If you haven't made "Go Fug Yourself " a daily must-visit-or-else-I-DIE website destination, we're not sure what in sam hell you're waiting for. Their daily celebrity fashion smack-downs are not only mute-laugh hilarious (you know, when you laugh so hard that no sound comes out), but they're totally on point. So we thought, why not let the Fug Girls have their way with some guests from last year's MMVAs? The plan couldn't be any more genius. The rest, as they say, is fugstory.
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Back when she was Independence Day's Jasmine -- the stereotypical single-mom stripper-with-a-heart-of-gold who had enough moxie to win over Will Smith and prove that sometimes, nice girls still prance around in jeweled thongs and call themselves "dancers", so get over it, haters -- I rather liked Vivica A. Fox. But then her fresh-faced sass abruptly gave way to the taut-faced, 50 Cent stalking, pumped-up, "fighting tooth and Press-On nail for her youth" Vivica, which is when she started forsaking proper shirts; nipping, tucking, and terrorizing her face; wearing large wigs that sit plopped on her head like they dropped there from an airlift; and saying bizarre things about how she doesn't want kids because she hasn't met a man whose face she'd want running around her house on a smaller body. I now tend to think of her as Tyra Banks-lite, but with Janice Dickinson's personality, and she looks it here with that savaged "shirt," a.k.a., shredded panel of dangling gold satin that would embarrass even the rattiest of Christmas trees.
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With the resurgence of 80s fashion has come, apparently, a new fondness for those classic flicks. These two posers, with their little nautical-cheerleader versions of Gwen Stefani's Harajuku girls, look ripped straight out of Weird Science, where Robert Downey Jr. and his tall, heavy-eyebrowed counterpart pranced around pretentiously in a proto-jerk interpretation of popular high-school boys. They were madly, and unjustifiably, impressed with their own perceived smarts and style, and that's exactly the vibe Stevo and Cone are giving off here. (All that's missing: popped collars. But at least Corey Hart would be proud of their sunglasses.) And it's rather boring and sad -- look, even the second cheerleader from the left looks like she wants to weep for the future.
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Poor FeFe Dobson is so misguided and confused. From the neck up, she's inexplicably channeling Elizabeth Taylor shilling "White Diamonds". From the neck down, she's sporting a tank rescued from Avril Lavigne's reject pile, paired with a skirt from Walmart's spectacularly unsuccessful foray into "edgy soccer mom" gear. None of this makes sense. If you're doing the Punk Princess thing, why would you wear such a dowdy skirt? If you're doing the Classy Babe act, why would you wear a skull and crossbones tank? Why, in fact, would you wear any of this?
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Ashlee looks great here, even with her old nose, but we can't say the same about her smug, creepy Dad. The outfit's not terrible: he looks a bit like an overgrown frat boy working as a maitre d' at some terrible upscale tropical restaurant, and dollars to donuts he's either wearing flip flops or loafers without socks with that thing, but the real problem is his painfully smarmy expression. His presence in this picture to begin with is a bit of a mystery. When it comes down to it, who, really, is interested in Joe Simpson, other than Joe Simpson himself? We've always been under the impression that managers (and parents) of celebrities were supposed to hang back on the red carpet, and let their client (or child) take centre stage, while old Pa Simpson appears to believe that he's as much of a star as his protégé. Now that Ashlee's got herself a new face, we think she should probably look into getting a new manager to match.
Immerse yourself in glorious fugdom! Lucky for you, Go Fug Yourself updates regularly. You'll never move from your computer again.
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