Fugger: Tilda Swinton

BAFTA Awards Wah-Waaah Carpet: SWINTON


Man, usually people save the best for last. And when SWINTON busted out a big gun at the Golden Globes, we were so excited at where that meant the lunacy would end up come Oscar time.

Instead, she’s been dressing like a woman who is really not all that excited to be attending her own third and fourth weddings.

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SAG Awards SAD Carpet: SWINTON


I am worried about SWINTON:

This is so staid. Almost NORMAL. Even…BORING. Where is the delicious wacktacularity, the delightful weirdness, the glorious Bowie-esque bad-assery we’ve come to expect from SWINTON? She looks less like SWINTON and more like swinton. I’m seriously concerned. Can someone go over to the Bel Air Hotel — actually, what am I saying? SWINTON surely stays in some fantastic post-modern glass treehouse in the backyard of, like, a Cal-Tech rocket scientist/conceptual artists with whom she once spent a glorious naked weekend in the Maldives. Regardless, can someone go over there and make sure she’s not running a fever? Because something is amiss.

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Golden Globes Well Played Carpet/SWINTONly Played Other Carpets: SWINTON


It seems only fitting that our first post in what will be exhaustive/ing Globes coverage is the High Priestess of Fabufuggery. Personally, I unironically and unabashedly love the hell out of this dramatic suit — I want her to wear it to a wedding at which her salacious affair with the groom will be revealed, or to a press conference where it’s revealed she is David Bowie’s sister — but the other stuff she trotted out this weekend was more SWINTONIAN in its boxy starkness, the  kind of thing we either love without reason or dislike with great affection. Join hands as we plunge into the SWINTON vortex.

[Photos: Getty]

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We Need To Talk About Fug


While watching the premiere of Project Runway: All Stars, I realized that the divinely straight-shooting and cool Joanna Coles of Marie Claire — she’s the Tim Gunn of the series, and I have to say, she is making it work — reminds me a lot of SWINTON here. Both physically, and in the sense that I feel if I went to them with any kind of life crisis, I would get seized by the shoulders and given a mellifluous and true speech steering me away from shenanigans.

I would like to return the favor, except right now I sound like a small family of bees has taken up residence in my nasal canal, so it wouldn’t be so much “mellifluous” as “unpleasant and droning.” But I do think I’d have cautioned Our Lady of Wackitudinal Yes against pants whose only true hem is the floor. I’m also not wild about the dueling purples, and frankly, the rise on those trousers reminds me of nothing so much as Apu from The Simpsons. For what it’s worth, if SWINTON ran a convenience store, I would shop there unreservedly. I would be her best customer, get fat on her shriveled and warmed-over hot dogs, and go broke on scratch lotto tickets. But I would still probably warn her off the pants. They’re just not worthy. They are the Wayne Campbell of pants.

[Photo: Getty]

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Well SWINTONed, SWINTON


I couldn’t send you off into the wilds of another winter weekend without a soupçon of SWINTON.

Incidentally, when I was younger, my mom had a cookbook called Soupçon and I always read the title– as one would, when one is five — as Soup Con, which these days would be how you would reference a giant foodie event that’s all about soup, and people who make soup, and love soup, and blog about soup, and who run a message board called Souper Duper all about how to live your life with maximum soup, and the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld would always be there signing autographs, and everyone would pray to a giant framed photo of Soupy Sales next to some TVs screening his old episodes of Match Game, someone from Pixar would be there giving a keynote speech about what’s REALLY in that soup the Ratatouille rat made that was so good, and Joel McHale would probably do an episode of The Soup on location, and it would all end in a screening of Duck Soup followed by a Bowling For Soup concert where they serve gourmet corn dogs because by then everyone really, really would need to chew something.

Does all that mean that SWINTON, who spawned this digression, is the patron saint of SoupCon? I hope so. I bet she’d show up wearing a dress made of Campbell’s cans.

[Photo: Getty]

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SWINTONly Played, SWINTON


I don’t know about you, but in this time of uncertainty and sadness, just knowing that SWINTON is out and about — and going Full David Bowie on us from time to time –  makes me feel better. About everything. Especially the prospect of the very luxurious Thanksgiving her dry cleaner is going to get after she settles the bill to get this thing cleaned later.

[Photo: Getty]

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