Fugger: Erika Christensen

Fugs and Fabs: Elle‘s Women In Television Event


Suspenders are not back. They are not back. They are not back. I’m going to say it over and over until it’s confirmed.

[Photos: Getty]

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Fugs and Fabs: The Elle Event


Apparently a lot of people went to this thing; let’s see how the rest of them did. Hint: Busy Phillips lives up to her name.

[Photos: Getty]

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Fug/Fab Face-Off: Erika Christensen vs. Hayden Panettiere


For me this is definitely fug, in a non-relative sense. It is flat-out and overt.

Erika Christensen is so lovely (and so good on Parenthood, like everyone else on that show, so please, NBC, don’t cancel it or else we are going to have issues). Why is she doing this to herself? If someone gave that to her as a Valentine’s Day present, she should send it back with a knife in the torso and a note that reads, “Let’s never speak of this again. Or, speak again, period.”

Hayden wore a softer version to a Vanity Fair party:

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NBC Upfugs-and-fabs


Ah, upfronts, the time of year when we say things like, “Man, NBC must regret that talent deal with Jimmy Smits, because it’s NOT HAPPENING,” and, “One Tree Hill lives AGAIN?” and “A musical starring Debra Messing? REALLY?” So really, it’s a very capsy week. Jessica and I were saying how thrilled we are that Debra “Hot Mess” Messing will be out and about now that Smash is a go, and yet, she was neither the hottest nor the messiest at the upfronts party. That honor may go to either Christina Aguilera or Katharine McPhee. Sigh. Singers, man. They always deliver.

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Fuggenthood


At first, I was going to Fug or Fab this.

Yes, it looks a bit like she’s taken a very fancy wine-bottle gift sack and cinched it under her boobs, but in a weird way it’s also kind of flattering — I mean, listen, we’re talking about Captain Drawstrings here, the succubus of stretch-satin. Sometimes fug is a comparative science, so if I were slipping into my lab coat and safety goggles, I might conclude that this is a win.
However, she’s betrayed by the microscope:

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Fugenthood


Dear God. This isn’t even a hot mess; I feel like it’s a lukewarm mess, sitting out on the dinner table, waiting for you to have time to get to it while the couscous clumps into a clammy mess.

It’s… just not right on her, and it’s a LOT of shiny, evil satin. Erika, as a Scientologist, should know that Xenu invented satin right before he blew up all his alien subjects near our planet’s volcanoes, or whatever. I think even her thetan(s) are like, “You know what? She’s pretty, but we’re out. Kick us back up to Venus so we can try again.”
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