Fresh off from mistaking a TLC song for a Destiny’s Child song, Karlie Kloss has fucked up again and managed to outdo herself. Karlie went all Shirley MacLaine in My Geisha for a spread in American Vogue.
Kanye West wasn’t the only PR prop who was paraded in front of reporters at Trump Tower yesterday. Anna Wintour, whose magazine Vogue endorsed Hillary Clinton and who helped HRC choose some of those pantsuits, also paid a visit to the gold tower to kiss the ring. If you didn’t think we were doomed before, then you must think that now since it looks like Donald Trump is using the dark powers of the Illuminati and the Death Eaters to take control over America, and then the world! Kunty Karl is probably sitting in the waiting room at Trump Tower as I type this….
Glamour’s annual Women of the Year award happened last night in Hollywood and the dress code must’ve been: MESS! Because most of them were.
Gwen Stefani (in the gallery) looked like an off-brand quinceañera Barbie and Zendaya (also in the gallery) wore some floral glove things that made it look like she just double fisted a flower fairy. And then there was Amber Heard whose dress looks like it was made out of the dusty curtains, crib skirt and pillow trim from an old-timey rich baby girl’s nursery. That dress is what Miss Havisham would wear if she was finally evicted from Satis House and had to make coins by selling ass at a brothel.
Amber hasn’t worked many red carpets ever since she settled her divorce from the angry scarf rack, so maybe she purposefully wore something busted. That way reporters wouldn’t ask her about Johnny Depp, because they’d be too busy wondering who and what the hell she’s wearing. Well played!
And here’s a zillion more pictures from last night including Lena Dunham who worked baby bangs and a constipated face.
As expected, nepotism’s current pride and joy Kendall Jenner graced the cover of Vogue’s biggest issue of the year, the September issue, with her “comatose deer caught in broken headlights” eyes. This is the second time (third if you count that special “millennial” issue) that a member of Pimp Mama Kris’ koven has been on the cover of American Vogue. So I think that’s the men in white coats’ cue to pry Anna Wintour’s tongue out of the Kardashians’ asshole and drag her into a padded room. The room’s padding will be provided by Chanel, of course.
I know this joke has been made a million times (“That’s never stopped you before, bitch” – you), but Vogue should really change its name to Vague, as in I “vaguely” remember when it was a fashion bible and not a fame whore bible.
Cate Blanchett was at the Tony Awards in NYC last night, because she’s making her Broadway debut later this year in a show that isn’t Hamilton. (I know, why are other shows even bothering?) Judging by that butchered-up look on Cate Blanchett’s body, I’m guessing that she was also there, because she knew that most thi-turr people play it safe by wearing the most boring dress at Lord & Taylor, so she needed to give the public something that’ll hurt their eyeballs and make their retinas curl. Thank you, Cate!
It was very nice of Betsey Johnson to remove her name from the nominees list, and therefore give people like Beyonce a fighting chance at taking home the CFDA’s Fashion Icon award. I’m assuming that’s what happened. Betsey Johnson has always been my favorite fashion weirdo. Even when I was very little and my knowledge of fashion was limited to skorts and whatever the look is called when you loop the bottom of a t-shirt through the neck hole, I knew that she was the definition of effortless, carefree WTF style. Effortless, because she always looks like she put in zero effort. Carefree, because I’m sure she’s free of cares when it comes to what anybody thinks about her. And WTF, because I still cannot figure out what the fuck is going on with those glue-in hair extension.
Betsey brought her carefree WTF style to the CFDA Awards last night. Betsey Johnson gave everyone “getting-her-groove-back grandma” mixed with Janice the Muppet and a side of boxed wine buzz. She’s on vacation from all her worries and troubles and the collection agency that won’t stop calling and demanding payment for that pesky overdue TJ Maxx credit card bill, and she doesn’t care who knows it! Betsey looks like she’s about to climb over the bar at her all-inclusive Mexican resort, grab a bottle of rum and a handful of limes, and smoker-bark over to her friends Buffy, Bambi, and Binky: “See you in the pool!” I want to be this version of Betsey Johnson when I grow up.
Of course, there always has to be a runner-up in the Pageant of Life, and I choose to give that honor to Selma Blair.