Year in Review: Undressed!
By Kat Giantis
Waist Mismanagement: Let's be clear. This is not about Jessica Simpson's waistline. Her body looks perfectly fine. More than fine, actually. It has a decadently va-va-voomy thing going on. No, the starlet's figure is not the problem. The problem is that she chose to crowbar her figure into what we feel with some degree of certainty are the plug-ugliest jeans on the planet, nay, universe. These high-waisted, mega-pocketed abominations are a crime against all pants, and to dismiss them merely as mom jeans would be an insult to outmoded mothers the world over. Simpson's self-sabotaging choice could have something to do with the fact that she's performing at a chili cook-off (admit it, you'd just give up, too). But letting your belted denim get overly familiar with your sternum doesn't help anyone. Jess is petite, and petite women must be extra diligent about finding clothes that fit and flatter. That means no Urkel rejects and definitely no double-banded, leopard-print Peg Bundy belts with built-in muffin-topping capabilities. Besides, it's not as if she doesn't know any better. This is a woman with her own clothing line, for crying out loud. She's even donned hitched-up jeans before, with similarly gruesome results, although come to think of it, two months after stepping out in those rib-cinching, silhouette-destroying trousers, she landed the cover of Us Weekly with her exclusive secret to losing "20 pounds in two months!" Maybe all of Jessica's missteps, fashion and otherwise, are part of a master plan to keep her in the spotlight, which would actually make her some sort of -- ow, our brain is suddenly all hurt-y -- evil genius.
Just Frock Away Renée: When an actress glides into the Golden Globes in showy haute couture, she hopes for a big reaction. And without a doubt, "Holy frijoles! Has Renée Zellweger had a psychotic break?" qualifies as a big reaction. The Oscar winner arrives on the red carpet straight from an exhausting double-shift as head madam at Miss Kitty's old-timey cathouse styling a ripped piece of black organza stretched over a girdle she swiped from Bridget Jones' lingerie drawer. Renée tops off her look with a scrunched updo created with hot rollers, an industrial strength bottle of Super Glue and an electric cattle prod.
Frumpsuit: Did you know that in between fulfilling her duties as a self-promoting reality show starlet, Kim Kardashian also conducts important research work? Her field of expertise: the study of hotness. This week's experiment: Is a knockout still a knockout when her waist, legs and feet are obliterated by a skantsuit (part pants, part skirt, part jumpsuit, part terrible) cinched with Rocky's championship belt? Kim's scientific conclusion: She is, but only if she's blessed with traffic-stopping yabbos and at least 63 percent of those yabbos are kept on conspicuous display.
Unholey Tearer: At the Golden Globes earlier this year, Miley Cyrus kvetched on the red carpet about receiving -- horrors! -- a "hand-me-down" car for her 16th birthday. Never mind that it was her mom's barely used Porsche Cayenne, which costs more than a lot of people make annually (at least the ones who still have jobs). So color us confused over why the starlet would be unhappy about receiving a broken-in vehicle but appears delighted by her raggedy combo of holey nylons, a stretched-out micro-mini and a ripped heavy metal T-shirt that's likely still stained with vomit from its last appearance at a Twisted Sister concert circa 1983. Still, there is one unexpected benefit to Miley's shabby but not chic outfit: Her fringed, electric blue boots seem a smidge less off-putting by comparison (but just a smidge). That said, if we had to rate this look on a scale of 1 to 10, we're gonna have to go with Miley's index finger-indicated suggestion.
Dings and Arrows: Understatement, thy name is Lady GaGa. Don't believe us? You should have seen the version of this outfit without that arrow demurely positioned in her swimsuit region. There's not much we can say about the intentionally unconventional popster's latex-y spiral into the absurd, because it pretty much speaks for itself. And what's it saying? "Rubber, rubber, must dominate someone, rubber, need a whip, rubber, so much painful chafing, rubber, rubber, brrr -- drafty, rubber, rubber, see-through, patterned leggings aren't pants, rubber, ironic lameness of the trucker hat, rubber, aching ribs, rubber." Fortunately, the pouty Lady G has tucked a pair of sunglasses into her cleavage, which should protect her from scorching her corneas with her own fierceness.
Runaway Train Wreck: Pamela Anderson recently denied reports that she's in dire financial straits, but this picture says otherwise. The worse-for-wear bombshell fights to keep her heavily lashed eyes open at the Hollywood Style Awards (go ahead and take a second to chuckle at the irony -- we'll wait) in a dilapidated, safety-pinned dress apparently created on the cheap using a pink satin sheet ripped off a much-abused waterbed from her leaked-sex-tape-heyday as Mrs. Tommy Lee. It also looks like Pam can no longer afford the lackey-stuffed lifestyle to which she's become accustomed and has resorted to cheap child labor. Anderson has forced an adorable but terrified-looking little girl to hold up her lengthy train, a swath of floor-grazing material that would have been better utilized around her too often seen bikini line. But even though Pam's fiscal outlook isn't nearly as buoyant as her surprisingly underexposed (for the moment, anyway) chesticles, it's a comfort to know that she still has enough money to buy underwear, which she flashed repeatedly as she posed. Here's hoping there's some cash left over to cover that poor tyke's sure-to-be-sizable therapy bill.
Knitwit: Cate Blanchett has a well-deserved reputation for being a fashion maverick. When she triumphs on the red carpet, it's a sight to behold. And when she bombs? Well, that's a sight to behold, too. The sublime Oscar winner steps out for an Australian movie premiere in a granny-crocheted afghan that's come a long way from its humble beginnings on the back of Roseanne's saggy couch. Does this knitted number look ridiculous on Cate? Of course. Does it make a Snuggie seem snazzy by comparison? Yep. But it's also one more example of how the actress's, er, blanket awesomeness can transcend any outfit.
Lohan Be Old: Before you judge Lindsay Lohan harshly for celebrating her birthday in a getup that discerning "Girls Gone Wild" participants would dismiss as much too tawdry, cut her some slack. Remember, she made it through a whole year without going to rehab or getting arrested. True, she also made it through a whole year without landing a job on the big screen or seeking help for her addiction to daily drama, but we see good things ahead. After all, one's forties are all about self-actualization, a heady time when you learn many important life lessons, such as: a) fringe-encrusted, open-toed booties are stupefyingly hideous; b) belly buttons don't require a steady supply of fresh air; and, c) pants aren't evil incarnate and therefore won't burn like a vampire dunked in holy water when you slip them on. What's that? Lindsay turned 23, not 40? You sure? Huh. Well, here's hoping her birthday wish was directions to the Fountain of Youth.
Bluebird of Unhappiness: Madonna didn't get where she is today by half-assing her way through life. This is the visionary who looked at her breasts and thought, "These babies need some cones." And who turned a critical eye to her biceps and determined that she really wanted them to be able to crush coconuts. So, why would the Big M settle for the ordinary at the annual fashion extravaganza that is the Costume Institute Gala? Let those play-it-safe, non-iconic types wear uninspired stilettos when rubber boot-pants are an option, or style a boring dress instead of a corseted taffeta diaper (it's fun and practical!). And to show she's still the master of reinvention, Madonna takes on the lowly and underappreciated scrunchie, turning it from suburban scourge to funky splurge with a little help from a set of Playboy bunny ears and a nesting blue jay.
That Sinking Feline: Paris Hilton loves animals, even if her warm and fuzzy feelings for all creatures great and small (all right, mostly small) aren't always returned in kind. Remember when her once ubiquitous lapdog Tinkerbell made an unsuccessful break for freedom, or that time her pet kinkajou Baby Luv chomped on her arm? This year, the reverse Dr. Dolittle plunked down $4,500 for a miniature teacup porker she's cleverly christened Princess Piglette. Unfortunately, it won't take long for the oinker to realize that it wasn't Hilton's first choice for a new pet. That honor goes to the super-cuddly leopard. See, for years Hilton has tried to add a majestic feline to her pint-sized menagerie, only to have boring old guy after boring old guy warn her about "predator" this and "man-eating" that. Whatever. She isn't about to give up on her big cat dream. The starlet keeps hope alive by vowing to cover herself in spots until the day comes when she has her very own leopard BFF to claw at her frenemies. And while some might consider donning speckled leggings with a complementary purse, headband and jacket a case of animal print overkill, for the sartorially self-indulgent Paris, it's just the right amount of kill.
Rain Blow: Tilda Swinton may be smiling on the outside, but inside, she's cringing with embarrassment. How could this have happened? Why didn't anyone stop her? She'll never get over a mortification of this magnitude. What on earth was she thinking? She would have been better off going naked. That would have at least saved her the humiliation of being seen in public wearing this gown ... without her matching rainbow wig and John 3:16 sign.
Broken Holmes: Katie Holmes knew before she stepped outside that the paparazzi would be waiting to take her picture. She also knew the photo op would likely live forever on the Interwebs. And yet she saw no reason to slip into something a little less comfortable. Apathy: 1. Katie: 0. But it turns out it takes a lot (of Tom Cruise's) money to look like you care so little about your appearance. Katie's cuffed denim shorts, for example, retail for $326. Those fringed gladiator sandals that give her a bad case of hairy toe: $175. And her plaid button-down shirt? That cost her dearly, with the local thrift store demanding $5 and her signed copy of Nirvana's first album.
Nipped in the Bud: Memo to Sharon Stone. From: Your nipples. Subject: Our retirement plans. Hey Sharon. Long time, no talk. Look, we know things ended badly after that whole "Basic Instinct 2" fiasco, when the two of us got that Razzie nomination for Worst Onscreen Couple. Things were said that couldn't be unsaid. But we want you to know that we're really sorry, especially that crack we made about our plans to head south, just like your career and fashion sense. Obviously, that was an empty threat, because here we are on camera at an Oscar bash, looking pert as ever. Which brings us to the reason why we're writing. Sharon, we're going to turn 51 in a few days -- that's 102 combined. We're not sure how to tell you this, so we'll just say it: We're done with public appearances. Don't get us wrong -- it was fun for a while. We saw flashbulbs from all over the world and discovered that Michael Douglas has a very gentle touch. But it's time to pack it in and find some peace and quiet, perhaps inside a nice padded bra. Just think about it, Sharon. You need us as much as we need you. Let's help each other out for once, like real bosom buddies. Whaddya say?
![Goop Therapy: When the backlash began against Gwyneth Paltrow's GOOP lifestyle initiative, her forum to grace us with her wisdom on food, fashion and fancy hotels that only Oscar winners married to rock stars can afford, she didn't mince words. [Bleep] the haters, she said. I'm a good person and I'm trying to put good things into the world. We have no doubt that Gwyn believes in her positive impact with every helpful fiber of her being. But her idea of what constitutes good things doesn't really mesh with ours, because winched leather shorts + a plastic shirt doused in gold body glitter X gray suede booties that bestow instant leg stubbiness = a world of not good.](http://static.wonderwall.com/Photos/Original/17629_Original.jpg)
Goop Therapy: When the backlash began against Gwyneth Paltrow's GOOP lifestyle initiative, her forum to grace us with her wisdom on food, fashion and fancy hotels that only Oscar winners married to rock stars can afford, she didn't mince words. "[Bleep] the haters," she said. "I'm a good person and I'm trying to put good things into the world." We have no doubt that Gwyn believes in her positive impact with every helpful fiber of her being. But her idea of what constitutes "good things" doesn't really mesh with ours, because winched leather shorts + a plastic shirt doused in gold body glitter X gray suede booties that bestow instant leg stubbiness = a world of not good.
Sash and Burn: Sandra Bullock, we adore you, really we do. You're down-to-earth, quietly generous and, unlike so many of your frozen-faced peers, still able to form an expression. And if Hollywood were fair, you'd be taken as seriously as Nicole Kidman, who would have furrowed her brow -- or attempted to, anyway -- had she been offered the script for the box-office Butterball "All About Steve." To your credit, you appear to know just how big a disaster the movie is and dressed accordingly for the premiere, with your sashed, screwball dress, booties and hair in such an un-Sandy-like state that we're at a loss for words. That being the case, we have no choice but to turn for help to the brave critics who sat through the flop of a flick. To borrow (OK, steal) blurbs from their reviews, this look "begins as merely peculiar, moves on to miscalculation and becomes seriously annoying" while "eliciting unintentional giggles." It's also a "deeply unpleasant, bottomless well of cringe induction" that ends up "misfiring on every conceivable front." And let's not forget that it's "thoroughly off-putting, unhinged" and a "baffling train wreck" that "makes the worst case for nonconformity imaginable." In conclusion, "there are simply no words, other than run for the hills."
Gaffe Out Loud: Whoa, we almost didn't see you there, Katy Perry, what with you blending quietly into the background and all. Speaking of which, we think it's time for a heart-to-heart. We get that you're the shy and retiring type, uncomfortable with blatant grabs for attention. It's refreshing that you prefer to put your talent front and center instead of stooping to some premeditated display of retina-burning silliness to prove what a quirky, girl-kissing individualist you are. But it's time for you to step out of your Plain Jane comfort zone and take a style risk, because -- and we say this as a friend -- there's just something so humdrum about a pantsuit covered in the food-processed and lacquered remains of the entire "Finding Nemo" cast. Might we suggest an eye-catching khaki? What's that? You have an idea on how to spice things up? And it's on the next page? OK, lay it on us ...
Kitty in Pink: Hello again, Katy Perry. Let's just begin by saying that this outfit gets an "A" for effort. We're thrilled you took our advice from the previous page about not being quite so inconspicuous. You're making progress with this shoulder-padded, marshmallow Peep-pink shiny blazer ripped off one of the titular "Heathers" and paired with matching leopard-print capris from David Lee Roth's "Just a Gigolo" phase. And who knows? Maybe one day you'll overcome the bashfulness that landed you in those been-there, juiced-that ensembles accented with bananas and watermelons and branch out into something more exotic, perhaps in a bold kumquat or a succulent passion fruit.
On the Job Training: The promotion of a schlocky stalker thriller in which you utter the insta-camp classic line, "You touched my child. You do not touch my child," requires an over-the-top red carpet statement. For the premiere of "Obsessed," Beyoncé chooses a couture version of a mullet, which, shockingly enough, was not designed by her tacky-is-my-middle-name mom Tina. From the front, the chart-topper's cleavage-propping bustier and taut sequined miniskirt are all business, assuming that business involves slinging drinks amid the din of dozens of slot machines. The explosively ruffled back, however, is a total party -- one that comes on Halloween, after a Goth bride has walked down the aisle carrying a blood-red bouquet. Despite of the contradictory fashion statement, Beyoncé manages to look radiant, with her glowing skin and shiny hair nicely contrasting with the gleam coming off her pantyhose.
Just Like Heavin': AnnaLynne McCord demonstrates the '80s inspiration behind her ensemble, apparently unaware that the phrase "gag me with a spoon" is not actually a good thing. That said, if the "90210" starlet was, for reasons known only to her and her therapist, attempting to capture the essence of a sexy pirate whose twin obsessions are "Valley Girl" and "Fatal Attraction," then we have two words: Nailed it! She pairs a wench-tastic corset, deck-swabbing boots and striped pants made for swashbuckling with a totally tubular neon green clutch, a single lace "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" glove and Glenn Close's fried, frizzy, bunny-boiling coif. It's a lot of look for a CW promotional event, but if McCord decides to cap off her night by walking the plank to the peppy beat of "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go," she's good to go (go).
Booby Trap: For years, Patricia Arquette's pillowy breasts have served her faithfully, heaving on command and providing a much-needed distraction from the gaping, double-D-sized plot holes on "Medium." And this is how they're rewarded: with a humiliating public pancaking. Patricia, honey, you can't keep treating the girls like this or they'll take revenge in the only way they know how: by surrendering to gravity. We want to help the three of you, so here's a quick test to determine whether you've misjudged the size of your top: If your painfully squashed right boob seeks emergency shelter in the single, puffed sleeve of your chain mail gown, it's too small; if your painfully squashed left boob tries to find breathing room by making a break under your armpit and heading straight for your spine, it's too small; and if you're able to grab a few ZZZZs during the Emmy ceremony by lowering your chin a half-inch onto the padded cushion that is your bosom, it's much, much too small.
A Mock in the Clouds: Leighton Meester had almost given up hope of finding her dream dress. For so long, she'd searched in vain for a frock that would simultaneously highlight her perfectly formed armpits and her favorite pair of ribs, so imagine her shock and delight when she stumbled upon this semi-detached number. That it was covered in a cloudy and fiery sunset was almost too much for the starlet to process. It was designer-wear destiny, because whenever she began to despair in her quest to draw attention to only her pitted and ribbed areas, she would find renewed purpose by humming Elton John's "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me." It's just a shame that, to paraphrase Sir Elton (with our deepest apologies), the cuts this dress has definitely need a lot more than love to help them heal, like maybe a staple gun and some duct tape.
Star Dreck: Bad news for the Borg: Judging by the robotic enhancements creeping across the top of Paula Abdul's Grammy gown, she has been assimilated, which means their hive mind will soon become dangerously discombobulated. The Borg will learn that resistance is futile as they repeatedly utter such nonsensical phrases as, "You did your thing up there," and start to hum the chorus of "Opposites Attract" while dancing with a surprisingly nimble cartoon cat. If only the oft-addled (former) "American Idol" judge had put up a little more resistance when her stylist suggested this Terminator-by-way-of-Tweety Bird number. The accordion bodice, floor-grazing hemline and recycled watchband embellishments overwhelm her teeny figure, despite the valiant heightening effort put forth by her tumescent, mushroom-capped 'do, which appears to have been teased into sky-high submission by Simon Cowell himself, who likely used such effective taunts as, "It's so bloody flat, Paula, really, absolutely ghastly. You want the truth? It makes me long for the days of Sanjaya's faux-hawk, which at least had the courage to achieve absurd new highs."
A Quick Trip Down Mammary Lane: Britney Spears stays hydrated as she does a bit of shopping during a summer concert stop in London. Not that she was in danger of drying out, at least based on the barometric reading we're getting off her overtaxed salmon tank top, which clearly indicates a cold front is moving in. Nipping at its heels: a low-pressure system that Brit could easily fend off with a sturdy foundation garment, if only she were remotely interested in keeping her pride and joy (pride is the one on the left; joy is on the right) under wraps. Spears has long answered the question "To bra or not to bra?" with a resounding, "No way, y'all!" And despite covering plenty of ground on the road to recovery, Britney has still gotta be Britney. And that means letting her Cheetos roam free. And why shouldn't she? With much of her post-psych-ward life controlled by others, Spears undoubtedly wants to exert her independence where she can. The upshot: We all just need to make the breast of it.
Hysterical Blind Mess: Who says fashion can't be an art form? For the Glamour Women of the Year Awards, Rihanna melds the abstract with the linear for an expressive asymmetrical aesthetic that offers a bold reinterpretation of couture. Note how the gown's enfolding vertical composition defines the blond hair hat-topped chanteuse's reposing figure, creating visually arresting movement that's heavily evocative of one of Picasso's lesser-known works, "Venetian Blinds Caught in a Tornado Atop an Iceberg."
Tied Up in Nots: Just how desperate was Mischa Barton to find a job earlier this year? So much so that she apparently resorted to walking through London's King's Cross Station -- the very same place where Harry Potter catches the Hogwarts Express -- wearing a wizarding robe. Was this a ploy, a la Sean Young's homemade Catwoman costume, to nab a role in the magically successful franchise? If so, the octopus-coiffed starlet seemed to realize she wouldn't be allowed anywhere near Platform 9 3/4, so she hedged her bets by suiting up for another potential part, with her necktie, extra-wide-brimmed tortilla hat and thrift store men's suit pants all making a loud-and-clear plea to Woody Allen to cast her as Diane Keaton's neurotic but not nearly as charmingly dizzy daughter in an "Annie Hall" sequel.
9½ Shrieks: For all the hard-living Mickey Rourke has done over the years, he still looks pretty good (from the neck down). So it's only natural that he'd want clothes that showcase the sturdy shape he's in (from the neck down). And in his own inimitably seedy way, he's found the duds to do it. Or, in this case, the lack of duds, because the in-need-of-a-vigorous-scrubbing thespian obviously figures shirts are for suckers. Why make the ladies wonder about his bulging biceps and swelling pecs when he can simply put them on display in a formfitting vest? And why not just call attention to his flat abs with hip-hugging, high-gloss shiny suit pants that softly swish "fuggetaboutit" when he walks? Mickey also makes sure all eyes travel to more appealing parts south with a bright blue belt, because what dame can resist a guy who's unafraid of mixing things up (from the neck down).
In Case of a Water Landing, Drew Barrymore Can Be Used as a Flotation Device: How do we love Drew? Let us count the ways. We love the genuine warmth that radiates from her sunny personality. We love that, at the age of 34, she's come into her own and has never looked better. We love that she was able to rise above her lousy childhood and become a Hollywood powerhouse through grit and determination. We love that she earned raves as Little Edie in "Grey Gardens," a role she went Method for. And most of all, we love that she hit "The Late Show" with David Letterman decked out in a dress that mixes vintage glam with a big dollop of screwball courtesy of adult-sized water wings. Kudos, Drew. Kudos.
Patriot Act: You loved her in "Mamma Mia." Now, Meryl Streep is … Captain America's grandma! By day, she's a mild-mannered nana in sensible pumps, but when evildoers are afoot, she takes them on using her secret weapons: Her patriotism and her baking skills, because no bad guy can withstand a piping-hot, all-American apple pie in the face. In Meryl's defense, she wore this red, white and blue Catherine Malandrino number in Paris on Inauguration Day, but pride of country is still no reason to let your matronly flag fly. And that's exactly what the sublime thespian has been doing for too many years. "The Devil Wears Prada" proved that Streep can carry off the haute-est of couture, and yet she stubbornly sticks to dowdy duds that we secretly suspect she found on the clearance rack at Ross. Meryl, you once said "there's no sell-by date" on your forehead. We couldn't agree more, and it's about time you started taking as much pride in your appearance as you do in the good ol' US of A.
Hayden Panty Err: Hayden Panettiere tried to spark interest in her quickly forgotten movie, "I Love You, Beth Cooper," by talking up her pivotal towel-dropping locker room scene. "If I can't flaunt it at 20, come on!" she said. "I mean, I might as well show it now." And that she did, just not in the PG-13 flick (she exposed only her bare back). The bronzed "Heroes" starlet plays peek-a-boo for a chat with David Letterman, sporting a wispy black lace minidress that is strategically opaque over her private parts, a design element that makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. Unfortunately, such close inspection exposes a secondary problem beyond a cutie-pie actress trying to get some attention in a daring dress. Turns out Hayden forgot the first rule of see-through: A wholesome white bra and panties are a contradictory no-no. On the plus side, at least she remembered the second rule of see-through: Always wear a bra and panties.
The Path of Khan: After spending much of last year encased in a rubbery prison of her own making (OK, the good folks at Michelin might have helped a little), Chaka Khan is enjoying the sweet, sweet freedom that comes from non-vulcanized clothing. Happily, it looks like her liberation from latex has led to a journey of sartorial self-discovery, a trek that's taken her from the bell-bottomed hippies of Woodstock to the corseted beer wenches working the Renaissance Faire circuit. But somewhere along the way, the big-lunged singer's uninhibited duds paths diverged, and she took the one less traveled, which is too bad, because we're fairly certain the road not taken led directly to the fitting room of Victoria's Secret, and that would have made all the difference.
Heidi Ho: If we could peer inside Heidi Montag's mind at this precise moment, what we'd find (besides tumbleweeds and a weary mouse listlessly running on a wheel) is that she's feeling pretty. So pretty that she's expecting Richard Gere to pull up in a Lotus any second now and offer her a ride (so to speak) to his fancy hotel suite. While some starlets harbor fantasies about becoming Julia Roberts, the fame-hustling "Hills" blonde has the bar set a little lower: She dreams about becoming Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman." And why not? The pay is good, the designer clothes are plentiful, and there's no Spencer Pratt and his creepy flesh-colored beard to deal with. Heidi has done a masterful job of capturing that certain je ne trampy sais quoi of hard-working girl Vivian in a black leather miniskirt, tight hot-pink tank top and over-the-knee boots that are versatile enough for her to walk the streets day or night. But Montag keeps her eye on the white knight prize by carrying an up-market baby blue Birkin bag, a clear shout-out to Vivian's Rodeo Drive transformation from heart-of-gold hooker to high-class looker.
Science Friction: A few months ago, Angie Harmon proudly talked up the Republican Party to Fox News, cheerleading that one of its greatest strengths was that "we don't point fingers." The actress might want to amend that statement in light of this go-go queen of the galaxy getup, which will have both her fellow conservatives and every last Democrat aiming their digits in her direction while doubled over with laughter. In fact, Angie's should-be-lost-in-space duds are an issue both parties can get behind. Who wants to argue about health care when you can instead debate whether the crew of Battlestar Galactica is orbiting under her dress, or if her wrapped, astro-mummy-naut boots would be appropriate for a stroll along the outside of the Starship Enterprise? In her attempt to be fashion forward (at warp speed), Harmon has inadvertently bridged the ideological gap between parties. So, we salute you, Angie: actress, Republican, red-carpet catastrophe, peacemaker.
Brody to the Max: Hi, I'm Adrien Brody and I'll be your gondolier this evening. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the tour of Venice's world-famous canals. And remember, tips are always appreciated. Don't be shy. Just stick them in that jar over there with the sign reading, "Adrien's Shirt Fund." Did I mention I'm also saving up for a shave and a haircut? One day, maybe I'll even have enough money to buy a hat from a men's store and a bandana that doesn't smell like my golden retriever. Please be generous, people. My pecs are freezing.
Combat Hoots: Sienna Miller had a lot riding on "G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra." Its success would have made the difference between being a bankable Hollywood leading lady or a B-list tabloid target best known as "that starlet Jude Law cheated on with the nanny" and "that starlet who cavorted topless with a still-married Balthazar Getty." Sienna suited up for box office battle at the flick's Tokyo premiere by clomping onto the red carpet in combat boots, albeit peep-toed, ridiculously expensive designer combat boots. And like a good promotional soldier, she set off a glitter bomb in a "Dynasty"-shouldered sparkly jacket, matching splotchy pants, and an electric blue button-down shirt. In an haute couture instant, Miller laid waste to unprotected corneas with a blinding flash of gaudiness that was designed to get people talking, although it remains unclear whether they said anything beyond, "My eyes! My eyes!"
Cheap Purple: Thanks to Tori Spelling's embittered, mud-slinging mom, Candy, our attitude toward the former "Beverly Hills, 90210" virgin has morphed from indifference to sympathy to appreciation. And so it pains us to see Tori providing ammunition to her mother, who called her out earlier this year as a "middle-aged reality show" star, in their long-running war of words. In this instantly aging, ruffle-fringed, burgundy flop of a flapper dress, Spelling effectively locks and loads her mom's next round of zingers. We can almost hear Candy practicing her put-downs: "Tori, why is your frock so shapeless? Are you expecting another grandchild who I'll refuse to meet? Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll loan you the money to buy a waistline. Oh, do you know what that shade of purple reminds me of? All the pretty jewels I won't be leaving you in my will. Speaking of which, your necklace is a disgrace. Yellow pearls are for the little people, ones who don't have hired help to scrub them until they shine. I thought I raised you better than that. Guess I was wrong, but not nearly as wrong as your dress. I wouldn't be caught dead in that thing. You're picturing me dead right now, aren't you? Forget it -- I'm too rich to die."
Shunglasses: Don't underestimate Fergie's style savvy. At first glance, this outfit might seem like it was assembled at random from items donated to Goodwill by a downhill skier with a litter of poorly trained kittens. But look a little closer and it suddenly makes perfect fashion sense. See, the popster knew full well that taking eyewear inspiration from Levar Burton's signature "Star Trek" specs would anger his legion of fans (and make no mistake -- they are legion). The ensuing catfight would be sure to include hair-pulling and nail-scratching, with the former straightening her locks better than any flat iron and the latter artfully shredding her pants into a chic, clawed-at accompaniment to her leopard-print boots. As for her back brace, it's both kicky and supportive, protecting her whether she's trading fisticuffs or lifting heavy objects, like, say, an overstuffed leather bag.
Brand Recognition: Behold Russell Brand. Behold Russell Brand's lace-fringed, moth-eaten cardigan, which his beloved grandma likely loved to wear while celebrating the moments of her life over General Foods International coffee. Behold the fuzzy funnyman's flapping pants and flip-flops. Behold his pointing finger, which could be aimed at you, ladies. Consider yourselves warned.
Memoirs of an Imperfect Angle: If it's true that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, then we are well on our way to being fitted with a designer straitjacket thanks to Mariah Carey. Over the years, we've tried (oh, how we've tried) to convince her to break out of her shrink-wrapped, epidermis-galore fashion rut and explore heaving-cleavage-free options. Clearly, we're not getting through. While filming a music video, the big-lunged belter carefully teeters to the beach in heels (as you do) and an unbecoming, navel-plunging black swimsuit that has all the appeal of "Glitter 2: The Retwinkling." Mimi, honey, your 20-year commitment to skimpy clothing shows admirable dedication. But denial isn't a flattering look on anyone. It's truly a shame that you're either unwilling or unable to see what we see: a gorgeous 40-year-old woman who is squandering the opportunity to play up her sensational shape because she's stubbornly clinging to the past -- and it's clinging to her.
Dye Hard With a Vengeance: The word "fierce" is tossed around Victoria Beckham like so many bowls of the carb-free salad she seems to subsist on. And in a lot of ways, the label is justified. After all, fierce is strutting down the sidewalk as if it's your own personal runway. Fierce is being able to project an expression that says, "I'm married to one of the hottest men on the planet. I rule all," despite having most of your face hidden behind windshield-sized sunglasses. And fierce is wearing the hottest designer duds without fear of looking like the '80s dumped a truckload of acid-wash and shoulder pads on top of you.
Belly Laugh: M.I.A. deserves a multitude of kudos (or at least as many as can fit under her dress -- and that's still a lot of kudos) for not only performing at the Grammy Awards on her actual due date but also making it through the night without ruining her bright blue kicks with an inconveniently timed water breakage. And we can all agree that anyone who's spent the last nine months growing a human being should be encouraged to put comfort above all. For the pocketsize British rapper, that means wobbling onto the red carpet wrapped up in the world's coziest comforter, the better for keeping her baking bun warm during its final moments in the oven. Perhaps to minimize criticism of her bulbous bedclothes, she chose a pattern that's hypnotic enough to lull us into a Magic Eye-like trance, which, depending on which way we tilt our head and squint our eyes, produces either the image of a ship bobbing on the horizon or a morbidly obese Smurfette binging on an entire family of creepy blue anthropomorphic M&Ms. And just in case you aren't sure whether M.I.A. is on the joke, read on to check out her onstage outfit ...
The Dot Thickens: In this not-so-itty-bitty black mesh polka dot bikini, M.I.A. has ventured into that little-explored fashion frontier that lies between Bjork's swan carcass dress, Demi Moore's butt-naked pregnant pose for Vanity Fair and Minnie Mouse's demure dotted duds. Equal parts maternity wear and biology lesson, this one-of-a-kind (we can only hope) creation stands as a testament to the singer's supreme self-confidence. Sure, it's nutty, and yes, her bundle of joy will probably one day be driven to tears on the playground by this picture. But for sheer audacity (hey, see what we did there with the sheer, oh, never mind), M.I.A. wins big.
Head for the 'Hills': It's probably a stretch to expect a "Hills" cast member to form an actual thought, never mind to think twice, but that's exactly what Audrina Patridge should have done while getting ready for Canada's MuchMusic Awards. See, if she had pulled on her thinking cap before her clingy dress, she might have had a brainstorm -- or even a brain-drizzle -- that a black bra would work a lot better than the white coffee filters she apparently slapped atop her mountainous assets. What's more, a reasonable person would certainly have felt -- in this order -- confusion, doubt and disgust when confronted with something as illogical and contradictory as a short-sleeved, turtlenecked shrug. But not Audrina. No, she thoughtlessly tugged the offending garment over her ears (hey, anyone else hear the ocean?) and tried to reconcile the eternal conflict that is cleavage ventilation vs. a constrictive collar by wrapping her forearms in cashmere socks and binding her ankles in belts while her toes wiggle free.
Bow-mance: Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick step out for a Broadway show and a bit of conversation. Let's listen in...
MB: Ow! Would you stop poking me with the sharpened shoulder pad of your precariously balanced jacket? That thing is pointier than my sideburns.
SJP: Oh, like I'm not experiencing pain of my own over here? I'm the one eye-level with those tragic tufts. And don't get me started on the bow tie. Is that a weird "Simpsons" homage to Waylon Smithers? Does Mr. Burns know about this?
MB: Hey, you're the one who said to wear something matchy.
SJP: Enlighten me, honey, because I don't see the matching part.
MB: Well, dearest, there are bows on your Pepto-Bismol-coated shoes. Thus, matchy. But back to you: What's up with this oddly tight yet billowy satin shirt? I'm pretty sure you started the day with two breasts, not one.
SJP: This is my empathy blouse. I may not be carrying our twin girls, but I can still get into the spirit with fabulous maternity-wear.
MB: I'm almost positive that's not how it works.
The Thigh Cost of Living: Like you've never been there. It's long past laundry day and the only clean item of clothing you have is a pair of denim cutoffs you overzealously took scissors to at summer camp. When you were 11. Oh, and you're out of razors. Before you judge Rihanna too harshly, just remember: Let she who is without stubble cast the first Schick. The style-experimenting chanteuse tries to improvise a solution by sheathing her exemplary gams in cutout leather thigh-highs, unaware that no problem has ever or will ever be solved by the addition of cutout leather thigh-highs. Unfortunately, the designer leg wear only creates more complications, because now the rest of her ensemble has to be just as funkily offbeat or she'll look silly (all right, all right -- sillier). That leads Rihanna straight into the fashion danger zone, where she not only makes a risky nod to the '80s in a Member's Only poncho and a floppy Flock of Seagulls 'do, but she also accessorizes with open-toed Franken-shoes and a necklace that's perilously attached to both earlobes (one wrong move and it's stitches galore). But if you still have an urge to try out RiRi's leg coverings, they can be yours for the low, low price of $920. And no, we didn't forget a decimal point after the nine.
A Low Brown Dirty Shame: Days before this photo was snapped, Chris Brown was sentenced for his brutal February attack on Rihanna, receiving five years' probation and six months' community labor, along with a stern warning to keep away from his ex-girlfriend. The lack of jail time left some wondering whether his punishment was sufficiently harsh, but our question is whether public humiliation was part of his penalty. If so, props to whoever put together this head-to-toe sartorial shaming. From the tip of the singer's dorkily perched hat to the visual assault of his crazily patterned, Bill Cosby-ish cardigan and the "Revenge of the Nerds: The Preschool Years" coordinating aqua sneakers, big boy short pants and hoisted, just-out-of-the-tube socks, it's a mortification-palooza, one that with any luck will continue until he's served every last, character-building day of his sentence.
Nip/Yuk: It's hard to believe, but just a few years ago Amy Winehouse was touted as the next big thing. But after a prolonged marinade in booze, drugs and a cripplingly co-dependent relationship with ex (and likely future) husband Blake Fielder-Civil, the vice-plagued singer has fallen far from her beehived, ballet-slippered heyday. But she isn't about to let her "next big thing" status go without a fight. And that fight means wrestling her brand new, baby-head-shaped "next big things" into a dangerously stressed floral corset that is too despondent about its present circumstances to put up much of a struggle. Seems that in a bid to boost her battered self-esteem, Amy went under the knife to boost her bustline, and she positively swells with pride as she shows off the results. Sad to say, her saline-enhanced zippered top, with only a Hot Topic miniskirt and leather back brace for support, couldn't take the pressure and gave up. Winehouse, however, appears unconcerned with the mammary-triggered slippage, a sure sign that she's spiraled to a point so low that even nipular-exposing pioneer Tara Reid is crying out for a bucket of brain bleach.
Klum to Grow: While pregnant with baby No. 4, Heidi Klum gets into the stork spirit by challenging the "Project Runway" designers to come up with a grown-up version of a baby romper. Alas, like most of the show's creations, her maternity one-piece has a major design flaw. Scratch that -- it has two major design flaws, which, in the lingo of high fashion, are typically known as "legs." As a flowing maxi-dress, this outfit would have made a fetching and comfortable complement to her swelling belly. But as a jumbo jumpsuit, it's too much, particularly when coupled with the radiant host's misguided decision to plaster her doublewide failure with pictures from her latest ultrasound.
Helena Handbasket: There's a definite upside to Helena Bonham Carter's singular fashion sense, which she shows off in all its wacky splendor at the premiere of "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince": She never has to worry that someone will turn up on the red carpet kitted out in the very same getup. See, non-kooky people wouldn't have the first clue where to acquire an outfit like this. Our best guess is that in some remote, oddball corner of the world, there's a store that stocks only clothes and accessories inspired by movies featuring the fashionably eccentric actress. Take Helena's corset jacket and ruffled black skirt, which are versatile enough to go from a furtive make-out session with Julian Sands in "A Room With a View" to baking people-packed pies with Johnny Depp in "Sweeney Todd." Meanwhile, you can almost smell the musty odor of the "Corpse Bride" coming off her white crinoline petticoat. As for her polka-dot tights, twee gold shoes and glittery, glorious castle purse, those apparently came straight through the rabbit hole of the forthcoming "Alice in Wonderland," where Helena's hair appears to have been clawed (repeatedly) by the Cheshire Cat.
Shortfall: Jessica Alba has unwittingly discovered a phenomenon as rare as a dodo bird staring at a total solar eclipse: an outfit that would be improved by the addition of lederhosen. That little touch of Bavaria would bring some logic to her seasonally inconsistent decision to wear oversized, pleated shorts with knee-high socks, a color-coordinated cardigan and suede boots. Then again, Jessica's duds might be the surest sign yet of how committed she is to being taken seriously as a thespian, because any bombshell worth her saltwater-soaked string bikini knows that even the hottest hottie is no match against the sexiness-depleting power of bunchy pleats.
Kitsch and Famous: Here they are, the mascots of fashion desperation, the mainstays of the mystifyingly extended invitation ... (halfhearted drumroll, please) ... Bai Ling and Phoebe Price. Wherever they go (like here, at the Grammys), grumbling follows, as many a legitimate award show attendee rightfully asks, "Who the hell keeps letting these maroons onto the red carpet?" Of course, the actresses (a stretch, but we're feeling generous, and Price did once appear in an episode of "Arli$$") simply chalk up such slights to jealousy due to their unparalleled excellence in the field of tackiness. Bai, for instance, pluckily hauls around the pink bow tie Andre the Giant wore to his senior prom, while Phoebe borrows Mr. Potato Head's jaunty chapeau to highlight the mold spore rapidly growing on her rosily radioactive minidress. These ladies stand as shining examples of the indefatigable spirit of the Z-lister, who live and die by the motto "strapless, pantsless and shameless."
Sarah, Not-So-Plain and Tall: Dressing up has never been a priority for Sarah Silverman, who frequently arrives on the red carpet sporting the same duds she'd wear to make a late-night 7-Eleven run for a carton of milk, a six-pack of Miller Light and a package of Ho Hos. And because of that, we'd really like to commend the gussying effort the good-looking (when she wants to be) comedian put in for the Emmys. Really, we would. We just need a minute to come up with a compliment. Thinking ... thinking ... still thinking ... OK, we've got something: Sarah's skin sure does glow atop all those acres of radioactive satin. Oh, and did you notice how fetchingly symmetrical her shoulders are? What else, what else ... Let's see, well, it's enviro-riffic that Sarah's collection of 4-H Club blue ribbons found a second life as a strapless version of Cinderella's Disneyfied princess gown, and that by cleverly widening her hips by stapling on window treatments, she was able make her waistline look positively wee.
Wand Ambition: Emma Watson, much like her witchy "Harry Potter" character Hermione Granger, is smart and sensible (or, as she puts it, "a proper nerd"). Which might explain why she was drawn to the edginess of this deconstructed black-and-blue Rodarte creation, with its haphazard layers of tatty mesh and netting that make her look like she just took on the entire population of Slytherin in a game of Exploding Snap. But avant-garde couture, especially when it comes pre-shredded across the bust, requires an attitude that struts the line between bold and brash, and the winsome teen, who may as well have Miss Congeniality emblazoned on her sash, is just too darn sweet to pull it off. Besides, we hear that Hogwarts has some delightful black robes that are all the rage with nerds, proper or not.
No Gut, No Glory: Here is Jessica Simpson giving her all onstage at SeaWorld, a Shamu-adjacent performance that earned her a rebuke from PETA. In this instance, however, we say tough noogies to the animals, because the only ones who should be protesting the starlet's appearance are the People for the Ethical Treatment of Apparel. Listen, Jess, those infamous, egregiously unflattering mom jeans may have been a publicity boon, but do you really think that gyrating in Daisy Duke's denim underpants, the Little Dutch Boy's wooden shoes and Mrs. Juan Valdes' favorite serape while sticking out your stomach like Homer Simpson (no relation) after a doughnut bender will spark another career-boosting weight debate? Forget it. We're onto your game. You're not fooling anyone by dressing in the worst possible clothes for your body, which, by the by, is quite toned and fit. Yeah, we noticed, despite your best efforts to hide it. So, please, just stop. Get some decent pants (preferably ones that extend a few inches past your tuchis), and, while you're at it, find a new dance instructor, learn some new moves, and book a gig that doesn't involve scaring innocent marine life.
Cheetah Hurl: Before we judge Whoopi Goldberg too harshly for wearing a housecoat from Blanche Devereaux's sexy sexagenarian line to the Oscars, it's important to remember a few things. For one, this is far from the worst outfit the "View" co-host has worn to the ceremony (who can forget the year she styled satin capri pants under a purple-people-eating gown?). For another, the Whoopster spends day after day refereeing what passes as intellectual discourse between Elisabeth Hasselbeck and Sherri Shepherd, so she should be commended for managing to hold onto even a sliver of her sanity. Alas, that sliver couldn't shout down the crazy, which somehow convinced her that there's nothing more fashionable on Hollywood's biggest night than a leopard-print muumuu.
You Can't Judge a Brooke By Its Cover: Brooke Hogan is what you might call a triple threat. She has her own reality show ("Brooke Knows Best," even if we're still unsure what, if anything, she knows, best or otherwise), an album ("Redemption," which the Associated Press hailed as "lackluster"), and a menacing fist that implies we'll get good and pummeled unless we find something nice to say about her, oh, let's just call it an outfit. Thing is, we bruise like a peach and have a pain threshold lower than Jon Gosselin's dating standards, so we feel it's prudent to point out that her devil-red corset does a heckuva job of showcasing her overstuffed black halter, and her fused-to-her-skin leggings impressively manage to keep her lady business private (seriously, Ken dolls could take tips from those tights). As for Brooke's lethargic locks, they are truly one of the unnatural wonders of the world, the perfect peroxide-bred love child of the Nelson brothers' pretty blond manes from the early '90s and Daddy Hulk's bushy yellow mustache.
Li-lacking: Maggie Gyllenhaal, wipe that smile off your face, because what's happening here is no laughing matter. We know you love to fall back, fashion-wise, on your quirky indie actress status. But you starred in the "The Dark Knight" -- the jig is up. There's no hipster funkiness to be found in dressing like you got a bear hug from the softer side of Sears. Face it, you're only a year into your 30s, which means you have at least a half-century to go before you can hope to wear a drop-waisted lilac polyester top and a dizzying, multipatterned leopard-print skirt without irony. Embrace the wait.
I Know Who Kilt Me: Before we begin, it's necessary to point out that Ed Westwick is feeling the breeze in new places for a good cause: a kilt-centric benefit for New York's Tartan Week (yes, there really is such a thing). But that defense will only take the "Gossip Girl" star so far. When he realized he'd be strutting down the catwalk in this plaid-tastrophe, the actor should have pitched a Blair Waldorf-style hissy fit and made a beeline back to the Upper East Side. Or perhaps he should have put himself in his dandyish alter ego Chuck Bass' very expensive bespoke shoes and sneeringly demanded -- in this order -- sleeves, socks, some extra-firm styling gel and a razor (because a clean, close shave of his chest and legs could only help this situation). Instead, Westwick became fashion roadkill, although at least he was self-aware enough to take steps to dull the checkered pain. "I'm going to get smashed after doing this," he reportedly told a buddy. Oh, and for those who are wondering what, if anything, was under Ed's skirt (hey, no judgment), he was styling black boxer briefs. You're welcome.
Hiss of Death: Ever wonder how the mighty python goes from a majestic creature of the wild to a kicky fashion accessory? We figure it happens like this: One day, the snake is minding its own business, slithering around somewhere in, say, Southeast Asia, when it starts to feel a little peckish. As it begins to search for something tasty and rodentlike to constrict and consume whole, it senses danger. Suddenly, everything goes dark. Later, it wakes up amid bright lights and cries of "Ciara, those harem-Hammer-time pants are fabulous! And that scarf? To die for," which confuses the python, because it can't think of anything less fabulous than playing second style fiddle to someone wearing pleated drapes. On the other hand (if it had hands), the snake completely understands the "to die for" part and quietly begins the constriction and consumption process.
Fall Out Oy: Before you laugh (and laugh) at Pete Wentz, consider the extenuating circumstances that led to this. Ever since wife Ashlee Simpson got fired from "Melrose Place," he's had to listen to her big sis Jessica give her pep talk after pep talk about what fools those producers were for firing her, and how amazing she was at conveying her character's craziness with a silent, empty stare, and what a triumph it will be when she wins an Oscar Emmy Tony Cable Ace Award. A few hours of that and you, too, would be swaddling your ears in wool and finding peaceful refuge in the meditative happy place that is Guy-Liner Land.
Haltered State: As children, we're issued many warnings. Some are quite useful, such as, "look both ways before you cross the street," "don't talk to strangers" and "no running with scissors." Others, not so much (try as we might, we never did manage to make a face and have it freeze that way). Then there are the lessons that should be taught but aren't. Parents, let the luminous Kate Walsh provide all the motivation you'll need to sit your daughters down for a serious talk about the very real dangers involved in wearing a spacious satin jumpsuit dyed the color of a Fruit Roll-Up. Just consider how a brief mother-daughter chat could have prevented this blocky one-piece from ever seeing the light of day. What's more, the discussion might have opened the door for other sharing sessions, including one focused on how boys don't respect girls who wear deflated halter tops on the first date.
Feather Dusted: The last thing that pigeon remembers seeing was Shannen Doherty scowling in a saggy black prom dress. Then ... nothing.
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