The Fugtorialist: New York Fugly Week

If you’re not some internslave/PR girl running around backstage putting, like hemorrhoid cream under models’ eyes and Vaseline on their teeth or whatever, then sitting front row at Fashion Week can be a wonderful spectacle of celebretard watching. I mean, you essentially get to dress up, sit in a chair, and text while you stare at people with a dead, Lauren Conrad-esque look in your eyes. It’s being bored and doing nothing, and it’s what we do best.

50 Shades of Spray, anyone? Clearly not for Michelle Trachtenberg. It’s kind of a recipe for albinism when they seat you next to some briefcase-opening chick from Deal or No Deal—I mean, Katrina Bowden, a Jew, and Laguna Beach Queen, LC.

Andy Cohen and Father Time doing their thang.

So first of all, Kim looks like she smells a fart. Yes, I know Kim K is a dead horse that I will continue to beat with my high heel, but I mean, why the varsity jacket? Did you just get back from your pinning party? Did Kanye give it to you in exchange for a HJ behind the bleachers?

K Cav decided she was too punk rock for the fur dress code, like the frumpy triplets next to her. Clearly homegirl is not beyond her days of wearing white to the Black and White Affair. Whatever, they’ll like, get over it.

Shay Mitchell: Taking a break from being a frumpy, teenage lesbian to channel her inner Rashida Jones. P.S. Brad Goreski is A.

In case you were wondering where Paris has disappeared to the last few years, she went to Mordor and brought Golem to NYFW.

But Anna Wintour got to sit next to Marc Jacobs goody bags, instead of living, human beings, so the week wasn’t a total loss, right?


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