I got this issue at home yesterday, and as I was walking back into the house from the mailbox, I LITERALLY could not figure out who the cover girl was until I read the word, “Mila.” I said, aloud, to no one (the birds?), “Mila…Kunis?” (No, Jessica, noted geneticist Mila Harffenblerger.) Like, this girl is VERY pretty. And Mila Kunis is obviously also very pretty. But if you made a Venn Diagram of This Girl and Mila Kunis, there would be no overlap other than the hair color. This doesn’t look like her at all. It’s always perplexing to me when a magazine goes for a cover where their celeb cover girl doesn’t look immediately recognizable. I can only imagine that what happens is, the People In Charge spend SO MUCH TIME looking at photos of Said Girl that they all start to look the same, and you kind of forget what the girl actually looks like. So you pick a good photo, but it isn’t necessarily representative. It’s like if you say the word “celery” enough, it starts to lose all meaning. Celery. CELERY. Celery? See? And the next thing you know, this is your July cover and also you’ve named your new baby Celery. Wait. There ARE people named Celery. SEE. These things HAPPEN.
Fug File: Glamour
Fug or Fab the Cover: Jessica Simpson
[Photo: Glamour Magazine]
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First of all: this poor girl. PLEASE please tell me that she has potentially FINALLY learned NEVER ever EVER ever to speak to the press about her love life. Every single time she’s slated to appear on the cover of a magazine, she breaks up with her current paramour a week before it hits newsstands all full of woozy lovestruck quotes about how Nick/John/John/Tony/Tony has truly made her complete as a woman. And then we all feel so awkward and cringey.
Now, this cover. Regardless of the fact that I think they’ve Photoshopped some weight off her — needlessly, because I feel like it might do the People of the World some good to see celebrities on magazine covers looking the way they actually do in real life — and I’m not actually entirely sure that they haven’t just plonked her head on top of someone else’s body, I think this cover is actually pretty good. For one thing, I love her outfit — I really love that jacket with the jeans – and it’s just a huge relief to see her smiling rather than whipping out that godforsaken open-mouthed fish face she make so often. And, according to my jeans, I kind of need the three tips for a flat belly.
On the other hand, the eyeliner….Convince me:
Fug file: Fug or Fab, Fug The Cover, Glamour, sequins, Jessica Simpson
Fug or Fab the Cover: Katie Holmes
I have to say, in Glamour’s defense, the inside of this issue is actually quite good. It’s full of useful stuff and pretty pictures, unlike Vogue, which is full of pretty pictures and long articles about secret hair salons on the Upper East Side that require you to present three letters of recommendation and exchange an egg just for a trim. Don’t get me wrong: I deeply enjoy reading those articles. They’re just not very applicable to real life. As for the cover, it may be a bit TOO MUCH like real life for me, in that I can’t get over the fact that Joey Potter’s hair looks really dirty. Let’s be honest: so is mine, right now. But I work from home. If I were going to be on the cover of a magazine (God forbid), I am pretty sure I’d wash it.
Fug file: Fug or Fab, Fug The Cover, bad hair, Glamour, Katie Holmes
Fug or Fab the Cover: Britney Spears
“Look, y’all! I totally didn’t die! Don’t lie: I KNOW you know you know I know you thought I was gonna buy the farm that time I shaved my head and hit that SUV with the umbrella, but truth is, I was just acting out, y’all. I feel like I sang “Lucky” over and over and over and over and over again and NO ONE HEARD the part where I was talking about how I cried cried cried in my lonely heart and if there was nothing in my yadda yadda why did the tears etc? That was the MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THAT SONG, PEOPLE. AND NO ONE LISTENED. Ergo my incarceration and stuff. ANYHOODLE, I’m out now and let’s get right to the point: I look GOOD again. My dad doesn’t let me eat anything white and, sure, there are days when I think about those Melendez brothers or whatever their names are and I totally understand why they killed their parents but in the long rung, I am pretty sure he’s right that I’m happier with six-pack abs. And now I’m back on magazines again and they’re not all like, “BRITNEY: WHAT WENT WRONG” or “BRITNEY: CAN YOU LISTEN TO HER MEGAMIX WHILE DOING CARDIO WITHOUT FEELING REAL BAD ABOUT IT?” or whatever and boy am I relieved about that because everyone acting like I was going to kick it was totally embarrassing. Now I get to be all strong and have comebacks and be the underdog and stuff and everyone knows that’s a way better story than someone who never had any problems in their life ever, JUSTIN. So anyway, I think I look awesome on this cover and my weave is fantastic for once unlike some people who have really bad highlights but think they’re better than me just because they never hit anyone with their car, to which I say, WAIT TEN MINUTES JAMIE LYNN BECAUSE YOU ARE SOOOO GOING TO WANT TO HIT WHATHISNAME YOUR BABY DADDY WITH YOUR CAR. You just are. Anyway, I like I look great, but apparently some people disagree, so I say we put it to a vote as America is a civil union, or something like that:”
Fug file: Fug or Fab, Fug The Cover, Glamour, Britney Spears
Fug or Fab the Cover: Anne Hathaway on Glamour
We’ve gotten a lot of requests from Fug Nation that we address this cover, and we hate to disappoint.
Let’s start with the good: Anne’s face looks gorgeous and fabulous, especially compared to the droopy dullard Vogue made her out to be. This is actually, energy-wise, the exact opposite. This person has been drinking carrot juice spiked with Red Bull; that other lady hasn’t stood up in three days because her servants are really good at peeling her grapes and giving sponge-baths. Second, her tank top is in support of Eve Ensler’s One Billion Rising campaign to educate people about — and call them to arms to fight — violence against women, and no one can argue the nobility of that message. So good for Glamour and Anne for getting the word out.
However, the rest of this seems like she’s about to pop on those giant headphones, put on some candy-pink legwarmers, and go for a jog that ends with impromptu jazzercise in the park, before maybe getting pulled on-stage with Bruce Springsteen during his “Dancing In The Dark” video. So essentially, she’s 1980s Courteney Cox right now. And that’s not necessarily bad. It might even be Fun. But full of Sex and Style it isn’t. Particularly when I can see her bra — it’s like a dark shadow undercutting her cause’s logo — and those granny panties are bunching all over her stomach. I don’t know. If she’d put on some pants, though, I’d kind of like to hang out with this genuinely smiley Anne. I could even deal with it if she didn’t put on pants, I suppose, as long as she bopped around all day with a Sports Walkman connected to the end of those headphones, because that would be hella entertaining. But I can’t help but wonder why they went to those weird styling extremes when that head, the tank top, and better decorations around it would’ve been appealing without the feeling of being a) in a time warp, or b) being too exhausted by her incomparable oozing energy even to heave the magazine off the newsstand.
react: