe, didn't have one. But you know what? I'll even give her that.

What makes this a true fug: The shoes. Nothing excuses those sneakers. NOTHING. Even Missy Elliott: Queen of High-Tops is at home going, "Oh, honey, NO."

Exhibit C: Ashlee Simpson.

Ms. Fuglee has bought into the idea that knickers are all the rage this season:

Ahoy, matey! She looks like a pirate's first-mate on a Carnival Cruise Lines marauding vessel. Knickers are just bad. Bad, bad, bad. Leave them to golfers and jockeys, please.

In sum: watch the layers, don't trust the ruffles, and burn the knickers.

Goodbye, Fug (For Now): Nicole Richie

Occasionally, here at Go Fug Yourself, we like to recognize the Formerly Fugly who have cleaned up their acts. And you know whose act is totally sparkling these days? The former fugster and recipiant of a much needed and critically ballyhooed makeover, Nicole Richie.

Here's the old Nicole, who appeared to have a strained relationship with hygiene at best, although she clearly was up close and personal with The Fug:

Now, however, I completely covet her wardrobe. First of all, she's dressing for her figure perfectly. Like Les Soeurs Duff, Ms Richie has a shortish neck and a squarish bod [as, tragically, do I]. Unlike Las Duffs, however, she now dresses perfectly for said bod. Check it:

I just love that suit. It's so crisp and well tailored, and perfect for her figure. She just looks delightful.

I love this look, too:

And this one:

I don't know who managed to convince Nicole to give up her Uggs and lengthen her hemline [or how much her kicking the smack had to do with this revision of her image], but America -- and Nicole -- owes that person a debt of gratitude. Now, if we could just do something about Paris...

The Fugly Adventures of Pink, Part II

I can't decide what this photo's caption is:

(a) "Pink was having second thoughts about letting Christina Aguilera try to shoot an apple off her head, but she was too proud to show it."

(b) " 'Massive Head Wound couture is going to be all the rage next season,' says Chloe Sevigny. 'I'm so pissed off that Pink beat me to it, because if I'd been wearing this hat in The Brown Bunny, nobody would be talking about Vincent Gallo's dick being in my mouth.' "

(c) "Pink's donation to the charity auction was two full hours of her service as your celebrity pin-cushion."

(d) "She'd heard of irritated people throwing eggs before, but when Pink began playfully taunting her fans, she never dreamed one of them would lob a genetically enhanced tomato at her."

(e) "It was the most unlikely pimple the world had ever seen."

The Zipless Fug

Oh my God you guys, Bai Ling forgot her pants!

She must be so embarrassed right now.

Paging Ms. Fugstrong...

I met Samaire Armstrong at a party once, and she was delightful; gracious, charming, well-spoken. She's adorable on Entourage. I even liked her on The OC, despite my tendency to back the bitchy brunette leg of any televised love triangle, including the one she was involved in [see also Walsh, Brenda versus Taylor, Kelly; Witter, Pacey versus Leery, Dawson]. However, as adorable as she is, the girl is obviously a vampire, unable to see her reflection in mirrors. How else do you explain this?

Or this?

Or -- sweet Jesus -- this?

Look, that is just not okay. The poor girl looks deranged. There's no excuse for unleashing such fugitude upon the land. It's not quirky or eccentric or free-spirited. It is ugly and unflattering.

Samaire, you adorable moppet, for the love of all that is holy and right, please fall into the Gap. Just once. You might like it there. You don't have to live there! Just invest in, say, something black. With two sleeves. And wear it with jeans. Don't pile a dress on top of that. Or use a disco ball as a handbag. Or decide to tuck the jeans into knee-high hot pink tranny boots.

More isn't always more. Sometimes, it's just too much.

"Fuggi-fuh"

As the obscure Dawson's Creek reference above indicates to people who read Television Without Pity, this post is about Michelle Williams, whose personal style -- specifically, her hair -- has run the gamut of pleasing me to utterly confounding me to repelling me and ruining her face.

She's got a strange face, this one: Everything on it is overly round, from her chin to her nose-tip and nostrils to her cheeks, a sort of explosion of cherubic elements that can make her either very pretty, or very... balloon-esque. It's the kind of problem that demands meticulous attention so that everything added to her appearance is flattering to the shape of the things she possesses naturally.

Apparently, though, Michelle Williams has decided that the better way to live is: 1) Starring in a gay cowboy movie with Heath Ledger, and subsequently boffing him throughout shooting, which may have contributed to... 2) fugging herself up. [Heath is so uncontrollably fugly that I fear she caught it from him; Naomi Watts was lucky to escape him intact.]

Hark! A schoolmarm!

I expect her to be standing in a one-room school, spanking Anne Shirley's outstretched palm with a ruler, then making her stand in the corner to think about how wrong it was to beat Gilbert Blythe over the head with her slate because he called her Carrots. The brown hair doesn't offend me on its own, but when it matches the clothes she's wearing and the clothes themselves are incredibly drab, well... I just wish someone would reintroduce her to things like "blue" and "red." Colors are not the enemy, Michelle. The Beek was the enemy. But he's gone now. You're safe.

What worries me, too, is that on closer inspection she looks quite haggard:

She looks like she's at her own funeral. Does she know that she only fake died -- that she didn't get The Cancer and perish in a hospital bed while the whole Creek mourned the passing of its most easily stereotyped oriface? Put down the red wine, Michelle, and go drink some vitamin water.

Our Fugs Are Sealed

It appears that the overwhelming desire to fun oneself up is genetic. Take the Duff sisters [please, as the old joke goes]:

I am rather unsure of where to begin here -- there's the unfortunate headgear, the 2001-style hair extensions, the hot pink microphone -- but let's kick this off by stating the obvious: the Duffs are prime examples of individuals who don' seem to know how to dress around their figure flaws.

Hilary is guilty of this on a regular basis [Hilary, sweetpea? You don't have a waist or a neck. Stop pretending you do and start investing in v-neck tops.] For example, in this instance? Hilary, prepare yourself, because I'm not going to mince words: those are some hefty upper arms. Made heftier-looking by virtue of the fact that Hilary seems to have decided that it would be flattering if everything she wore was sort of vaguely skin-colored and a wee bit too small, the better to make her look like a walking sausage-casing [topped, of course, by the Pucci newsboy cap that she fished out of Sarah Jessica Parker's garbage bin back in 2002.] What you can't tell from this photo, by the way, is that Hilary's already unflattering pants are actually mid-calf-length capris. Which she's wearing with Converse, the better to showcase her cankles, I presume.

Hilary, Hilary, Hilary. Listen, I'm going to let you in on a secret. I'm a short girl, too, and while I've been lucky enough to escape the heartbreak of cankles, I can veer into Stumpytown if I'm not careful. Don't wear mid-calf-length capris with flats if you want your legs to look anything other than chopped off and tubby. Heels. Heels are your best friends. Wear them around the house. Wear them as slippers. Wear them in the shower. Wear them. And if you insist on flats, wear pants that skim the ankle, not the tubbiest part of your short little legs. Being young doesn't automatically insure that you look good in everything. And you could investigate wearing sleeves. Or lifting a weight now and then. Your call. Also, stand up straight. And that hair is only emphasizing the fact that, as formerly mentioned, you have no neck. You should maybe look into that.

And speaking of looking like fug despite the advantage of extreme youth, let's tackle Haylie, who, I must admit, doesn't really have the advantage of extreme youth as she appears to be approximately 36 years old. So, that shirt she's wearing? It's a knit tank top with sequins across the front. The better to emphasize what looks like a little beer belly. [And bless the beer belly. I fight it every day, and sometimes I lose. That's why I don't wear super tight knit tops on television.] Also, I'd like to congratulate her for wearing [mismatched, no less] pants with the pockets and zippers placed exactly where Ms Haylie appears to carry most of her weight: the hips and ass. Well played! Well-played indeed!

Look, I'm pleased that neither Duff is a lollypop. Go Fug Yourself doesn't recommend anorexia as a style choice, especially when the celebrity in question appeals primarily to teens. Teens: sandwiches are good! Keep eating them! However, when a girl has some body fat -- and most of us do -- she needs to work with it, not against it. [Look at Sara Rue, of ABC's Less Than Perfect. She's nowhere near a size 2, and she always looks adorable. Because she apparently owns a mirror.] Just because you can button it doesn't mean you should put it on.

And both of you, stand-up straight, for the love of God.

Saving All My Fug For You

Today is Whitney's 41st birthday. And she doesn't look a day over 46. Really:

In the song whose title I bastardized in this posting, there's a line that goes, "I've got to get ready just a few minutes more." Whitney should have heeded her own advice. She also should have sent Bobby Brown over to beat the crap out of her hairdresser for giving her that choppy nightmare that looks like she got it from a bad wig shop, or from a Flowbie. It's skirting Femullet Territory, which is the Vatican City to Fugville's Rome. The visor does nothing to enhance the shape of her 'do; the whole thing has unpleasant shades of Sideshow Bob. It's like something is erupting up there. Perhaps it's a visual metaphor for Bobby's temper.

And... is she pregnant? I can't find confirmation of that by Googling, but I hope she isn't. For one thing, her husband is [allegedly] a completely fucking insane nutjob who is as wack as the crack she doesn't smoke because it's too cheap. For another, Whitney got so skinny it got scary, so I like to think that even though her pudge looks eerily like Occupied Womb, it's really the product of spending less money on blow and more on T-bone steaks.

P.S. Although other photos confirm that Bobby Brown did not spend any of his prison time getting buff, the hulk in the blue shirt is NOT the self-proclaimed Greatest Entertainer On The Planet.

au

The Simple Fug

Today, the role of Strung Out Barbie will be played by Paris Hilton.

Fugging My Religion

Dude. Michael Stipe.

What is up? Are you auditioning for a bit part on Deep Space Fug?

No wonder that other dude in your band had an aneurysm, if you keep popping up places looking like this.

Eternal Fugshine of the Spotless Mind

Ah, Mark Ruffalo:

So cute. I want to nibble on him. He and I would look so nice together. And wasn't he adorable next to Jennifer Garner in 13 Going On 30? He was even adorable with Gwyneth Paltrow in A View From My Ass -- er, A View From The Top. I bet he looked great with Laura Linney, too, in that movie they did together that I haven't seen, so I hope they actually were love interests and that he didn't play her brother. But even if he did, they probably were very pretty side-by-side.

Such a shame, then, that he's married to Robin Hood:

His wife, a French actress named Sunrise Coigny, is apparently wearing the t-shirt as some sort of anti-Bush protest. AT A FILM PREMIERE. Okay. Pick your moments, people, and this is a fluffy Hollywood event -- not a moment for a t-shirt, much less a political statement. But maybe that's just my pet peeve and no one else's, so I'll move on to the fact that dressing with a feather in your cap (call it macaroni, lady -- I dare you) only works if you're sporting a bow and arrow and some massive biceps, the better to pluck the string and send weapons into the hearts of my enemies while you're rescuing me from the clutches of King John or the Sheriff of Nottingham or whomever has me held captive and is forcing me to wear fantasic dresses as I waste away -- beautifully -- in my tower.

Come to think of it, Mark Ruffalo might look cute in the hat and tights, with a nice codpiece... but his wife really ought to leave that look alone.

Fug-0210

We here at Go Fug Yourself love Shannen Doherty. Not because she's an icon of fug, but rather because she's Brenda Walsh, and 90210 wasn't the same without her, and she's overcome the rather curious obstable of having uneven eyes. Also, she's potentially batshit crazy. In a word, she's perfect.

Which is why it disappoints and pains us to see her dress herself like this:

If you hung her dress by its spaghetti straps on a metal rod, it would make a fine shower curtain, or perhaps a quaint little covering for one of the windows in your house. It should not be hung on the slender body of a starlet, because it makes Ms. Doherty look like she's hiding something and makes her breasts look like, well, two very separate and unmoving islands (and, honey, find a dress that covers up their white sandy coastline, if you see what I mean).

Unless Ms. Doherty is planning some Shan-anigans involving hiding objects of various size up under her skirt, or smuggling Tori Spelling's new betrothed behind a bush, then she ought not dabble in billowy couture. Certainly not with those shoes.

But as for her rumored return to TV: Let's just say that if it's true, I've just found the one and only reason to watch the FOX crapfest North Shore. Plus, they'll dress her better than she's dressing herself.

You Are My Passion For Fuuuuug

So, McKenzie Westmore [Sheridan Crane on NBC Daytime's hit show Passions] generally looks fairly decent, thanks, of course in part to the smoking hottie that she gets to stand next to all the time:

[Hi Luis! Call me!]

But check her out at a recent Motorola event:

Sheridan, Sheridan, Sheridan. What the fug? Is that do-rag fashioned from a pashmina you stole from the costume department at Passions? Because I think you were wearing it that time you and Luis were on your honeymoon and your father blew up the boat you were on and you ended up getting lost in the Bermuda Triangle [with amnesia, of course, which is why you didn't realize that the guy on the island in the Triangle that you ended up marrying was actually your husband's long lost brother, which caused all kinds of problems when you got your memory back but you couldn't tell the Long Lost Brother that you were actually in love with his brother because LLB had a brain fog and the stress would kill him. Of course, now that he's been killed anyway, don't you feel dumb for wasting all our time? And don't you feel dumb for wearing a tablecloth around your head, like you were running late and you jumped out of the shower and you didn't have time to fix your hair and so you grabbed the first thing you could find and it turned out to be a tablecloth simply because you couldn't detach your curtains from the wall?]. Also, why do you look so skinny? On Passions, you look sort of fantastically lush -- not overweight at all, but just... you know, normal and hot and curvy-- and now you look like you haven't laid eyes on a carbohydrate in weeks.

Sheridan, seriously. Pull it together. I know it's hard to compete with hot, hot, hot Galen Gering, but that's no reason to throw in the towel. Or, er, head scarf. As it were.

Fugging It Up! With Fugly and Fug

Remember the "Soup Nazi" episode of Seinfeld where Jerry, in addition to loving soup, is dating this girl who's really into public displays of affection and they call each other "Schmoopy" all the time and he ends up dumping Schmoopy for the soup?

Of course you do. Well, Schmoopy was played by Alexandra Wentworth, the current Mrs. George Stephanopoulos, who appeared on morning television's most hideous trainwreck of recent memory, the appallingly named Living It Up! With Ali and Jack?

Check her out now:

Schmoopy is looking rough. That bag, in addition to causing seizures if you look at it for too long and blindness if you look at it too directly, totally doesn't match that hideous dress, which I suspect she picked up at Pier One last weekend when she was out getting some bamboo-themed accessories for her guest bathroom. Placing her outfit aside -- if you can -- what's up with the hair? And the face? She looks covered in hyperpigmentation. Schmoopy, you've got tons of cashola. Your wedding was in InStyle, for heaven's sake. Invest in some Touche Eclat and a round brush! You look like you crawled through the underbrush and over an electrified wire fence to get to this party. No soup for you!

The Everlasting Fugstopper

First Katie Couric tans herself into Oompa Loompa territory. Now, Democratic talking head James Carville has molded himself in the image of another supporting character from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

This is Arthur Slugworth:

This is James Carville:

Carville is ostensibly smiling after having issued an on-camera plea for Johnny Depp to call him about a part in that Wonka remake -- although it's possible he is creating some elaborate live-action metaphor wherein "Golden Ticket" refers to Kerry/Edwards and Carville goes around browbeating small children into bringing him the vote of their parents.