Dolly Tartan: As we gaze upon Patricia Arquette's understated ensemble at the Dress to Kilt event, a twin set of attributes instantly stands out. We're talking, of course, of her twinkling eyes and buttery blond bob. In fact, we were so taken by the actress' striking visage we almost didn't notice the remarkable round objects on such prominent display further down. Yes, we mean those delicate pearls dotting her neckline, which nicely play up her milky (and how) skin. And look, there's her rumpled husband, Thomas Jane, who gets his Celt on by fastening a feather-covered pouch over his plaid-clad private parts. Hmmm, is there anything else we should mention? Oh, that's right, there's Patricia's gravity-flouting frock, which gently cups her conservative cleavage as it pays an oh-so-subtle homage to the undulating hills of the Scottish Highlands.
(Photo by John Shearer/WireImage.com)
The Hair Up There: Hey, Fergie -- Major Nelson called. He wants you back in your bottle pronto. The style-challenged Black Eyed Peas' singer turns up at Canada's Juno music awards looking like Jeannie's hard-living older sister, who long ago gave up her dream of finding a nice guy to call Master and now spends her days crossing her arms and blinking in vain as she loses again and again at the slots. There's no telling what compelled Fergie to strap on a snaking, four-foot-long ponytail and situate it so high atop her noggin it can probably pick up NPR (best guess: Her stylist has a Barbara Eden fetish, but geez, just get some pink harem pants like the rest of us). Or why she decided to camouflage her forehead beneath a frighteningly large furry tongue. What we do know is things don't improve much below the hairline. Fergie's masklike makeup appears to have been applied by a drag queen with bad eyes, an unsteady hand and a personal grudge, although it sadly fits right in with her déclassé duds, which include a rhinestone-studded halter, a matching, Mr. T-esque weight-lifting belt and sparkly pedal pushers that put lame in silver lamé.
(Photo by Darryl James/Getty Images)
Bauble Bobble: If this is what Chaka Khan had in mind when she sang, "I'm Every Woman," there are some tough times ahead for the female population. The big-lunged belter single-handedly destroys the already shaky beaded curtain industry as she arrives at an awards ceremony at the Apollo Theater styling an abomination of a skirt made from the kitschy room divider. The minimal coverage provided by her novelty mini is made colossally worse by her decision to pair it with strained-at-the-seams tights, a curve-accentuating busted-open brocade jacket and slouchy knee-high boots sprouting bizarre, bead-dangling tufts of tinsel.
(Photo by LAN/Retna Ltd.)
Lo Down Flirty Shame: There are times when a sultry, come-hither look is the perfect accompaniment to a skin-flashing frock. And then there are times when it's unintentionally hilarious, such as when you're decked out in a strapless, papier-mâché puffball pasted together using recycled holiday wrapping paper and the swept-up tufts from Ronald McDonald and Bozo's last few haircuts. Jennifer Lopez tries to give good smolder in this alarmingly abbreviated fire-engine red abomination, blissfully unaware that her clownish couture turns her from curvy to kumquat and hits her enviable gams in the one spot guaranteed to make her look more stumpy than a bulldozed rainforest.
Wigging Out: Make no mistake. We adore Dolly Parton. She's proudly turned looking cheap and tacky into an art form. That said, neither "cheap" nor "tacky" wants their good name sullied through association with the kooky costume the hypermammiferous icon sports at the "9 to 5" DVD launch. Dolly skips right over kitschy and dives straight into craptacular by pairing Hobbit-sized, glitter-adorned pants and a matching super-reinforced vest-shirt with the always deadly combo of opaque panty hose and open-toe shoes. But her white fright of an ensemble pales in comparison to what lies above: an electrified tress tragedy of such epic proportions that it should serve as a cautionary tale to anyone considering using a Flowbee while sitting in the tub.
(Photo by Steve Granitz/WireImage.com)
Froufrou Boo-Boo: Coco Chanel famously advised that after getting dressed, women should always cast a critical eye in the mirror and promptly remove one accessory. Unfortunately, even if Janet Jackson had studied her reflection and followed Coco's sage sartorial counsel, she'd still be stuck with the other 247 progressively more appalling accoutrements decorating her fabulously firmed-up frame. Trouble starts atop her noggin, where she balances a red and white newsboy cap that would have both Waldo and the Cat in the Hat snickering and pointing, and continues straight down into her more-squished-than-delish décolletage, which appears to be painfully bound with crisscrossing bungee cords beneath her basic black jacket. Things then take a terrifying turn at Janet's midsection. In addition to her movement-limiting mounds of bangles, which should be immediately returned to a "Borderline"-era Madonna, there's her oh-so-creepy belt with interlocking tiny hands, an adornment better suited to the deep, dark recesses of brother Michael's closet. Also doing the singer few favors are her frayed jeans with curtain-y hemline, although they're positively pretty when compared to what's on her feet. A monstrous and unholy union of spats, stilettos, faux snakeskin and a straightjacket, her footwear is pure evil in convenient short-boot form.
(Photo by Tracey Renee/Retna)
Skin and Groans: Lately, Mischa Barton seems to be picking out her clothes much the same way she seems to have picked out her last couple of beaus: with her eyes closed. On the left, the stunning but suddenly style-impaired starlet takes the idea of celebrity pampering a bit too literally by hitting the grocery store (yes, this is what she throws on to run errands) in the unholy hybrid of an extra-absorbent Huggies and Tarzan's favorite tartan loincloth. Mischa pairs her knotted knickers with a cut-off white wifebeater T-shirt that should be promptly returned to Kevin Federline's dirty laundry pile. At a fashion show a few days later, she unwisely opts for fusty flamboyance as she hides her fat-free frame beneath Liberace's most comfy nightshirt, a garish and gargantuan garment that's aglow with so much sequin-fueled power that it could light up Las Vegas for a week.
(Photos by Wasman-Volpe-Leo/X17agency.com and LAN/Retna Ltd.)
Prude Awakening: Jessica Simpson, apparently burned out on her cleavage-heavy bombshell image, now appears to be just a half-dozen cats shy of completing an Old Maid makeover as she doubles up on fuddy-duddy duds while making the promotional rounds for the underperforming "Employee of the Month." On the left, the ex Mrs. Lachey's attempt at full-coverage goes ironically awry when she reveals far more of her daddy-touted décolletage than she intends, as her demure turtleneck is rendered suddenly see-through by the flashbulbs. At least her accidentally displayed double-Ds distract from the sheer madness of her preppy plaid pants, which we're guessing came straight from Frodo's new golf-wear collection. Meanwhile, on the right, Jessica gives good funeral in a moth-eaten, Morticia Addams-meets-Nana's naughty nightgown number that's as grim as her career prospects. Adding to her morose makeover are matching black-polished digits and tootsies, along with a ghoulish glare that -- much like her ubiquitous father -- creepily follows you wherever you go.
Mischinformed: How do you know when your outfit is obnoxiously over-the-top? Even your dog pretends not to know you. Mischa Barton's mortified mutt averts its eyes and tries to put as much distance as possible between its own fluffy-tailed adorableness and the attention-getting, avant-garde atrocity on the other end of the leash. With weeks to go before Halloween, the sartorially sketchy starlet decides to step out in a horrifying, holiday-themed thigh- and ribcage-high skirt seemingly stitched together using Fred Flintstone's trademark orange and black suit. Mischa pairs this yabba-dabba-don't with Peter Pan's bad weather booties and that most potent of political statements, the message T-shirt, through which she implores us to "drop knowledge not bombs." While we salute the actress' attempt to bring peace to a conflict-crammed world in between running her errands, her boob-emblazoned lore-not-war memo might be more effective if it wasn't sitting atop such an explosively execrable ensemble.
(Photo by Most Wanted/ZUMA Press)
Phasers on Stunned: Captain's Log, Stardate 6051: A new yeoman has started on the bridge. Her gold uniform has proved distracting. Spock has cautioned me to be logical, and yet, I'm still determined to boldly go where no man has gone before with her. Yes, Natalie Portman attempts to bridge the gap between "Star Trek" and "Star Wars" geeks as she steps out at the ShoWest Awards in the latest look from the Captain Kirk couture line. The stunning starlet is stranded in the final frontier of frightful fashion as she's swallowed up by this silk A-line, jewel-necked Chloé frock, which is too long and too blobby for her petite frame. On the plus side, we're still digging Natalie's Audrey Hepburn-esque wash-and-wear 'do, although the safety-first inflatable floaties on her elbows have gotta go.
(Photo by Jeff Vespa/WireImage.com)
Misch-uggeneh: Judging by the hot and cold beverages Mischa Barton is toting (left), she can't seem to decide on a preferred temperature for a caffeine buzz, never mind a preferred style sensibility. In recent days, the couture-adoring starlet has shown off a schizophrenic fashion sense that's veered from spinster schoolmarm to mishmash mod. Mischa makes her coffee run in a full-skirted, puff ball-sleeved pale yellow dress that's perfect for running errands around town -- provided that town has hills that are alive with the sound of music. But when she strikes a pose on the red carpet, she trades in her straight-laced smock for a deconstructed one-shouldered frock that appears to be stitched together using nothing but recycled candy wrappers and a fancy-schmancy pair of gold brocade pantaloons.
(Photos by Sioni/X17agency.com and John Shearer/WireImage.com)
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered: Emma Watson can make magic happen as witchy whiz kid Hermione Granger in the "Harry Potter" franchise, but it turns out she can also do a few spells offscreen. At the Empire Awards, the adorable teen -- poof! -- makes her sense of style disappear by donning a gauzy lilac dress with floppy, sloppy boots. Judging by Emma's face and posture, she's as uncomfortable with her incongruous gear as we are and is probably wishing for the fashion faux pas-concealing powers of a long and flowing Hogwarts' robe.
(Photo by Doug Peters/Retna Ltd.)
Blanket Statement: We've all had those days when we've looked in the mirror and had a tough time coming up with anything good to say about ourselves. Judging by the glum look on Cynthia Nixon's face and the figure-obliterating outfit she's chosen, she's had just such a standoff with her reflection, casting a critical eye over her countenance and deeming only her left shoulder and clavicle sexy enough to show off in public. What's a down-in-the-dumps girl to do? Hide, of course, which the former "Sex and the City" star does by draping her perceived flaws beneath an asymmetrical atrocity she created by throwing on a Christmastime tablecloth -- with an attention-deflecting stainlike floral embroidery over the expanse where her cleavage should be -- and a gender-neutral baby blanket (the diaper bag in her hand is a nice touch).
(Photo by Dimitrios Kambouris/WireImage.com)
Droop Dead Gorgeous: Supermodel, style thyself. Heidi Klum suffers some serious separation anxiety as her dangerously sagging sweetheart neckline seems to be unsuccessfully attempting to slink away from the blight of the bejeweled, sci-fi inspired pliers-meet-dog-collar halter of her silvery Costume National gown (and really, who can blame it?). The "Project Runway" knockout has obviously failed to learn from her own show, as she strikes a pose in this poorly conceived dud of a design, which she makes all the worse with meek makeup and stiff, tossed back tresses.
(Photo by Steve Granitz/WireImage.com)
The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie: Among Paris Hilton's many talents is her innate ability to know how not to overdo things. Like when she's dancing atop a table, she always flashes just the right amount of butt cheek. And when moving in on a pal's ex, she's mindful of just how many minutes it's been since the couple broke up. The starlet uses that same self-restraint with her clothes, as evidenced by the elegantly sophisticated daywear you see here. Notice how she's careful not to go overboard with the heart theme by cleverly using three different colors -- pink for the sweatpants, white for the tank top and blue for the jacket -- to keep the effect subtle? She further downplays the cardiac chaos by carrying a cherry-covered Louis Vuitton bag so inconspicuous it could probably fit only a single Olsen twin inside. Paris finishes off her unassuming attire with understated sunglasses you can almost hear saying softly, "Please, whatever you do, don't look at the famous face desperately trying to hide under these frames."
(Photo by x17agency.com)
The Loin, the Glitch and the Wardrobe: It's tough finding just the right thing to wear when the invitation to Tarzan's big bash specifies formal dress, but Eva Herzigova admirably rises to the challenge by slipping into an occasion-appropriate loincloth. Unfortunately, the Czech model appears to have gotten lost on her way to the Ape Man's jungle fete and instead ended up on the red carpet of the "Da Vinci Code," where her well-ventilated Cheetos-dust-mixed-with-Cheez Wiz-tinted gown (and by "well-ventilated," we mean even Lil' Kim would find it breezy) provides the missing link between high fashion and low modesty.
(Photo by Tony Barson/WireImage.com)
Green Peeve: Oh Drew. Oh honey, no. No. No. No. Did Kermit teach you nothing? You know it's not easy being green (or Mrs. Tom Green, for that matter, as you learned the hard way), but it's so much more difficult when you flagrantly flaunt your lack of foundation garments in a frightfully unflattering Gucci gown. And please, we're begging you, quit slouching, because if you lean forward any more, your gravity-succumbing décolletage is in danger of either being trapped in your frock's unsightly attached belt or swallowed whole by its ruffled cap sleeves. Seriously, we think you're cute as a bug's ear, even with your weary-to-the-point-of-catatonic tresses and misguided makeup, but this execrable ensemble truly pains us and leaves us no choice but to resort to the words of E.T. and say, "Ouch."
(Photo by NBC)Just Lycra Woman: The three scariest words in the world just got a little scarier. Juliette Lewis brings a new level of terror to the phrase "banana-yellow spandex" by adding "moist" and "studded" to the mix. The kooky actress-cum-rocker entertains the crowd at South by Southwest in a hermetically sealed, cornea-burning bodysuit that's a wee bit Pat Benatar, a smidge X-Men, a pinch Power Ranger and, thanks to those kneepads, a whole lot Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling reject. And while Juliette's onstage stretches may help her stay nimble as she belts out tunes, they also reveal a clammy chasm that sadly proves to be the least stinky part of her odious outfit.
(Photo by Barry Brecheisen/WireImage.com)
It's a Plaid, Plaid, Plaid, Plaid World: It's not that we don't appreciate the effort that Sarah Jessica Parker put into preparing for the Met's annual Costume Institute Gala. It's clear the fashion-adoring actress took the evening's AngloMania theme seriously, tapping Brit designer Alexander McQueen for a tartan creation appropriate to the occasion, where the stars traditionally don daring, traffic-stopping duds. Unfortunately, Parker is primed to cause a 10-car pileup as she steps out draped in every kilt Sean Connery has ever outgrown, resulting in a look that's less cutting-edge haute couture than cast-off Highland horror. The real pity of this plague of plaid -- beyond the chorus of cries from many an indignant Scottish clan -- is that it almost completely obscures what appears to be a not-quite-as-terrifying strapless tulle number hiding beneath. Also causing the former "Sex and the City" star problems are her copiously kohl-rimmed eyes, sandals better suited to a "Gladiator" extra and that bejeweled gas cap that's inexplicably perched atop her shoulder.
(Photo by Evan Agostini/Getty Images)
Diss Me Kate: If paparazzi pics are any indication, Kate Beckinsale spends most of her waking hours working up a serious sweat at the gym. So why why why would she hide her hard-earned hard body beneath this dire, dated jumpsuit, an odious one-piece that might have been, like, totally trippendicular on Deborah Foreman in "Valley Girl" circa 1983 but at the MTV Movie Awards is the epitome of a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. Adding to Kate's time-warp woes: her mile-wide white belt seemingly stolen from her last weight-lifting session; Jiffy-Pop shoulder pads, which would be equally at home on Melanie Griffith in "Working Girl" or at an NFL training camp; and matching pumps swiped from the oversized feet of that ultimate '80s fashion victim, Smurfette.
(Photo by Steve Granitz/WireImage.com
She Who Must Be Obeyed: Somewhere, Wonder Woman scratches her head and wonders what happened to her black tie breastplate. Backstage at the Grammys, Madonna boldly unveils her latest incarnation: Amazonian dominatrix disco warrior, a woman who wields a bow-and-arrow, leather whip and curling iron with equal acumen. The pumped-up pop queen not only appears ready to squeeze the life out of anyone brave enough to point out that Farrah hair fell out of fashion for a reason, but she also seems to be meting out some sort of bizarre punishment to her apparently misbehaving breasts and legs. Madonna binds the former in jeweled handcuffs courtesy of Alexander McQueen and encases the latter in sprayed-on, sure-to-be-sweaty leather leggings, resulting in a look guaranteed to produce giggles from all the girls back on Paradise Island.
(Photo by Gregg DeGuire/WireImage.com)
Stone Cold: Oh, Sharon Stone. You're such a humanitarian. When not kissing your way to peace in the Middle East you're promoting it in New York while wearing the most expensive and PETA-unfriendly bathrobe ever made. The crispy-coiffed box-office poison is a hirsute horror in a lumpy, frumpy reversible fur coat that gives her that oh-so-chic look of someone who has spent too much time fashioning tin foil hats to ward off transmissions from the mother ship.
(Photo by Retna Ltd.)
Skin Chick: There are times when a teeny-tiny skin-colored bikini worn with sparkly, ankle-strap heels is an appropriate fashion choice. Like if you're starring in one of those squicky rumpus room-set Calvin Klein commercials. Or pole-dancing with Elizabeth Berkley in that long-awaited "Showgirls" sequel. Or ensnaring predators on My Space. But leaning on a closet door at Jeremy Piven's birthday party? Not so much. That doesn't stop Lindsay Lohan, however, who shows off far too much sun-shunned flesh as she poses in a disturbingly diminutive two-piece. Still, we can almost appreciate the attention-seeking starlet's surfeit of self-esteem in selecting such immodest duds, which are also a wise way to ward off any more episodes of "overheating." But we would suggest that the next time she finds herself hanging out with a bachelor celebrating his 41st year, she opt to slip into something that doesn't look like it should have "jail bait" written across the butt.
(Photo by Jamie McCarthy/WireImage.com)
Gwen the Bow Breaks: There's a not-so-fine line between high fashion and high-larious fashion, and Gwen Stefani puffs up and floats over it in this distended drapery dud. The fashion savvy star inexplicably hides her fabulous postbaby figure beneath a massive, be-bowed, midnight blue monstrosity, a stiff and confining covering that's a little bit backwards bridesmaid dress, a smidge asylum chic straightjacket and a whole lot "Project Runway" reject. We can only hope that Gwen is one day able to break free from her taffeta tormentor and downsize her duds from cartoonishly broad to uncluttered, cutting-edge mod.
(Photo by TPF/RetnaCelebs/Retna Ltd.)
Breast Actress: Long, long ago (January 2005, to be exact), Tara Reid talked wistfully of one day winning an Oscar. But as the C-list starlet waits patiently for the perfect role to come along (we're thinking one in which a plucky pair of mammoth mammaries overcomes many difficult obstacles -- violence, poverty, stretch marks -- before discovering it's what's inside that counts), she kills time by posing for photogs in a tawdry slip dress from Victoria's Secret's new Stacked Strumpet collection. Squeezed into a bulging and binding bandeau top, Tara's torpedo-shaped talents go from figuratively to literally eye-popping, a dangerous transformation that should require her to slap on a warning label encouraging the use of safety goggles around her cartoonish cleavage.
(Photo by Jean-Paul Aussenard/WireImage.com)
Pieces of Ashlee: Did Ashlee Simpson take a wrong turn on her way to meet Twiggy in swinging '60s London and end up Down Under? The skinny-legged singer is an aquamarine mishmash as she hits the MTV Australia Video Music Awards in a far-more-flawed-than-mod minidress seemingly stitched together using Goldie Hawn's psychedelic getups from "Laugh-In," Dorothy Hamill's old skating outfits and a few crepe paper streamers left over from St. Patrick's Day. The result is a Franken-frock so frightening even Molly Ringwald's patchwork "Pretty in Pink" alter ego would say, "Honey, just buy something brand new." Adding to the warbler's woes is her equally cobbled-together, Jessica-like coif, which appears to be crammed with every single shade of blond extension available from her big sister's new faux tress collection.
(Photo by Michael Caulfield/WireImage.com)
The Sorrow and the Pity: The day we've long dreaded has arrived. Yes, Mariah Carey's fashion sense has finally given up the ghost. Join us, won't you, as we mourn its passing by working through the five stages of grief. Denial: Our eyes must be playing tricks on us. It's simply not possible for a 36-year-old woman -- even one with a fabulous figure -- to step out in public sporting a belly-exposing top, a low-cut denim ultra-mini and "Pretty Woman"-style platform wedges. Right? Right!?! Anger: Why would you do this to us? Did you think that by slinking into déclassé duds not even a pair of nubile 18-year-olds could pull off you somehow proved a point? You were so very, very wrong and you paid the price. Bargaining: It's not too late. All you gotta do is call Vogue and sweet talk Andre Leon Talley into once again giving you a makeover. He has oodles of classy couture and flat-iron-wielding minions who can tame the corkscrewiest of manes. Just pick up the phone. You can fix this. All you gotta do is dial. Please ... just dial ... Depression: We knew you wouldn't call. It's like you want us (and our corneas) to suffer. Go on, then, dress like someone half your age. See if we care. Acceptance: You know, none of this is your fault. Maybe you're subconsciously clinging to your youth by expressing the tacky teen cheerleader within. Adulthood can be scary, even for chart-topping divas. We see that now, and we understand. It was a merciful end and we'll be sure to say a little prayer whenever we pass by Forever 21.
(Photo by Theo Wargo/WireImage.com)
Britney's Boo-Boos: When did Britney Spears' weepy chat with Matt Lauer back in June go horribly, horribly wrong? Was it when she started chomping her gum? The first time she used finger quotes "incorrectly"? Or the repeated use of the word "simple" to describe now soon-to-be ex-husband Kevin Federline? Nah. The tête-à-tête was destined for tragedy as soon as beleaguered pop starlet decided to go on national TV to ask for respect and privacy in an ensemble that screams, "Look at my boobies and gams, y'all!" Britney reportedly handled styling duties for the sit-down, perhaps figuring the best way to get her point across was by donning a diaphanous maternity top that highlighted her distractingly undulating décolletage and a denim mini-skirt more appropriate for her next obstetrician appointment. The Britster also apparently did her own hair and makeup, a misstep that became obvious when her false eyelash made a break for it and a from-behind camera shot revealed black holes in her tangled, golden retriever-tinted extensions. It doesn't have to be like this for Spears. We want to sympathize with her. We want her to pull out of this spiral. Come on, Brit, the first step is admitting you have a problem. You told Matt you don't care what people think, but you're only 24. We're all for tuning out tabloid negativity, but everyone needs advice at some point in their lives. Ignoring all of it is akin to throwing out the baby with the bathwater (and just so we're clear, that's just an "expression").
(Photo by NBC)
Courtesy of MSN Kat Giantis