ALERT: New Plague Hits Europe!

This just in: a new plague has hit Europe... Doctors at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta are calling it FFLS (Fugly Faux-Lizard Syndrome). According to sources, women in both Prague (above) and Amsterdam (below) have been infected. Doctors are warning all men and women living in those cities that if further cases are discovered, throw acid in the victims face and then run away before their heinous bags try to gobble you up!

Didn't I teach my brother anything!?!?

I love my older brother more than anyone else in the entire world, but what the hell was he thinking the other night? He could be a Moroccan Burberry ad!

Orange You Glad You Don't Live Here?

Seriously Prague, what is wrong with you!?! I know that there are plenty of atrocious dressers back in New York, but people here are just clueless when it comes to picking out a wardrobe! Nothing matches. Clothes don't fit. And everyone seems to fall into one of three categories: 1) dull and grimy, 2) bedazzled to death, or 3) covered in faux fur. Gross! And with this woman, what was she thinking when she woke up this morning? "Uh, today I want to look like I just fell off a tree in southern Florida!" Argh! And unfortunately, my photo did not capture her LOVELY furry Crocs (which in my opinion is the world's greatest fashion fuck up!)

If this doesn't scare you, no evil thing will...

'Tis the season... to wear hideous black and white! Our lovely bemulleted clotheshorse here worked for everyone's favorite anti-PETA activist Cruella DeVille as her housekeeper. When the old bitch died, all she left poor Mrs. O'Mullet was her least favorite sofa. (You know, the one from the second-smallest guest suite in the east wing.) But this crafty domestic worker knew how to get her revenge. She used the couch's upholstery to make herself this snazzy, snazzy coat, and to top it off, used Cruella's own hair to line the collar. Oh, the irony. Roger and Anita would approve.

Big New Name in Couture: My Great-Grandmother

Hey everyone-- I just wanted to send out a quick message. My great-grandmother just got a job working at the House of Deréon with my idol, Beweavecé. My granny is going to be in charge of the prêt-à-porter division, and this is from her first collection: Deréon Spring 2009. She was inspired by two things: all of the crocheting that she saw at her nursery home, and... shit in a baby's diaper-- shit in an adult diaper to be more precise. Personally the trash bag purse is my favorite! And stayed tuned for her upcoming cruise wear line due out in stores early next year. She got ALL of her inspiration from doilies! Kudos, granny! And kudos, Prague, for having such beautiful clothes!

Who wants to be a friend of Dorothy?

Now, take a look at darling little Dorothy over here. Sadly, this Dorothy didn't land in Oz, where she could have simply taken the Wicked Witch of the East's ruby (or silver, if you're a purist) slippers. Instead, she landed in nearby Zo, where she was forced to brutally slaughter the Beastly Bear of the Bronx and chop his feet off to use them as... well, "boots" is a word I hate to dignify these atrocities with, but words fail me thinking of an alternative.

But Dorothy seems to have developed some kind of crazy killing streak as, spurred by the first taste of blood, she skinned her opponent further to make her hat. And, even after that, she tracked down the Beastly Bear of the Bronx's albino cousin, the Perfidious Polar of Pearl Harbor, brutally cut him down, and used his fur to line her (already quite ugly) coat's sleeves and hood.

Pray for the two bears' souls, kittens. Let us hope that they aren't looking down from Bear Heaven to see how what hideous outerwear their body parts are being used as. And if you see Dorothy clomp-clomp-clomping along in your neighborhood, watch out. You never know when she might be needing a new set of panties made solely of human skin.

Hot Trends

Damn-- I completely missed the note telling everyone that faux-animal prints were back in style! Oh well... all that matters is that some very intelligent human being decided to bring back one of the 20th centuries classiest trends! Kudos, you!

The Ultimate Weave

First of all, just like Britney Spears, we are back after a small break. Forgive us, we went to Amsterdam to... buy some... tulips! Yes, that's it! Tulips...

Now on to more important things, like the award for Best Weave!!! AHH!!!

Who will win this year? No, it isn't Beyoncé. And despite the fact that she won the award for Best Weave last year, it isn't Gabrielle Union either. Who is it you ask?

Coming to you live from Prague, we have the winner of the Best Weave of 2008: Czech Denim!



Look at those beauties! Aren't they dramatic. Luckily for Brenda Dickson she'll only have to tattoo eyebrows on them!

Denim, denim everywhere, and not a scrap worth wearing

There are many, many tacky tattoos people can get. Tramp stamps, mistranslated Chinese characters, and girlfriends' names all come to mind. However, I personally think the tackiest of all are "skin rips," the fake flesh wounds that reveal inked-on muscle, bone, and other gross things. In my mind, these are the denim equivalent of those tattoos. Oh em gee look at how distressed and ripped my already-ugly jeans are! But wait... they're just ripped to show the even uglier denim innards! Which are inexplicably striped! Fuck me, I'm edgy!

To which I respond yes, random Euro dude. Fuck you.

One of these things is not like the other...

Darling, darling, darling. As wonderful as this gorgeous ensemble is, I have to say that I'm disappointed. That shiny gold jacket (with faux-fur lining, natch)? Straight out of Janet Jackson's upcoming collection at Torrid. (That's the plus-size, even sluttier version of Hot Topic, for those of you unfamiliar with trashy suburban malls.)

The tight little Trix yogurt-colored top, stretched almost to its breaking point across your gorgeous, gorgeous uterine area? Flawless! (I especially like how close to your vagina you're holding your cigarette. Show those boys where you want it while you smoke away those food cravings, baby!)

The pink pants, lovingly gripping your subtle little cameltoe and fupa? Don't even TRY and tell me that didn't come from The OC's wardrobe department! (You know, from that flashback episode they never got around to airing where we find out that Julie Cooper was the product of a lovely little gastric bypass surgery back in the day.)

But those SHOES? Girl, where yo head at? You could have gone all-out here. No Uggs? No bedazzled Crocs? Not even a lovely pair of hooker boots? No. You had to settle for some boring old not-even-Lisa-Frank-colored sneakers. God, bitch. Way to rain on my parade.

Is that cashmere?

Well, if I put on this fugly sweater and pretend that I'm pretty... well, I hope you don't take umbrage with that.

And I just love her choice of bag. It really, uh, compliments the sweater...

Lovely Pomeranian! Very exotic!

Was that woman's head devoured by a Pomeranian!?!?

Spotted: Bigfoot, in Prague

I've seen quite a lot since I first arrived in Prague nearly three months ago. I've seen sensible women with turquoise hair. I've seen pleather. Lots of pleather. In fact, Prague has more pleather than it's genuine counterpart. And if we're talking about the predominant fabrics of Eastern Europe, I need to mention denim. We aren't talking about True Religion or Seven, we're talking about shit that makes Old Navy look like couture. And boy have I seen lamé. Everywhere. And it always seems to be fat, Italian, prepubescent girls, wearing gold lamé leggings. Like I said, I've seen a lot.

But, yet again, Eastern Europe shocked me. I never would have imagined that Bigfoot would be walking around the streets of Prague. But there it was, walking down Marianske Namesti today. Bigfoot. In the flesh.



It's appalling, right? It looks like a shag carpet that has been cut up and transformed into a very unflattering jacket. It would be one thing if it made her look skinny. But it doesn't. It makes her look like a tent. Are the Ringling Brothers hiding out inside somewhere? I think that the worst part about this jacket however is the fact that A LOT of women in Prague own one. And do you know what is even more appalling? It can be purchased at H&M. Hurry ladies, they're going fast! Only 1500 Kc!

Our inaugural fugging!

Oh, the Russians. They never fail to impress us with the tacky, tacky depths to which they'll sink! Svetlana here appears to think that using a handbag with neon orange trim will win her many, many friends and admirers.

Unfortunately, though this may work for those hoping to attract small birds and butterflies, who can't get enough of bright colors and excessive pizazz, we fear SvetSvet will have considerably less luck amongst her fellow humans. Of course, the fact that in addition to the Nascar-inspired trim, the bag itself is made out of what looks like leftover fabric from the couch in my grandmother's time-share in Boca really doesn't help. (Especially considering that she forgot to remove the plastic stain-shield featured in oh so many geriatric living rooms before making her bag.)

So, Svetlana, ride off into that snowy Russian distance and remember that money may buy you many things, but it will never buy you taste.

Wellcome to the dollhouse, bitches

Welcome to one of the top thirty blogs of our time (at least!), Fugarazzi. We're two gay boys with a little too much free time on our hands, so we've decided to do the world a public service by calling our fellow ordinary people out on their more atrocious fashion choices. Bitchier than The Sartorialist, not as elitist as Go Fug Yourself, we aim to please (ourselves) by ripping apart the fashion disasters we pass everyday on the street... with our words, of course. Beau's lightning-quick camera skills and Sam's razor-sharp wit add up to lots of fun for everyone involved. As long as you're not featured on the blog, of course.

See you around!
Sam and Beau

PS: Yes, Fagarazzi was considered as a blog title, but rejected on the grounds that Sam is straight. Also, Beau's a lesbian and the sky is not blue.