Fug File: Fug The Cover

Fug the Cover: Drew Barrymore


Everything about this cover so stiff and awkward.

How ironic that the headline says “It’s Drew!” when in fact nothing about this photo bespeaks Drew Barrymore to me except the fact that she provided its original genetic material. Her hands look like the photographer walked up to her, placed them there, and said, “IF YOU MOVE THAT HAND ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR I’LL TURN THIS CAR AROUND.” She also looks sedated, and possibly also severely Photoshopped, into an expression of supreme sleepy smuggery. And if they were going to monkey with her face, why didn’t they adjust the fact that the shirt makes her left boob look like it’s being arrested by an ace bandage?

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Fug or Fab The Cover and the Grammys: Adele


For me, the exciting thing about Vogue putting Adele on the cover was them putting Adele on the cover. To me, this isn’t Adele. This is Amber Heard. And I don’t mean to knock on Amber Heard, who could be the nicest person ever to put on false eyelashes, but a) she is no Adele, b) I’m pretty sure she would ALSO tell you that she is no Adele, and c) if you are making Adele look like every cookie-cutter Playboy Club-style starlet out there, you’re taking away what makes her Adele. And now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, let’s check out how Adele represented at the Grammys and see if we all feel like there’s still a fire burning in our souls.

First, Vogue:

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And the Grammy looks:

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[Photos: Getty]

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Fug or Fab the Cover: Reese Witherspoon


We got a ton of e-mails about this cover.

They ranged from “ugh” to wondering if her daughter did her makeup, to “mind-boggling,” to wondering why she was Olsenized. And yeah, she MIGHT look a tad like Ashley and Mary-Kate’s tennis-playing older sister who runs a very tight meth lab in her country club locker. I see that. I also see shades of Erin Wasson, perhaps. But I kind of love the fierce expression on her face and the fact that they let the eye makeup do all the talking and left her lips alone, and I don’t find her unrecognizable; just… different. Enough to make me stop and look and then maybe stick around for the cover lines, which is probably a victory. Listen, it’s no secret that I need to go to beauty school, and I am CERTAIN what I am eating is making me old, so please fix me, Elle

Does the cover need fixing?

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Fug the Cover: Dakota Fanning


I’ll take Cover Concepts That Gross Me Out for $500, Alex.  Among the many, many phrases I never EVER needed to have associated with SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD Dakota Fanning are: “His Best Sex Ever,” “Too Naughty To Say Here: But You Have to Try This Sex Trick,” and — WORST HEADLINE OF THE YEAR SO FAR — “Um, Vagina, Are You Okay Down There?” Let us all just take a moment to drink that one in: “UM, VAGINA, ARE YOU OKAY DOWN THERE?” SOMEONE WROTE THE WORDS, “UM, VAGINA,” AND SOMEONE ELSE DECIDED TO PUT THE WORDS, “UM, VAGINA” ON THE COVER OF THE MAGAZINE.  Um, personally, I hope anyone who says that to her vagina gets the shock of her life when her vagina responds, and tells her to get a) a grip and b) better reading material.

Now, here’s the thing. Of course seventeen year old girls are reading Cosmo surreptitiously, and I guess we should all be happy that Dakota’s not flashing massive cleavage or anything. Other than the fact that I think they’ve made her look much more generic than she actually is – which is a time-honored Cosmo tradition — she looks fine. But the idea that Dakota Fanning, whose parents and handlers have, to this point, done a masterful job of keeping on the refreshingly wholesome path, has her head right next to HIS BEST SEX EVER really irritates me. Because Dakota Fanning seems — and whether she actually is, or isn’t, is her own business — like a smart, classy,  girl. She’s never come off cloying or phony or tacky to me, and that kind of branding on your 17 year old starlet is FREAKING GOLD. I can not understand why you’d monkey with it by sandwiching her between UM VAGINA and HIS BEST SEX EVER. There are all kinds of ways to seem more mature, if that’s what they’re going for, than sticking your blow-out right next to UM VAGINA. In short: Why didn’t anyone point out to Dakota Fanning that Dakota Fanning is TOO GOOD FOR THIS?

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Fug the Cover: Kate Middleton


So, Tatler is just accepting the fact that they’re NEVER going to get a Middleton to sit for them and has totally and shameless resorted to using photos from events — first the terrible cover where Pippa is being buried alive by flowers, and now this one, which I think is lifted from this outing. If I were the Duchess, that would really cheese me off, and not only because the headline implies that she’s knocked up, or that the article within is, like, “Dear Kate, when you get pregnant, here’s how CRAZY we members of the press are going to act! Don’t say we didn’t warn you!” Because worse than that, arguably, is how terribly Photoshopped this looks. They’ve done something to her face, especially the middle-distance-y eyes, that makes this entire thing remind me of an amateur portrait of Jesus (in attention to the Kind-Yet-Unfocused Eyes, He does have, in much of Western art, similarly luxurious and long brown hair). And listen, I get that Kate Middleton has been a boon to tabloids and proper magazines alike, but she’s not actually the Second Coming.

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Well Played Cover: Angelina Jolie


First of all, my favorite thing about this cover is how TINY the mention of Project Runway‘s winning collection is.

I wonder if they were contractually obligated to do it, but then punted as best they could at the last second because it was so underwhelming a season. That thing is written in, like, eight point font, tucked above the masthead in a spot where you almost never look because the only information that’s usually there is the date and price of the issue, or maybe the URL.

But also, you never would look there, because you are too busy being arrested by Angelina Jolie’s face. That is a compliment. She is arresting. This is the second cover in as many months on which Marie Claire has made someone look better than they recently have on the red carpet (the first being Kim Kardashian), all by keeping it deceptively simple. The quizzical face and heat in her eyes might be a little edgier and foxier than Marie Claire traditionally goes for, but that’s kind of why I love it. She is RIGHT there, coming at you, without any bells and whistles except the ones her genepool (and maybe a nose sculptor) gave her. And it works. This is the fire that tends to be missing from her on the red carpet — this is the Angelina I wish we got more of, the one who is feisty and stunning and sassy and makes it impossible to look away. I’m almost bashful under her stare. I want to apologize for my face, or my shoes, or my hair, or the weather. Sure, there is something a little ooky about how disembodied all the parts look — that arm could as easily be a mannequin hand someone jammed into the shot, and her hair is covering up enough of her neck that she almost looks to be missing a chunk of it — but overall the effect is really hypnotic. Magnetic. Arresting. There’s the word again. But it is. I feel cuffed to it, thrown against a car, and read my rights in a rushed and perfunctory way — a grudging courtesy, as everyone knows nobody ever fully pays attention to that spiel because the fact of what’s happening is too distracting. I want her simultaneously to slap me and be my best friend. It’s strange. Which I guess means it works. Or that I just fell in dysfunctional love with her. Or both.

 

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