Finding content for this post was as easy as taking Bud Light from a slightly stunned 17 year old, left to fend for themselves on the harsh city streets with nothing but their neon clad brethren for company. This is Lollapalooza, a time and space where some God of which I’m not familiar lifts all laws of fashion and grace from the 300 acres of Grant Park. And garments from the wildest crevices of one’s closet suddenly become shiny badges of pride for every 72-hour hipster.
Clockwise from top:
– jorts with a tail
– thrift shop Hawaiian shirt + Dad’s high school gym shorts circa 1973 (this guy saw me snapping this and replied “Babe if you wanted a pic, all you needed to do was ask!”
– cat tank top (I saw 3 of the exact same in one day alone)
– banana print boxer shorts, with a gold sequined fanny pack (not pictured in photo: Elmo backpack on her other arm)
– pastel high waisted shorts tight enough to bounce a quarter off her ass
By day 3 I was, of course, no longer phased. My brain became a living record of the current Urban Outfitters catalog. If there had been a 4th day of Lollapalooza, I might have coughed through just enough secondhand weed to even enjoy what was happening. But as there wasn’t, I maintained the clarity to realize that by trying to look different, all these fools ended up looking the same. Such is the curse of a hipster. And the pride of THATLOOKSUGLY.
Why are we all still obsessed with mustaches? I agree it was fun for a hot 5 minutes. I may have wandered into Urban Outfitters and handled some overpriced mustache shit. But now a search on UrbanOutfitters.com returns 35 products. The same search on Claires.com returns 75. Let’s all pause to remember that mustaches are, almost always, unwanted facial hair. It is a rare few men that can pull off a ‘stache… really only Tom Selleck and Hitler come to mind. Not YOU preteen with your furry iPhone case, or YOU pseudo-hipster with your mustache tee.
Actually the only thing I enjoy about this mustache craze is the cruel irony between its biggest advocates. Preteens vs. Pseudo-hispters. I’ll produce the reality show. It can be hosted by Avril Lavinge.
Maybe it’s the placement of these mustaches that really fuels my issue. Mustaches on a tall beer glass? Chuckle. Actual mustaches you stick on your face? Game on. But this pink furry car mustache… just try me. It’d be less road rage, more my civic duty.
Let’s just promise to care half as much about anything else as we care about mustaches.
Love and judgement,
THATLOOKSUGLY without discussion of this spawn would be like WWII without discussion of Hitler. So, let’s get to it.
North West was created when the two most narcissistic people alive had an evening of sloppy love making, and then realized triumphantly that a baby was the one publicity stunt they hadn’t pulled. And what a good long stunt it was– 9 months of watching Kim grow into the size of a Cadillac DeVille and eat and wear whatever she pleased. Somehow, we found room in our hearts to care even more than usual about this woman we’ve deemed a celebrity. Of course everything about her is insufferable, and she has no actual talent. A combination of sex tape + dead Dad + new Dad with a new face + dolla dolla bills + Ryan Seacrest’s brilliant producing skills have turned her into the formidable black hole of culture she is today. I’d like to tell you I don’t watch Keeping Up With The Kardashians or Kourtney and Kim Take Miami, but that would be a lie. If television is a highway, the Kardashians are that flaming crash my eyes are powerless to avoid. At least Kanye is a talented person (?), albeit a vile one. So obviously when these people have a child together, our moral compasses get like crazy jacked up. We like babies… but this baby? Is it the antichrist? Meanwhile, the moral compasses of Kim and Kanye apparently point… North. They actually have said the name declares the baby as the best, highest pointing entity of their relationship. But it just reminds me of a now defunct airline, or perhaps that region in Washington where Bella Swan lives. Well, to this child I say GODSPEED, and may you be raised almost entirely by an elaborate team of nannies.
… and I’m being really generous with my tally there. He is a REALITY MAN WHORE, as is evident from the below chronology of his career, and its escalating absurdity:
1. Newlyweds: Classic, of course. The show that really birthed the reality genre. I once was on vacation and found a disc of Season 1 someone had left behind in a drawer. I was SO HAPPY. No complaints here Nick, this was good shit.
2. Clash of The Choirs: Remember this show? Technically it was a mini series where Nick along with some other marginally famous musicians created choirs of people from their hometowns to compete against one another. This was actually great television too. Still doing fine Nick, and a reality show tally of 2 is reasonable.
3. The Sing-Off: Wait a sec… another choir show? This one was about a capella groups so I get the attraction. But Nick, let’s show an ounce of restraint, or diversity, in our career selections. I also just find it really difficult to believe there was no other person alive capable of hosting a choir reality show.
4. Stars Earn Stripes: And just like that, he was off the deep end. Fucking Stars. Earn. Stripes. I want whoever invented this show to know they are an ABSURD PERSON and also to realize that I had to, out of mortal curiosity, watch at least 20 minutes of it. And those are 20 minutes I’ll never get back. I mean someone please enlighten me as to the dimension of reality that made being on this program a good career choice for Nick.
5. The Winner Is: OH but don’t worry because apparently not even a show that made a game out of military combat could tank Nick’s reality career. Tonight he debuted as host of a new singing reality show “The Winner Is”. I’ll tell you who the winner is NOT Nick… YOU. Dude have an ounce of dignity and do something else with your life other than host these D list programs. You should just be on the road with New Kids on the Block and Boyz II Men… owning and being fulfilled by the sliver of 90s pop culture that was unabashedly yours.
Ask me what Jennifer Aniston has acted in within the past 5 years and I’d be hard pressed to find you an answer. I think there was some dumb shit of a movie with Adam Sandler, but I really don’t know. So aside from her legendary performance on ‘Friends’, what I’m going to most remember Jennifer for is her shameless agreement to endorse every product ever.
When she started with Aveeno I was like Jen, lame. Not a blog-worthy offense, but definitely lame. Reason 1 being that even if she never worked ever again, ‘Friends’ will be in syndication until at least 2045, and she’ll never want for anything in her life. So aligning herself with a soybean moisturizer just seems like a pointless thing to do. Especially since its not as IF she actually uses this shit herself. I mean I’d wager that Jen only uses imported Icelandic sea kelp cream, not this lotion that is somewhere between an oatmeal bath and a field of legumes. Also in her commercials for this product the premise is literally her turning down other beauty brands, in favor of endorsing Aveeno Watch here How can your commercial be entirely about getting the actress to be in your commercial?
ANYHOW we have another 2 products to cover here, so, let’s keep ranting. Next up: SmartWater. Same comments about how unnecessary this paycheck is for Jen apply. Except I hate this even more because like who even has the right to represent water. Its WATER. Albiet sexy water, but still, WATER. And they really dug deep here conceptually as to why Jen was a relevant ambassador… what with her laying naked wrapped in a pure white sheet and clutching a bottle of SmartWater whilst gazing absent-mindedly into the distance. And then the headlines say things like “My Secret Revealed”… as if we are to believe Jen really looks the way she does because of some overpriced water. I’ll tell you why she looks like she does: fucking AWESOME genes, and then a life whose entire agenda consists of yogalates, stylist appointments, and kale.
And last but certainly not least, Jennifer’s latest endorsement: Living proof. Which is… some hair shit? Shampoo I think. Who cares, Jennifer is “Living proof.” that it works. No need to even capitalize the second word in the brand name. No, all we need is to see Jen’s face and the top 30% of the bottle.
Conclusion: all of this is dumb. Go be with Ross. The end.
Jaden and Willow Smith’s entire lives are like a Twitter feed I can’t turn off. Why does anyone give a shit about them? Because I struggle to find the cultural value of Will and Jada Pinkett, let alone their spin-off children. Its already on the creepy side to name your kids very similarly to your own name, but the Smith’s have elevated this to another level by also swapping genders. Dad Will > daughter Willow and Mom Jada > son Jaden. Of course its also infuriating to me that any hobby these kids casually possess is blown out into a full business. I learned on Jimmy Fallon last night that Jaden opened a clothing line with his friends, literally to produce “drop crotch pants”. “None of the clothes out there fit us,” Jaden reported. A few minutes later, he was invited to rap with Fallon’s band. And entire chunks of my soul burst into FLAME at this indulgence of his adolescent interests. I mean I loved hair barrettes and playing violin when I was his age, but my parents didn’t fund entire corporations to further my hobbies. Also, don’t think I forgot about WILLOW. She is 12 and apparently already incapable of taking a modest photograph. When I see her I just pray that it won’t prompt “Whip My Hair” to become stuck in my head. But it does, every time. Lastly, these two seem to like each other on a level that surpasses brother sister. I’m reminded of Angelina Jolie and her brother, whom kiss full on the mouth. So. GET OFF THE STAGE SMITH KIDS [drop the mic]
Tweens everywhere will squeal in protest, but only one Jonas is attractive and that’s indisputable. Its Nick, the little one. And this does surprise me, as there were many months when “Camp Rock”… starring middle brother and lead singer, Joe… was locked on my DVR. But last night as I was watching “Married to Jonas” (let’s nobody pretend they haven’t watched at least 5 min) something struck me… Joe’s hottness has steeply declined post-puberty, and Kevin has never been hot. Making Nick the hottness quota life raft AND the only talented one… he writes most of their songs, plays most of their guitar, and has the best voice. Also the poor guy has diabetes but never mopes for our pity, as many a celebrity would. So while I strongly recommend picking your favorite One Direction member instead, if you insist on living in 2007 then Nick Jonas is the only acceptable choice.