Fugger: Roisin Murphy

Fugsin Murphy


I remember when we first discovered the zaniness of Roisin Murphy at Fashion Week, and were were like, “SADDLE UP, y’all, because this rodeo is about to get thrashy.” And then, shortly after one Fug Madness seeding, she kind of disappeared from our lives. So imagine my glee at spying a recent photo of her…

… and then imagine my sorrow at seeing she appears to be giving a speech called, “Power Smocks And You: How To Button Up And Get Down.” And then I thought, well, this is Roisin Murphy, so maybe she’s wearing pantaloons made of potholders. MAYBE:

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Fugsin Murfug


Obviously I am going to have to shake off the shackles of my own laziness and check out singer Roisin Murphy’s work. In truth, I have avoided the issue somewhat so far because I’m afraid her day job could never live up to her appearances on the red carpet.

I suspect this is what a mother of a Mouseketeer would wear at her child’s wedding — assuming, of course, it’s performed on the steps of the Magic Castle, followed by a lavish coronation as the monarch of Prosperityland, a brand new wing of Disneyland designed to help us all forget there’s a recession and we’re too broke to go to theme parks in the first place.

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Fugsin Murphy


Oh, hooray. I was getting worried that, after inducting Roisin Murphy into the ranks of Fug Madness contenders, she’d go and drop off the face of the planet, thus denying us that which we so crave from her. But not so.

And while this certainly isn’t up to — down to? — her usual standards of wackitude, it DOES feel like she threw a loud caftan, a flight attendant’s uniform, and some kitchen wallpaper into the washing machine with her favorite white housedress, ran the cycle on hot, and waited for it all to bleed into a pattern. Bless.

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Overfugged


Wow. It takes a special conglomeration of items to create a look that makes your posture look this Igor-lumbering-around-the-lab level of terrible:

Listen, if you’re going to wear those pants, (a) think twice, (b) then once again, (c) then have the common decency to pair them with a top that doesn’t make you look as though you’re spending the entire evening hunched over at a sixty-degree angle. The last person who could pull off a shawl-bodice concoction was Jessica Fletcher, and unless Roisin Murphy here was attending the Elle Style Awards solely to confront Mickey Rourke in an abandoned stairwell about some terrible crime she’s fingered him for (insert joke about his criminal plastic surgery here) (insert joke about “fingering” here) (insert apology for gross “fingering” joke here) (insert apology to Mickey Rourke here) (insert heartfelt explanation that I wouldn’t be nearly so upset about what he did to his face if I didn’t think his first face was so nice to begin with here), then I confess to being at a loss.

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Fugsin Murphy


Poor Roisin. I hope that thing turns out to be benign:


[Photo: Splash News]

It’s starting to interfere with the part of her brain that usually knows well enough to leave Sophia Petrillo’s Easter Sunday dress in the closet.

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