Fug or Fab: Kelly Osbourne

Oh, Kelly Osbourne. Part of me loves you in this — black and blue! So French! So like a bruise, but in that “You Should See The OTHER Guy” kind of way! So flattering to your pretty skin! And part of me, I must confess, said, “is that a MEMBERS ONLY JACKET?” except I sort of said it in with a shamed “because I might need it” tone in my voice rather than the perhaps expected distain.

On the other hand, I fear that aggressively pleated hem may lead to disaster, in the form of cocktail weenies or cocktail shrimp or cocktail quiches falling off plates at parties and getting buried deep in there, unnoticed, only to be discovered later after a harrowing afternoon in which Kelly tears through her entire closet saying things like, “Something smells TERRIBLE in here! Did I step in dog shit? WHAT IS GOING ON?!”

I may be concerned about this because I recently found a potato chip in my bra. I had not eaten chips (yet) that day. Ergo, maybe this is just a touchy subject. I DON’T KNOW.