wtffashionshark

Hallo Readers,

WTF is off on her holidays today, which means that you will all have a nice rest from sartorial horrors until 10 August when the next WTF will come out. This holiday has a double purpose – for WTF to bask in the Mediterranean sunshine and to escape the horror of the Olympics. For the next fortnight, London is about to resemble a carpark. This is because the main roads have been narrowed to provide for special Olympic lanes. The hoi-polloi are not permitted to use these lanes on pain of death (well, a fine of £130) whether they be in their own cars, in taxis or on buses whilst big-wigs, corporate fat-cats, royals and schnorrers in their shiny new chauffeur driven BMWs will whizz past the stationary and the fuming. WTF predicts uproar along the lines of the Gordon riots in 1780.  Queuing in an orderly fashion is as much a part of being British as fish’n’chips and cocking up at international football. Queuing in a traffic jam whilst some knob from McDonalds or a member of the Malawi Olympic Family leaves you for dead by Blackfriars Bridge is galling enough. It is much, much worse if you, the taxpayer, has shelled out billions for this malarkey, not to mention for the maintenance of roads you can’t actually drive on. Add to the mix cyclists who have never ridden a bike for 20 years wobbling and weaving all over the shop like a drunken sailor. And all this so that someone you have never heard of from somewhere you didn’t know existed can win a medal in a sport you would not be caught dead watching, even if you had ever heard of it, which you haven’t.

Meanwhile, after the worst June ever, and quite a shite July, the sun has finally come out and it has been a toasty 31 degrees. As ever there is a downside. That downside is a display of unsightly and unsavoury flesh. The men don their mankiest shorts, usually with trainers, AND SOMETIMES SOCKS AS WELL,and many remove their shirts, flashing more tattooes than at a squaddies’ convention. The women come in three shades; Pilsbury Doughboy white, Fake Bake orange and Sunburn red. Usually they are to be seen wearing less clothing than on a Iberian beach – tiny skirts, “playsuits”, crop tops.  For every foxy girl with a toned tummy and lithe legs, there are equal numbers of ghastly scrubbers with wobbling stomachs and thunder thighs. You can hardly take your eyes off the traffic jams.

Let us move to our new feature, Z Lister of the Week. Today we have two for the price of one, or, actually, looking at these two, four for the price of one – Gemma and Arg off The Only Way is Essex.

Gemma and Arg are in a new romance. They are very keen to show us that this is a real romance and not a fauxmance, so they gave an exclusive interview to that chronicle of social mores, Heat Magazine. WTF had the misfortune to read it whilst having her pre-holiday pedicure, as a result of which she now knows more about their sex lives than anyone ever needed to know, ever, in the history of ever. Suffice it to say that they first DID IT whilst on holiday in Marbella with the Backstreet Boys providing the musical background and they never knew it could be like this. Anyway, here they are with a “spontaneous” show of affection at a cast party. Gemma is wearing a Marks & Spencer frock and pink flip flops and is showing us way more than we either need or want to see. Arg is wearing the Englishman’s standard summer uniform of nasty shorts, socks and trainers (see above). Who says romance is dead?

Elsewhere in the land of Celebrity, things are no better. Here we have Adrianne Curry, first ever winner of America’s Top Model.

WTF? Sorry, let me put that another way. WTF?????!!!!!????? We have had to suffer the horrendous sideboob. Now we have underboob. It isn’t as if the cut-out Ali Baba tinfoil trousers and the leather and orange wristlets  are not horrific enough. Note to Adrianne. Go away and put some clothes on, woman.

Next up, fitness guru Richard Simmons.

Words are superfluous. Anyone who hasn’t seen Dustin Hoffman in drag as Tootsie is strongly advised to get down to Blockbuster video without delay. Note to Dustin, sorry, Richard. Go away.

OK, so now we have the wife of a billionaire accompanying her octogenerarian spouse at a News International conference in Idaho.

As far as WTF knows, Idaho is landlocked, so it is unlikely that the Murdoch yacht was moored anywhere nearby. It is therefore surprising that Wendi Deng is kitted out in this extraordinary lifejacket-cum-straightjacket. WTF has no idea what is going on here, but it is probably wise not to be too rude because, as we have seen, Wendi packs a mean punch. Readers may recall that at the House of Commons enquiry, Johnny Marbles, né Jonathan May-Bowles, an activist and alternative comedian (read – not funny) attacked Murdoch père with a shaving foam pie in the name of something or other (read – trying to make a name for himself). Wendi, clad in a fetching pink Chanel jacket, sprang to Rupert’s defence and unleashed a right hook which had commentators drooling. Clink the link to see what I mean. Her reverse chivalry reminded WTF of Groucho Marx’s famous line “I’m fighting for this woman’s honour, which is more than she ever did for herself”. Wendi should repeat the right hook on whoever sold her this jacket. 

Here we have Miley Cyrus channelling  streetwalker chic in NYC.

Keen readers may recall WTF’s rules of celebrity, which included the mantra that once you have lost weight you have to parade your new beach body in something as short and as tight as possible. It appears that Miley has spent the last six months on a no-lactose, no-carbs, no-food diet that makes Posh Spice’s food intake look like Gemma’s and Arg’s put together. Since then, Miley is always photographed in tight, short, midriff-baring ensembles to remind you THAT SHE USED TO BE FATTER!!!!! And so here she is in a lace cropped top with the mandatory bra showing through, barf-making short-shorts and quite the most hideous boots since they strung up Benito Mussolini.  Note to Miley – stop it. Now.

This is another of those occasions which causes WTF to be sad. Cate Blanchett is fab in nearly every way. She is beautiful. She can act. She has had the same husband like for ever. She does theatre and movies. BUT THIS IS BAD.

What on earth is that hanging paisley thing? Is it a hanky? People would notice if you blew your nose on it. Is it a sling? Is it a built-in handbag? Whatever it is, it is rank. Questions must also be asked about the über-hideous sandals which create the illusion of cankles.  Have a look at Inn of the Sixth Happiness  where Ingrid Bergman, somewhat improbably cast as missionary Gladys Aylward, persuades  the village women in remote China to unbind their feet  and embrace freedom. 

Right, WTF is off to pack. See you on 10th August.