Hallo Readers,

Our Glorious Leader President Maydogan has been downgraded to Mrs Maybe, as strong and stable as a wobble board on the deck of a storm-tossed ship. After her ridiculous, robotic campaign in which she parroted the phrase “strong and stable” ad nauseam, she had it leaked that she had never wanted to use the catchphrase “strong and stable” at all and had been bullied into it by Lynton Crosby, her election guru.  The woman who offered us “strong and stable” government was insufficiently strong and stable to refuse to say that she was strong and stable. Which augurs ill for her negotiations with the EU because if she cannot say no to a stupid slogan, she is unlikely to tell our Europals where to get off. And they would not give a toss even if she were to do that because they know she has no majority, is weak as a kitten with weak kitten disease and is more interested in hanging onto power than using it to do anything other than apologise for her manifold inadequacies.

This week gave us the Queen’s Speech and in line with the sorry shambles that this country has become, it was a more of a cut-price, economy-bucket, dress-down-Wednesday. Her Majesty was dragged away from more urgent matters at Royal Ascot and turned up dressed in Monarchical mufti, a bright blue Euro-hat and matching coat. She came by car, not by gilded coach. Prince Philip was in hospital, which was probably a more entertaining option. The Crown of State went to Parliament in its own car, which is not very green, and sat on a cushion in front of Her Majesty, who read a speech so short of content and controversy that it was all over in a mere nine minutes. All the election promises went into the bin. You could have fitted this piss-poor speech onto a text and avoided driving cushions and nonagenarians through Central London, thus further damaging the environment. This being the UK, we still had the speech written on goatskin, although nowadays they do not use real goats. We do not need hiricide on top of everything else.

Why are the Police not investigating Mrs Maybe? She has obtained the use of a London house and a country house, both with board and lodging and all the other Prime Ministerial benefits, by deception. On 9 June, she told us that she could form a minority government with the support of the Democratic Unionists, the ten Neanderthals who, socially speaking, are the celtic equivalent of the Taliban. They hate gays. They hate equal marriage. They hate abortion, even for women who have been raped. You cannot vote for them on the Mainland because they only stand for seats in Northern Ireland and yet they are going to hold sway over all of us. But Mrs Maybe had not actually closed the deal. Informing Her Majesty that she had their support was like asking the bride’s father for permission but forgetting to propose to the woman herself. And now the bride-to-be is quibbling about the trousseau. She wants a bigger diamond. She wants a higher allowance. And Mrs Maybe must either agree and alienate every other region (and risk the Good Friday Agreement) or refuse and again find herself single. This is the State of the Nation. The Nation is in a state. A state of collapse. A state of disenchantment. A state of us and them with them doing badly, ignored, put in danger. We are getting our country back. But why would anyone want it?

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We start our review of the week’s clothing crap with singer Celine Dion, out and about in Paris.

That crotch is so dropped that if Justin Bieber went to a fancy dress party as Tony the Tiger, this is what he would look like. Yurgle.

To the iHeart Radio Awards in Toronto where we encounter singer Lights, née Valerie Anne Poxleitner. WTF has no idea what she is wearing. None at all.

Lights has copied her hair colour from Tony the Tiger. Her dress, if that is the word, which it isn’t, is held together with giant pink bandaids and a matching pink thigh-bandaid matching the pink carpet. What the boots have to do with the price of fish, WTF cannot say, but they are more suited to Tignes than to Toronto in high summer.

Also there was rapper Iggy Azalea, wearing Christian Cowan.

Not so much Iggy Pop as Iggy Popping Out. This dress is WTF’s whole wish-away list – one sleeve, peekaboo, knickerless, the whole schmear. Sadly, the lacing is like a bad episiotomy…

Meet wrestler Nikki Bella, wearing Alessandra Rich.

WTF brought you the phrase “genitalia curtains” and these are the very quintessence of genitalia curtains, enlivened with their own built-in vajazzle and Minge Fringe. And it has boobage and giant shoulder pads! Dynasty lives on.

This is Heavy D the “star” of Celebrity Big Brother and some rubbish called Storage Hunters (no, me neither),  

Talking of curtains… he has nicked these from the kiddie curtain department at B&Q. Mr Heavy looks like the lovechild of Ray Winstone and Billy Idol. That is not a compliment.

Next up, we have actress Dascha Polanco from OITNB attending the Fragrance Foundation Awards, wearing Marni.

Another uni-limb creation – and so billowy! Marni has had a shocker here. It is as if Dascha were peeping out from behind muslin curtains, like Polonius behind the arras but without the fatal outcome.

Here we are at Royal Ascot where we encounter former boxer Chris Eubank, wearing a most ridiculous ensemble.

Chris did not so much hang up his boxing gloves as stuff them down his manky old jeans, which he wore over patent riding boots. Did he spill something on his suit trousers before leaving home? Extra minus points for the Louis Vuitton man bag which looks absurd.

And finally, here is WTF regular, reality “star” and makeup artiste Charlotte Dawson, wearing Rene K Couture. Couture! Ye Gods. There is little enough to sew.

There was of course the inevitable “wardrobe malfunction”, i.e. “let me get my bits out in the papers and pretend that it’s an accident” but WTF has spared you the pudendum pics because she does not want to give you a seizure. You could sue. It is bad enough that you have to see the gaping tit window and imminent tit tips. Perhaps Charlotte has taken up acting and is playing one of the witches in a particularly pervy production of Macbeth. Or perhaps she just has nothing else to offer. WTF is voting for Option 2.

This week’s It’s Got To Go features two sets of fantastically foolish footwear. WTF aficionado Rebecca from Truro came up with these horrors, as first tweeted by writer Emma Kennedy. 

Emma observed sagaciously, “Middle aged men of Britain, we have to talk” and how right she was. No male aged over five should ever have these things on his feet. Ever. Then we have a pair of crocs from designer Christopher Kane, nominated by WTF aficionado Belinda from Mayfair who spotted them in his shop window and is still recovering from the shock.  Brace yourselves….

Crocs are vile, as nominated in a previous It’s Got to Go and more vile when they are ponced up and priced at £275. President Obama talked about putting lipstick on a pig. This is putting trinkets on a turd.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week.  Keep those comments coming as well as your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  And spread the word so that your friends and your neighbours and anyone else you know gets to read the blog as well. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. 

Hallo Readers,

The last General Election was fought, or certainly initiated, on the basis that President Maydogan should not be opposed because it would be treasonable to do so. The Mail’s headline was “Crush The Saboteurs” whilst The Sun trumpeted “Blue Murder!” Even though downgraded to Mrs Maybe, the Prime Minister who was responsible for the worst political misjudgment since, er, the last one, is still there. There has however been a sea change. During the campaign, her Cabinet were silent as Trappist Monks with the focus on Vote Maydogan rather than Vote Tory. But now that she is clinging onto power by virtue of a billion pound bung to the DUP, they are sharpening their stilettos. Despite mocking the Labour Party for its fiscal profligacy and voting for the Queen’s Speech, they are now calling for less austerity, wage rises for the public sector and all sorts. At this rate, they will be demonstrating outside no 10 with placards before the year is out.

Labour is heading in the other direction. Jeremy Corbyn not only thinks that he won the election but that he is also the lovechild of Jesus Christ and Justin Bieber. He headlines at Glastonbury. He comforts the suffering. He will soon be walking across the Thames and divvying up a baguette and a bottle of Beaujolais amongst the 5,000. And although he speaks of reconciliation towards those who spurned him, others are markedly less, well, Christian. In Liverpool Wavertree, sitting MP Luciana Berger is on maternity leave. Her local party voted in a new committee of Momentum members, amongst them one Roy Bentham who said “Luciana needs to get on board quite quickly now. She will now have to sit round the table with us the next time she wants to vote for bombing in Syria or to pass a no confidence motion in the leader of the party – she will have to be answerable to us. We would like her to come out publicly like other MPs have done and apologise for not supporting him in the past.” At which point Ms Berger issued a statement praising “the revitalised national party under Jeremy Corbyn” but stopped short of an actual apology. Now there is a list circulating from Momentum to ditch 49 disloyal MPs. When did this country become Cambodia under Pol Pot? Will Ms Berger be frogmarched into Anfield and made to confess all in front of a baying crowd singing “Oh, Jeremy Corbyn”? Apologise? Is this what we want the Labour Party to be? For shame.

Of course, the high watermark of fawning is President Trump, who considers any criticism of him Fake News. He complains about what the MSM is not writing. He loves Fox News, his personal Pravda. In Warsaw yesterday he complained that NBC criticised him although he had made them a fortune with The Apprentice. He avoids direct questions from he Press, preferring to address adoring, handpicked crowds at rallies. His Beliebers see no wrong and blame the media and “the Left” for everything. Watch his new Cabinet spending 11 minutes praising him to the skies and thanking him for the blessing of being able to work with him – it will put manufacturers of emetics out of business.  Slowly but surely, Trump is creating a parallel universe where only what he says or what Fox says or what Breitbart says is the truth – anything else is a lie.  Stalin would be drooling….

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We start our weekly review of fashion follies at the Essence Festival in New Orleans with soul singer Monica Brown, wearing Balenciaga. 

First, this is a deckchair purporting to be a dress. Second, as regular Readers will know, WTF hates a one-sleeved dress almost above all things but this new variant is simply not to be borne. What is the point of a long sleeve and a short sleeve on the same same garment? WTF can only surmise that it is to get the sun on your arm as you drive.

Next up, we have singer Gwen Stefani wearing – who can say what this is?

Bamboozled. WTF is bamboozled.  This trench coat is neither use nor ornament. It might repel the elements down to Gwen’s waist but thereafter she will be left with soggy nether regions, like net curtains blowing out of a window into the rain. The kiddie, however, is mega-cute. And much better dressed.

This is Dan Edgar from TOWIE. The picture is not recent, but it was brought to WTF’s attention by outraged WTF aficionado Johan, who demanded its inclusion. And he has a point.

Three words. No, not those ones. What. A. Fool. We saw something similar at Ascot with Chris Eubank and this is no better. It is as if he has been dressed by two different people on a job share. Whoever did the top half can just about be excused, although the white tie is pathetic. But whoever did the bottom half needs to book an urgent appointment with an optician.

These are very, very terrible trousers. Very terrible indeed. They should not be worn at all but certainly not with anything in the pockets. What HAS he got in there? Is something plugged in to a pair of sockets?

To Paris Fashion Week Haute Couture, where women are paid to wear this crap. What follows is a trio of duds from Dior, starting with model and actress Aymeline Valade wearing Dior.

This punches a lot of WTF’s hate buttons, from the straggly top-knot like a decomposing squirrel to the teeny, tiny bra with VNA (visible nipple activity) under the sheer top to the dead cobra round the rest of her and the Prisoner of Cell Block H wardress shoes.  

The whole thing is profoundly unsexy and worse, bloody ugly.

And here is poor Jennifer Lawrence who has a contract to wear Dior and always seems to be the low woman on the totem pole where its clothes are concerned..

You all know how much WTF hates those big panties with the Dior J’Adior logo (you have to buy them on eBay, where they fetch about $2000) and here they are again, this time under Jennifer’s Western-saloon-floozy outfit with more fringing than a sofa warehouse. And the sideview is worse.

I mean, you would pray that there is no wind, wouldn’t you? You would summon any priest, witchdoctor, ANYONE, who could try and stop the wind blowing. Because if the won does blow, you’re fucked.

And – of course- there was Bella Hadid.

Bella has gone one better than JLaw and has got the matching bra (another $2,000).  Oh, and a dress that isn’t really a dress, just a swathe of material chucked on willy-nilly.

Finally, one of WTF’s favourites, fashionista de luxe heiress Daphne Guinness, wearing Dutch designer Iris von Herpen.

Not to herpen about it but the worry about the imminent Minge Moment behind the snowflake stencils is eclipsed by those hideous hooves – very Daphne Guinness – which seem to come with their own built-in couture galoshes.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF of Islington who is sick to the back teeth of those self-appointed wankers on building sites whose job it is to walk into the middle of the road and stop the traffic whilst their colleagues do whatever it is they are doing with winches or guide large lorries inch out into the road whilst motorists sit and fume. They already have stolen one lane from the traffic – now they are out to steal another one. And who the hell gave them the right to stop traffic on the Queen’s Highway just because they have a high-viz jacket, a hard hat and a copy of The Sun protruding from their back pocket? They’re wankers and They’ve Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week.  Please keep those comment coming in (WTF does love them so) as well as your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

WTF spent the week debating whether she is more offended by Donald Trump Jr’s lies or his ineptitude. Don – here’s the thing. When invited to hold a meeting with “a Russian government attorney” offering incriminating stuff on your father’s opponent as part of “Russia and its government’s support for Mr Trump”, you should have said no and then phoned the FBI. Remember the Trojan Horse? “Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes” translated as “I fear the Greeks even when bearing gifts”. The same was true of the Russians. And once you did meet the lawyer, you should not have done all or any of the following:  

1. When asked last year whether Russia wanted to hurt Clinton, describing the suggestion as “phoney” and “disgusting”, coming across as outraged as Fox News when faced with a Democrat;

2. When approached by the “failing” New York Times, telling them you did meet some Russian woman but you didn’t know why she was coming and assumed she wanted to flog you caviar, whereas she just banged on about adoptions, which was really boring;

3. When the actually-doing-rather-well New York Times said they knew this was a lie, admitting that you had known she was coming to give you damaging stuff about Clinton but she didn’t have any stuff and just banged on about adoptions, which was really boring;

4. Despite having made a fool of yourself, sending out a snarky tweet claiming you only did what was common in campaigns (like you’d know); in other words, you moved from “I did not collude” to “I knew nothing” to “So what if I did collude?” in 48 hours. 

5. Having been told by the now-nailed-on-for-a-Pulitzer New York Times that it had an email showing you knew the woman was coming to give you material as part of the Russian government’s support for your father, releasing the emails including the one that said the information was to be given as part of “Russia and its government’s support” for your father. Oh, and the one which said that the woman was “a Government lawyer”. Oh, and the one which said you replied “I love it”. Those emails.

In short, Donald Jr, you are a numbskull, a liar and a booby. Even if you have (finally) told the truth, which you most probably have not, you are still a numbskull, a liar and a booby. You may run a zillion-dollar company (thanks to your father) but most people would not leave you in charge of their budgie.

As for you, Mr President, most people would not leave you in charge of cleaning out their budgie cage. You spent six months descrying your campaign’s collusion with Russia as FAKE NEWS. You sacked James Comey because the “Trump and Russia” story was FAKE NEWS. Until last week you never acknowledged that Russia interfered with the US Election. Your accolytes like Kushner, Sessions, Flint and Donald Jr all forgot their various contacts with Russian officials and had to correct earlier accounts. Your son had a meeting supposedly arranged at the behest of the Russian Government and attended by your campaign manager and your son-in-law but you claim you never knew about it. You praised your son’s “honesty” and his  “transparency” even though the truth had to be dragged out of him with pliers. You now claim that any politician would have had the meeting, thus failing to distinguish between Moscow, Idaho and Moscow, Russia and after months of denying any contact at all. Why are all these people around you (a) hobnobbing with Russians and (b) forgetting to mention it? Including, apparently, to you. Hardly anyone believes a word you say. And certainly no one with a brain.

Meanwhile, where is Sean Spicer? What have you done with Sean Spicer? He has not been seen for weeks. It is time to come clean. You do not want to be tried for false imprisonment do you? You have enough on your plate. You would have to wear an orange prison jumpsuit and it is so not your colour….

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We start our review of the week’s fashion frippery in Germany with Prince Ernst August Jr. of Hanover and Ekaterina Malysheva who got married last Saturday.

The new Princess looks beautiful but the same cannot be said of His Highness Prince Pudding-bowl. Your Highness, this is your wedding day. Your collar has wing-itis, your tie is wonky, your morning coat is ill-fitting and you are wearing very ridiculous trousers. They do not hug your waist, they billow at the knees and they sit on your scruffy, unpolished shoes like spats.

Where was your housemaid with an iron and a needle and thread to stop your hems brushing the cobbles? Poor show.

Now we have actress Bella Thorne out and about in LA.

If you are at the beach, fine. If you are in the street, not fine. This is a titsy waistcoat with chains instead of buttons as worn by a pervy businessman at a fetish club. And those boots are definitely not made for walking.

Here is boxer and Mixed Martial Arts person Conor McGregor displaying legendary Irish charm to his opponent Floyd Mayweather at their press conference before the fight tomorrow.

Think this is just an ordinary pinstripe suit? Look closer……

And top of the morning to you too, you rude man….. The idea is not even original as the Prime Minister of India, Narendra Modi, wore a similar purported pinstripe to meet President Obama in 2015. But his just said Narendra.

To Paris where Celine Dion has been clad head to toe in couture for what seems like weeks now. If it is hers and not borrowed, she will need to charter a jumbo jet to take it all home. Here she is, wearing DSquared2.

The jeans are not so much distressed as hysterical whilst the jacket makes her look like a medieval troubadour.

We go to Florida and Univision’s Premios Juventud 2017 where we meet Venezuelan singer Nacho Bailame.

Why is he dressed as the Artful Dodger? Are they big Dickens fans in Venezuela? Who knew?

Finally, we have Australian rapper Iggy Azalea.  Careful now…. 

It’s a latex Barbie. We have had a Firefighter Barbie and a Pilot Barbie and a Moschino Barbie and a Wonderwoman Barbie. Now we have a Kinky Barbie with more camel toe than a caravan of camels. But, Readers, this is not the worst of it. Have your smelling salts to hand and the number of a healthcare professional on speed-dial.

Yes it is bare bum time. Again. Think of the indentations when she sits down, like a lattice window. MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!!!!

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado Annie Bishop who has taken  exception (and rightly so) to the oeuvre of Spanish designer Palomo. This week he sent male models down the runway in some of the most preposterous outfits WTF has ever seen. Like these two…

 

WTF likes a laugh as much as the next person, but penis pretties are just not funny. Palomo – piss off. Or Enojar as they say in Spanish.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week.  Please keep those comment coming in (WTF does love them so) as well as your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. (WTF always thought that it was giveth and taketh but apparently this is not so although it sounds better). In this case, the Lord in question is Lord Hall, the Director-General of the BBC. This week there has been a lot of giving and taking. For a start, the Lord Hall has given us a female Doctor Who and taken away the male ones, whereupon there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. All over the country distraught men rent their garments and bemoaned a further assault upon their manhood by lefties, feminists, lesbians and harridans in all their various combinations. How unrealistic for a woman – a WOMAN – to portray a time-traveller in a Tardis who has already changed bodies and personalities a dozen times and who fights metal monsters on coasters. Will this Doctor get all moody when she is on the rag? Will she cry when confronted with Silence? And since women have no idea about mechanics, how will she manage to wield the sonic screwdriver? Will she have to reach for a tampon instead? WTF particularly liked the cretin who demanded “what next – a male Lady Macbeth?”, unaware that actresses were not really a thing until the Restoration and all Shakespearian roles were originally played by men. Heaven knows how these champions of Dr Dick survived Dame Edna Everage. Not to mention Melissa McCarthy as Sean Spicer.

Back at the BBC, there was more giving and taking away. On Wednesday the Lord Hall disclosed the “stars” earning over £150,000, of whom only a third were women. The top seven were all chaps, most of whom you would not watch if you were chained to a radiator. Like Chris Evans who is as funny as a bad attack of haemorrhoids and who crashed Top Gear into the wall in one series. Like perma-tanned Gary Lineker who is paid £1.7m a year to make putrid puns and say things like “Alan, you’ve been impressed by [insert as applicable] today”. Admittedly the whole salary structure seems random (which idiot decided to pay Tess Daly £350,000?) but even so, there are some bewildering disparities. National Treasure Claire Balding, who seems to do a lot more than Lineker, is paid 90% less than he is.  Sarah Montague, who has been presenting Today on Radio 4 for 12 years, is not even on The List. The BBC Gender Pay Gap is a chasm because it works on the same principles as these things always do in public and in private employers. Men paid more because “they won’t stay unless they are paid more”, even if they have no intention of going anywhere. Men paid more because their salaries are settled by other men. Women paid less than the men they replace because they are already paid less so why pay them the same? Men paid more because women, well, you know, go off and have a baby, come back and then go off and have another baby. It’s a lifestyle choice, innit? And for all the BBC’s promises to even things up, there has never been a female Director-General. A female Doctor Who is all well and good but real life is a lot more important. Lord Hall and your overpaid managers, male and female – put on sackcloth, sit in ashes and repent mightily. Most of your humiliated female presenters currently wish all ten plagues upon you. Stop splashing public money around and what you do splash, splash more equitably. Here endeth the lesson.

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To the week’s sartorial shockers with actor Paul Bettany wearing a most ridiculous suit.

This is what Steve McQueen would have looked like had he slept in his car for a fortnight. What on earth is going on with that collar? And the shirt? And the trousers? And the shoes? Yurgle.

And this is lovely actress Charlize Theron, wearing Dior.

WTF has been fulminating about J’Adior undies for some time because they are a rip-off perpetrated upon the paying public. Charlize is actually paid to wear them (and the slip pretending to be a skirt) but that is absolutely no excuse.  

Next up is singer (and now actor) Harry Styles, wearing Calvin Klein.

Yee haw! Trousers pretending to be  cowboy boots. Is Harry were auditioning  for a remake of Los 3 Amigos?

We go to the ESPYS, the American Sports Awards, where we encounter NBA player Mike Conley Jr of the Memphis Grizzlies and his wife Mary Peluso.

WTF hopes that it was not windy outside or Mary would have been whipped to death by her tassels. As for Mike, this outfit is certainly grizzly, a veritable tribute to 1960s wallpaper.

And here is American footballer Odell Beckham Jr. wearing Louis Vuitton v Supreme and actress Dove Cameron, wearing Marc Jacobs.

Dove looks fine but the same cannot be said for Odell. First, something seems to have died on his head. Second, WTF hates a shorts suit almost above all things and hates a white tuxedo shorts suit worn with a teeshirt even more than that. Why is a grown man and successful sportsman dressed like the kid who parks your car at a Trump golfing resort?

More 20th Century horror, as worn by singer and reality show judge Rita Ora in Chloe. Only she has gone from the 1960s to the 1970s. And turned into a JLo lookalikey en route.

For some reason, the 1970s were ablaze with brown and orange, like the dying days of Autumn. It was everywhere, both on people (WTF had a brown Afghan coat with orange embroidery which, when it rained, stank like a decomposing skunk) and as decor. Rita has gone full period costume in this migraine-inducing horror together with haystack hair and silly sunglasses. On reflection, she is not so much JLo as Dayglo and looks positively radioactive.

And now we are in the 1980’s with TOWIE’s Gemma Collins wearing Gerda Trubon.

This may actually be one of the worst dresses WTF has ever seen. Did she borrow Odell Beckham Jnr’s footballing shoulder pads? Ludicrous.

And finally, she is back. And when you see her, you will know why. WTF speaks of Kim Kardashian West, wearing vintage Helmut Lang and sandals by Yeezy, her husband’s clothing line.

You know those plastic bags covering your dry-cleaning? Kim is wearing one of those together with white panties and bare boobs. Here is WTF’s question. Why bother with the bag at all? Just wear the coat and panties. Save the planet.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionados Leslie from North London and Nick from South London, who have submitted a joint complaint. Here it is. “People walking down the street glued to their ‘phones and causing a mobile obstruction. Their mates who have headphones on and scream into a piece of attached wire. The look of wounded indignation they give you when you trip them up. The high decibel count of their conversation. And the sheer tedium of the content. If you must insist on the world hearing your business, at least make it interesting, make something up, let people think you are a MI5 operative or a top Hollywood producer, instead of just heralding the news that you are having salad and cold cuts for your tea!” WTF agrees and has nothing to add save that It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as they make WTF more cheery than a cheery thing feeling cheery. And of course,  your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  WTF is to enjoy the loveliness of Cornwall and Gloucestershire for the next fortnight. Normal (?!?!?) service will be resumed on Friday 11 August 2017. Be good x

Hallo Readers, 

Yes, WTF is back from a somewhat damp but lovely Cornwall and a sunny and lovely Gloucestershire and is resuming her mission to descry idiocy both political and sartorial. Starting with the growing phenomenon of people who are happy to opine with total confidence on subjects about which they know absolutely nothing. These are the people who dwell in the land of Twitter and radio phone-ins and newspaper comments under articles where opinion is fact and fact is annoying. The thing is, you cannot have a worthwhile opinion on anything without it being based on the facts, otherwise what you are giving is not an opinion at all but a jumbled bundle of bollocks based on half-truths and non-truths and alternative facts (©Kellyanne Conway) and prejudices which might or might not be interesting to someone but is basically bollocks. And post Brexit, post Trump, when not knowing anything is a badge of honour, this bundle of bollocks has gone beyond passing for argument – it has become truth. Don’t bother to read up on the topic – just see what your favourite tweeter says because that will be true, right? Others can contradict it if they dare. If they’re lucky, they will get contempt or abuse; if they’re unlucky, they will get a death threat. This is the world we now live in.

There has been a plethora of recent examples. Like the case of little Charlie Gard, when people whose only medical expertise came from watching Casualty became expert on infantile onset encephalomyopathy mitochondrial DNA depletion syndrome. Not that most of them even knew what it was called or what it was, but they were confident in pronouncing on his prospects of recovery. Why wouldn’t Peter the Plumber from Pontepool and some Pastor from Poughkeepsie know more about infantile onset encephalomyopathy mitochondrial DNA depletion syndrome than doctors at Great Ormond Street who had dedicated their lives to caring for infants and had, you know, medical degrees? 

Then there are the people who know more about Roman history than Professor Mary Beard, a renown classicist, and who feel entitled to contradict her assertion that Roman Britain was multi-cultural based on their extensive reading of er…Beano and who back up their alleged arguments with death threats and abuse.

And then there were the people who could not distinguish between the European Court of Human Rights and the Court of Justice of the European Union, people who could not find their arse with two hands and a magnifying glass. The outgoing President of the Supreme Court, Lord Neuberger, questioned the lack of guidance in the EU Exit Bill on how Judges should apply CJEU decisions post-Brexit. Lord Neuberger knows stuff.  He has been a judge since 1996. He knows how to construe a statute and he knows that this statute-in-waiting was as clear as mud on this topic and that judges who did apply CJEU law would be covered in ordure by The Daily Mail as Enemies of the People and Saboteurs. But the non-arse-finders on Twitter and radio phone-ins and the commentators under articles were sufficiently au fait with the law to declare that M’Lord was talking nonsense and was obviously a Member of the Establishment and a Remoaner and that it was all terribly simple and straightforward. 

The best exchange of all was on Twitter yesterday. After Trump mendacious tweet  claiming to have “renovated and modernised” the country’s nuclear arsenal, one Stephen Schwartz (@atomicanalyst) said that nothing had happened in the 201 days since the Inauguration. Cue for buckets of abuse from non-Defence experts everywhere, including from a Newcastle FC supporter of unknown domicile (handle @_toon_fan) who asked Schwartz how he knew this. Schwartz’s reply was sublime. “I’m a nuclear weapons and weapons policy expert specializing in US nuclear weapons. It is literally my job to know. What’s your expertise?”.  Sadly, @_toon_fan vanished from  Twitter without answering that question. But we know the answer, don’t we?

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We now turn our attention to the sartorial sluice bucket of recent weeks, starting with Princess Charlene of Monaco pictured with her husband, Prince Albert, at an event in Monte Carlo. She is wearing Versace.

Princess Charlene represented South Africa in the swimming pool at the Sydney Olympics in 2000, as you can see from her powerful shoulders, but that does not mean that she has to go about the Principality dressed as a fish.  This metallic monstrosity with silvery scales makes her look like Caliban from The Tempest with strap marks and a scaly codpiece. And the back is still worse.

Is her head on backwards? Could this is fact be the front of Princess Charlene, together with cleavage and pubes? Either way, the whole thing is just terribly, terribly, terrible.

To the premiere of Valerian in Mexico City and one of its stars, actress and model Cara Delevigne, wearing Versace.

More Versace, more fishiness. This time we have a very thin-looking Cara in piscatorial peekaboo.  Enough already with the fishes.

Next up, we have actor Chris Sullivan at an NBC event in Beverley Hills.

Actually, bring back the fishes. It is as painful to behold as that sunburn must be. Memo to Chris. Next time (a) slather on the suncream, Factor 50 (b) hire a stylist and (c) lose the varnish on the toes.

This is singer Kesha, wearing a Gucci cape and sparkly leggings, seen with her boyfriend Brad Ashenfelter at LA Airport. 

Somewhere, over the rainbow, bluebirds vomit…. And that is before they clock the price tag, namely $4,100. (Leggings not included). If your granny knitted this for you as a Christmas gift, you would thank her warmly and then take it down to the charity shop PDQ.

To Paris and singer Celine Dion, continuing her mission to be seen in ever- more ridiculous haute couture. Here she is wearing Alexander McQueen. The young gentleman is her backing dancer, Pepe Munoz.

Sarah Jessica Parler might have worn this 20 years in Sex And The City but that was then and this is now. Celine looks like a Fairy Queen who has gone ten rounds with the Big Bad Wolf. Note the difference between her ludicrous formality and Pepe’s casual jeans-and-tee effort.

Amongst those in attendance at the premiere of Sharknado  (shudder) in Las Vegas was actor and TV host Jai Rodriguez of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy fame, wearing a most alarming ensemble.

Ouch! Ouch! And thrice Ouch! No need to ask which side Jai dresses. Those shorts are a fast track to male thrush. Memo to Jai. Next time, (a) take a size up (b) lose those brogues and (c) buy some Fluconazole.

Next we go to Black Girls Rock! in Newark, New Jersey and actress Michelle Mitchenor, wearing Carlos Antoine.

This is an Imminent Minge Moment if ever there was one and there is also a cornucopia of tit, all barely contained in a chartreuse dressing gown.

Finally we have actress Hailee Steinfeld, wearing Balmain at the Opening of the Balmain Boutique in LA.

Well, this is hideous. The dress, not that it is a dress, has a built-in pussy pelmet and those things crawling up her legs are laced peep-toe boots, an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. The whole thing is the cursed lovechild of Renoir’s Mme Loge and Grey Worm from Game of Thrones.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF of Islington who wants to see the end of the revolting Nigel Farage on her TV and radio. The man is supposed to have retired from public life but he pops up more regularly than toast in a posh café. He has a radio show where he talks bollocks and he is still regularly interviewed by other media where he talks bollocks and he keeps appearing on Fox News where he talks even more bollocks whilst revelling in his association with President Trump. We have all had more than enough of him and He’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF needs cheering up. She is a bit nervous about being blown to smithereens in this nonsensical standoff between two fat lunatics with bad hair. And do not neglect your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

20 years ago on 31 August 1997, the Nation went stark, raving mad. Princess Diana, “The Queen of People’s Hearts”, died in a car crash with her paramour in a car driven by a drunk chauffeur in Paris who was driving too fast to escape the attentions of the paparazzi. When the news filtered through in the early hours of the morning, people wept and wailed and tore their garments. In the days that followed, they bedecked Kensington Palace with flowers and did the same at Buckingham Palace. They sat vigil in the parks in the light of flickering candles, clutching teddy bears and sobbing piteously. They mutinied at the decision to keep the young Princes in Scotland away from the bedlam that was London in the throes of grief. WTF has never forgotten the woman who demanded “Where are William and Harry? They should be here in London with us”, as if they were the rightful guardians of two boys aged 15 and 12 who had just lost their mother, as if they were equal in mourning a woman whom they felt they knew but did not know except from TV and the newspapers and OK!  Such was their fury at the Royal Family carrying on in its buttoned-up, fuddy-duddy, stiff-upper-lip manner that a riot seemed likely with demented crowds carrying off the coffin screaming “She’s Ours!” Fortunately, after the Queen returned (grudgingly) to London and made a placatory speech, it all calmed down. Everybody wept copiously at Elton John warbling Candle in the Wind, applauded Diana’s brother’s louche, attention-seeking speech and went away. Even now, WTF is still aghast at the hysteria. 

Diana was conned into the marriage. The Establishment demanded a virgin and in the early 1980’s, virgins of the right vintage and background were as rare as hens’ teeth. The bride and groom had little in common and he was in love with someone else whilst she, poor thing, thought this was a fairy tale. It wasn’t. There was later infidelity on both sides and she, spurned and angry, grew adept at manipulating the press whilst poor, pedantic Charles had no idea how to counter it. She was beautiful and empathetic, seemingly more human that the family she had married into, she died too young and left behind two children who are patently still struggling with their loss.

But come on. She was a woman, not a saint. This was 20 years ago and many have profited from the Diana industry, the staff betraying their duties of confidentiality, the hangers on and the masseuses and the hypnotists and the speech therapists and the spiritualists peddling their tidbits of gossip, the journalists protesting her ill-treatment whilst working for the same papers that paid fortunes for photographs of her from the paparazzi involved in her death. People still begrudge Charles the job he has been waiting for since birth, still cast untrue aspersions on his parenting, still want to deny his wife any rights because “she’s not Diana” and split up the marriage. WTF is no great fan of Prince Charles but for Heaven’s sake. Let it go. Enough.

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We start the review of the week’s sartorial shockers with “Celebrity” Blac Chyna  at the launch of her new plastic dolls in LA. Blac is wearing a custom-made, crushed velvet ensemble with 3-D flowers by Shane Justin.

It is as well that the dolls are small and Chyna is full-size otherwise they would be damn near indistinguishable. As for the outfit, the impression is of a gym bunny emerging from an overgrown flowerbed.

Next up we have Queer Eye and How to Look Naked host Carson Kressly in a PacMan suit and matching tie by Opposuits.

The suits costs a whopping £65 from Selfridges and is marketed as being “fun”. In WTF’s view, things marketed as “fun” are usually not “fun” at all. President Trump described his deranged performance in Phoenix this week as “fun” and look how well that turned out.  

And now we meet “star” of a previous series of Celebrity Big Brother, glamour model and yoga instructor Casey Batchelor out and about in Portugal.

From toe to tit, this is fine. Great abs. But those bronzed balloons on her chest are encased in just a giant bra which must have more support structure than the Golden Gate Bridge. 

An old favourite returns. Of course it is actor Jared Leto wearing Gucci.

WTF is quite convinced that is a woman’s shirt with long ties for a pussycat bow. Unless male tomcat bows are now a thing. The shirt is lovely but it has as much to do with the hideous $1,500 floral joggers as Hitler had to do with cake decoration. Ditto the red socks worn with checkerboard Vans. 

Yes she was in last week but America’s Got Talent judge and former Spice Girl Mel B is back for the second time and with good reason.

Yurgle. Mel has clearly modelled this look, including the badger’s bum hair, on a technicolour version of Storm from X-Men, complete with torso triangles, bellybutton blur and genitalia curtains. No one has owned up to designing this tackfest. Good call.

Finally we have Diva-de-luxe Mariah Carey, on stage with her son Moroccan at Madison Square Garden, wearing Falguni Shane Peacock.

Moroccan is cute but having to stand next to your mum when she is covered in metal filings, flashing her all and wearing no knickers is tantamount to child cruelty. Look at him! He is only six years old and he is mortified. 

Meanwhile, it is time for Mariah to rethink her entire look as a matter of urgency.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is the dude who always stands behind President Trump at rallies, the tosser in a tee-shirt reading “Trump & Republicans Are Not Racist – Gods2.com” whilst holding aloft a sign declaring “Blacks for Trump”. This guy has been getting on WTF’s nerves for a while because of the orgasmic pleasure with which he greets Trump’s every utterance. His name is either Michael Symonette, Maurice Woodside or Mikael Israel, depending on what day it is. He just adores Trump, actually mouthing “I love you” at his hero in Phoenix. Gods2.com is his mad put-on-the-tin-hat-and-the-Bacofoil website in which he peddles a number of conspiracy theories, most notably that Hillary Clinton is a member of the KKK and that the Cherokee Nation are the Real KKK Slave Masters, which must come as one hell of a surprise to the pointy-hood brigade down South. He’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as they make WTF feel cheery and please keep sending your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Meanwhile spread the word to your friends and relations to embrace the blog. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

Last weekend, whilst Texas was beset by Hurricane Harvey and then a flood and all things biblical, whilst Texans watched their homes ruined and their possessions bobbing around the living room, whilst brave citizens climbed into dinghies and rowing boats and air boats to rescue their neighbours and their neighbours’ pets, whilst people died, the President of the United States was looking out for them. We know this because he took to Twitter regularly to tell us so. He seemed particularly excited about Harvey’s ferocity and the extent of the subsequent flood, gurgling with excitement like a schoolboy finally allowed to ride the meanest roller coaster ever. And he let us know that as well, tweeting comments of the “Ooh that’s bigly” variety in a fit of digital incontinence, the rectal equivalent of which would compel you to alert the Public Health Authorities. WTF found herself regretting that so many of the Carry On movies were dead because Carry On President would have them rolling in the aisles, Kenneth Williams as the hapless orange POTUS, Charles Hawtree as his sanctimonious Vice-President, Joan Sims as FLOTUS and Sid James as Chuck Schumer. Mitch McConnell could be played by a CGI tortoise. And the double-entendres would be just glorious as the elements did their worst. “Oh it’s the biggest one ever!”, “Hang on love, I’m coming!” and “Just hold on to my rudder.” Ooh Matron!

To cheer up the soaked, homeless Texans, the President continued his “Cor what a whopper” communications all weekend, as if taking personal credit for such historic carnage, interspersed with plugs for a book by a dodgy sheriff, a pardon for an even dodgier, racist sheriff, an attack on NAFTA, calls for the Mexican wall to be built immediately at taxpayers’ expense and an announcement of his forthcoming trip to Missouri where, he told us, he won “by a lot”. There is nothing more likely to console you as you perch precariously on your roof waiting for someone, anyone, to come and save you than the knowledge that Trump did well in Missouri last year. What Trump did not say, whether in a tweet or in a press release or at all, was how sorry he was for those who had died or who had lost friends or family, for the policeman who went to work to help others and drowned, for those who had no insurance and whose lives are ruined. Nothing. Nada. But hey! He won Missouri. By a lot. 

Even when he eventually appeared in Austin which, unlike Houston, did not flood, he still offered no sympathy, gave no succour. Instead he crowed at the size of the crowd “What a turnout!” and modelled a baseball cap on sale for $40 on his  re-election website. He later tweeted that he had seen the “horror & devastation at first hand”, when the nearest he got to running water was the bathroom on Air Force One. It was Wednesday in Missouri (which he won by a lot) when he read teleprompted expressions of sorrow for the dead and bereaved and Thursday to pledge $1m of his own money but only after celebrities and businesses got there first. This monstrous man has no soul, no empathy, no humanity, someone who uses a disaster to flog caps and boost his ego, someone who wants to cut taxes for billionaires whilst Texas lies devastated. The flood is a fitting metaphor for his Presidency – toxic and out of his depth. Bob Mueller – get a bloody move on.

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This week’s review of fashion flops features the stars who walked the Red Carpet at the Video Music Awards, the VMAs, in California. America needed a laugh this week and this lot certainly obliged. We start with hip hop artiste Cardi B   who wore something horrible to the VMAs with conical tits and a cape but not nearly as horrible as the thing she wore to the Mayweather – McGregor fight party the night before. 

This is ugly, with a faux-cardi (sorry) and encrusted minge. If Yogi Bear went to a fancy dress party dressed as a pole dancer, this is what he would look like.

To the VMAs themselves, starting with Joe Jonas wearing Dsquared.

He looks like an extra in one of those scenes in the sleazy Cuban nightclub in The Godfather 2. That moustache is an It’s Got to Go all on its own.

Actress Vanessa Hudgens, wearing Yanina Couture

Vanessa is wearing the lovechild of a lampshade and a crinoline.

Professional videographer and “life liver” (no, WTF does not know what means), Rory Kramer. 

Pillock. That is the mot juste. Pillock. He is ready to serve up burgers in a drive thru’. He has ill-matching sneakers and silly hair. Pillock. 

Model and actress, Paris Jackson (daughter of Michael), wearing Dior.

Those J’Adior panties and bra are more ubiquitous than body odour on a rush hour tube train and twice as nasty. They are not improved by nestling beneath a whimsical wisp of fabric adorned with tarot cards like Mystic Meg meets Mata Hari.

Jared Leto was there as one of the members of rock band Thirty Seconds to Mars.  Of course he is wearing Gucci.

Harry Potter the boy wizard in a Gucci couture cloak and woman’s blouse. It has now reached the point with Jared where a slap is the only response of all right-thinking people.

Singer Kesha, wearing Monsoori.

Kesha is dressed as a loo roll doll. That is bad enough but something very peculiar is happening in the chest area, like fluffy bunnies’ ears.

Rapper Nicki Minaj, wearing Vex Latex.

Barbie has a bad case of camel toe. Call for the Canesten!

Designer Jeremy Scott , presumably wearing himself, and model Jasmine Sanders wearing Moschino (Head designer, Jeremy Scott).

Jeremy is a gilded space-cowboy whilst Jasmine has come dressed as Raquel Welch in One Million Years BC.

Alternative hip hop artiste (no, WTF does not know what that is either), Lizzo.

Lizzo’s dress says “Truth Hurts”. You took the words right out of my mouth, love…. 

Finally, former model and current TV presenter Heidi Klum, wearing Peter Dundas. 

This is Heidi true to form, namely titsy, tawdry and tacky. The crotch cover is particularly offensive, like a crocheted coaster.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado Ben from Bromley, who is spooked by people unnecessarily invading his personal space in public. Only this week Ben was walking to the station to catch his morning train when he noticed a man walking in parallel step, as if choreographed on Strictly Come Dancing. Ben sped up only to find, to his intense annoyance, that the man similarly sped up and kept in step. Luckily Ben managed to dodge him on the train but the man doubtless did it to someone else at Moorgate. WTF would add that her pet hate on public transport is when she is reading her paper or her iPad only to find other people reading it as well. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as they make WTF feel cheery and please keep sending your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Meanwhile spread the word to your friends and relations to embrace the blog. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

Uber’s licence from Transport for London, the body regulating taxis and mini cabs, expires at the end of October. This week ten MPs wrote to TfL opposing any renewal and declaring Uber to be “an unfit and improper operator” which fails to protect passenger safety. They cited the alarming statistic that an (alleged) sexual assault by an Uber driver is reported every 11 days, something the company seems reluctant to deal with. The MPs also raised Uber’s treatment of its drivers, some of whom claim to earn only about £2 an hour after expenses. Uber insists its drivers are self-employed, despite the company imposing all manner of rules and penalties on them and maintains that the contract is between the driver and the passenger despite the fact that neither driver nor passenger agree or even discuss the fare, has no idea who the hell the other one is and it is Uber who is paid, not the driver. The matter is currently occupying the attention of the courts with m’learned Friends rubbing their hands with glee, perusing the new Porsche catalogues and pirouetting around Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

WTF’s own objections to Uber include both of the above matters, in particular the treatment of its workers common to global companies upon people needing a job. The gig economy is basically an excuse for big companies to make money out of people without the concomitant obligations of employing them. She also wishes to add the following charges to the indictment. First, most Uber drivers are crap and have no idea where they are going. They rely on their SatNav, causing them to stop suddenly, usually in the middle of the road and without any prior indication, to the great annoyance of other road users. Second, Uber pays neither tax nor VAT in this country, purporting to be a technology provider based abroad. WTF has a marked dislike of businesses which trade here but do not hand over tax. As she has remarked before, either pay up or piss off. Third, WTF has a great fondness for black cab drivers, who do know where they are going, having studied London roads for several years, and shelled out for their cab on the understanding that they would not have direct competition. Fourth, the said cab drivers have their fares regulated and imposed by TfL which makes them more expensive than Uber, particularly after 8 pm when the fares go up although the price of petrol remains the same. Uber on the other hand, being a global monolith, subsidises its losses of £2bn a year whilst London cabbies go bust. And fifth, Uber and the Tory Government were once cosier than lovers snuggling under the duvet. Uber’s chief lobbyist was godmother to one of David Cameron’s kids. No 10 officials and others vigorously lobbied the then Mayor, priapic windbag Boris Johnson. After May booted him out of office, George Osborne walked into a £650,000 a year, 48 days a year job with Black Rock, which has a massive stake in Uber. Not only did Uber get its licence but Johnson dropped a number of stringent requirements, like ensuring that its drivers spoke English. It all stinks worse than the giant fatberg currently blocking the sewers under Whitechapel. 

Of course, Uber is cheap – much cheaper than a black cab with its regulated fares and regulated drivers. But often things are cheap because the people supplying the services are cheap. So if you do not mind making rich companies even richer and sod the consequences, use Uber. Buy from Sports Direct. Or make a stand for standards. Your call.

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We start the review of the week’s fashion flops with actress Andrea Riseborough at the Fox TV party, wearing St Laurent. 

Andrea used to be dark haired and pale but has fallen into the clutches of a new stylist who needs a sharp talking-to and a new pair of glasses. Andrea’s hair has gone white and her skin is the same colour as her dress. The single sleeve resembles  a leg of ham on her shoulder, like a tiny Pamplona meat porter.

To the Toronto Film Festival and actress Diane Kruger, wearing Prabal Gurung.

This is just designer tinfoil wound randomly around Diane’s person and stapled together by unfortunates on an art therapy course. And that split is putting onlookers in fear of an imminent Minge Moment.

New York was bursting with celebs and fashionistas for New York Fashion Week.  Here is singer Liana Banks, wearing Maison Le Faux at its Show.

WTF does not even know what this is supposed to be but whatever it is, it looks like a giant bat undergoing a post-mortem.

The woman who defines pointless celebrity, Kim Kardashian, walked around New York City in her undies.

This falls squarely into the category of “that’s not even clothes”.  There needs to be more outfit, to whit something, anything, below the waist other than a pair of panties (giving new meaning to the old tune “Just a Thong at Twilight”) and black footless tights. And what’s with the Danaerys Targaryen hair?

To the Harper’s Bazaar ICONS Celebrate Carine Roitfeld shindig, a regular event during NYFW. First up, WTF bugbear and celebrity son Brooklyn Beckham.

He is not dressed for the occasion and looks entirely gormless. He could be taken for the lad delivering the ice sculptures. Why is he even there? Judging from his debut book of photographs, a baboon would have done better with a Box Brownie. 

Actor Jared Leto was there, making it a record four weeks in a row in this blog.  There will now be a moratorium on him. Of course he is wearing Gucci.

Those paying attention will recognise the lapels as the same ones adorning last week’s lairy check number. WTF might even have been able to forgive the Chinese wallpaper pattern were it not for the fact that the trousers are flowing over his embroidered slippers like an ink spilling from a bottle.

Motor racer Lewis Hamilton was also there, looking like a prat.

Here is a WTF rule. If you wear sunglasses indoors or in the dark, you look like a wazzock. In Lewis’ case, the wazzockry is only just beginning. From the neck, it is downhill all the way from the silk blouson to the buckled belt (are those dollar signs?) to the ripped jeans complete with bulging gear box. Wazzock.

And now two models wearing not nearly enough. First up, Anna Cleveland wearing who knows what. WARNING – TITS AHOY!

Anna resembles a particularly wistful ghost clad in used paper hankies.

And this is Leomie Anderson, wearing Versailles Boutique. WARNING! MORE TITS!

Leomie is gorgeous, but she seems to have been taken out of the freezer and is slowly defrosting.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is nominated by WTF of Islington who is appalled by US Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin. Mnuchin made $300m at Goldman Sachs before accepting his new role and has already distinguished himself by flying down to Forth Knox, Kentucky “to discuss gold reserves” on the day of the Total Eclipse (prime viewing point – Kentucky). If he was there to discuss gold reserves, why did the new Mrs Mnuchin go as well? The only thing she knows about gold is that she likes it. It has now emerged that Mnuchin also tried to schnorrer an Air Force plane to fly to Europe on his honeymoon (this is wife number three), citing “communication and security reasons”. Fortunately he was told to pay for his own trip. Greedy bastard. He’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF enjoys them enormously.  And don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

Politicians lie. They just do. Lawyers, who are generally regarded as lower than a snake’s belly, are grateful for politicians because otherwise they would the most reviled group in society rather than the second one. Sometimes politicians lie to get elected. Sometimes they lie because they do not expect to be elected, which presents a real problem if they do get elected because they then have to follow through. Not expecting to win the Brexit Referendum, Boris Johnson and pals drove around the UK in a Big Beautiful Bus emblazoned with the slogan “We send the EU £350 million a week – let’s fund our NHS instead.” They never expected to make good on that promise, any more than Donald Trump thought he would build a Big Beautiful Wall to keep out marauding drugs dealers, rapists and sundry bad hombres with Mexico footing the bill. 

But then the votes came in and Johnson and Trump had to produce the goods. Except there were no goods because the goods never existed. Of course, you cannot tell people that you lied to them because people do not like being told they were lied to, especially when they voted for you because you told them that the other lot were the liars. So what can you do?

In Trump’s case, you keep insisting that there will be a Wall, except that you salami slice the Mexico-will-pay bit, moving inexorably from Mexico will pay for the wall to Mexico will pay the wall “by other means” to “Oh hallo, Congress, please can you allocate me $20bn for the Wall?”. (Answer – no). Meanwhile, you shrink the Wall from a Big Beautiful Wall with Solar Panels to last week’s Presidential tweet, “The WALL, which is already under construction in the form of new renovation of old and existing fences and walls, will continue to be built”. So Building a Big Beautiful Wall becomes Patching the Fence, an advert for Lowe’s, the US version of Wickes. 

The same is true of the £350m. Even before the shock result last year, Sir David Norgrove, Head of the UK Statistics Authority, rubbished the figure and pointed out that £350m was gross and that roughly £200m is recouped in EU subsidies. After the shock result, its even more shocked proponents disowned their claim like a lovechild conceived in an extra-marital romp. In February this year, Johnson and everyone else previously aboard the Big Beautiful Bus voted down an Opposition amendment demanding an analysis of the impact of exiting the EU on the NHS. By then, the pledge had been also salami sliced so that, apparently, it had not meant £350m for the NHS at all. On Saturday, Johnson revived the figure in a 4,000 word opus of his vision for Brexit in the Daily Telegraph, headlined “Yes we will take back £350m from EU for the NHS”. The article  itself said “Once we have settled our accounts, we will take back control of roughly £350m per week….It would be a fine thing, as many of us have pointed out, if a lot of that money went on the NHS…” The article did not say the whole £350m would go to the NHS but it clearly suggested that Britain would be better off by £350m a week. A lot of £350m is a week is more than a lot of £150m a week. Sir David wrote to Johnson saying that he was “surprised and disappointed” to see this canard trotted out again. Weren’t we all? It has been in and out like a fiddler’s elbow – with the emphasis on “fiddle”. 

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We turn to our review of the week’s fashion failures, which all come from last week’s Emmy Awards in Los Angeles. First off, we have proper film star Jane Fonda, wearing Brandon Maxwell.

Jane is remarkable for 79, or indeed for any age, although there has clearly been some interference with the workings of nature. The dress, designed by the bloke who dresses Lady Gaga (which is hardly a recommendation, like being Donald Trump’s hairdresser) comes with its own bullfighter’s cape but WTF’s chief concern is the ridiculous hair, which started life as the tail on a Palomino pony.

Actress Carrie Coon (Fargo, Gone Girl), wearing Delpozo.

Not only is this very unflattering but she looks like a stick of mouldy candy floss.

More dismal Delpozo, this time on actress MacKenzie Davis (Halt and Catch Fire).

This is a lime green wraparound apron with pink shoes (tonally mismatched and just wrong) and does nothing for her. She looks like an ice lolly.

Actor Brandon Flynn (13 Reasons Why).

You do not need 13 Reasons Why this is bad. There is one – the crotch, which suffers from the phenomenon known as elephant vagina syndrome, first identified on designer Thom Browne. That crotch is unforgivable. If you need more Reasons, there are the ill fitting trews, the scruffy shoes and the badly tied tie. 

Actress Kathryn Hahn (Transparent), wearing vintage Courrèges.

She is making a splash in a Dalek shower curtain and sandals. Exterminate!

Actress Tracee Ellis Ross  (Black-ish) wearing Chanel.

Tracee looks like a Swarovski swan having a prolapse.

Actor Deon Cole (Black-ish) wearing tartan. LOTS of Tartan.

Last time WTF saw that much tartan was at the Edinburgh Tattoo. Deon is an ill-fitting, walking advertisement for Younger’s Beer.

Actress Debra Messing wearing Romona Keveza.

This is just a great big slithery aubergine with her head and neck poking out and quite, quite horrible.

Actress Ariel Winter (Modern Family, Batman), wearing Stephen Khalil.

Ariel explained that she normally shows boob so this time she thought she would show leg instead. The problem is that it might not be just her leg she is showing. If anyone ever asks you what genitalia curtains are, just show them this picture.

Finally, we have actor and drag queen RuPaul, wearing who knows what. WARNING – LIKELY OCULAR DAMAGE AHEAD!!!!

RuPaul has come dressed as a tiled hallway. Who knows why?

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado @Wringham (aka The Justified Sinner) who is scornful of racing driver Lewis Hamilton. Hamilton is a regular in the fashion fiascos section of this blog but now he has publicly embraced veganism to save the environment. He gave up red meat several years ago because of his (very reasonable) concerns about all the bovine farts adding to the global gases and more recently, fish and chicken have been ditched as well.

Lewis seems not to have noticed that Formula One is heavily reliant on fossil fuels (to be fair, technology has reduced the emissions over the past few years). The actual vroom-vroom-vroom around the circuit only accounts for about 0.3% of the sport’s carbon emissions. But there are the raw materials and the wind tunnels and the electricity and the computing and all sorts, not to mention the 160,000 km flown across the world every year by drivers and their entourages. What is more, one of Mercedes’ biggest sponsors is Pretonus, the Malyasian oil and gas giant which produces no emissions at all, does it? It is bad enough having to look at Hamilton but being forced to listen to him talk bollocks is just too much. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF values them like anything.  And don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

WTF loathes Nigel Farage. Because of Brexit. Because of UKIP. Because he trousers £80,000 a year plus generous expenses as a Member of the European Parliament, an institution he reviles and hardly ever attends. Because he is always on TV. Because his piss-poor radio show is on five days a week. Frankly, any one of these would suffice, let alone all of them.

And Farage keeps bad company. In 2012, he met Steve Bannon, the neocon who resembles a tramp, and then-Senator Jeff Sessions. Through Bannon, Farage met Trump and Trump’s mate Roger Stone, whom the FBI is currently pursuing for all manner of alleged dodginess and whose probity has been questioned this week by a House Committee enquiring into Russian interference in the 2016 Election. After Trump’s electoral triumph last November, Farage and Piers Morgan battled it out for prime position up the Presidential rectum. Farage won and was photographed in Trump’s golden elevator and touted by Trump (unsuccessfully) as the future UK Ambassador to Washington. In January, Farage told his radio listeners there was no link between the Russians and the hacked Clinton documents published by Julian Assange on Wikileaks to the great detriment of her campaign. Trump denies any link between his campaign and Russia or between his campaign and Assange, though Stone predicted a firestorm would befall Clinton even before her campaign knew it had been hacked. In March, Farage dined with Donald and Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner. Days later, he was seen emerging from the Ecuadorian Embassy in London, where Assange is holed up like an a white rat. Farage first claimed that he couldn’t remember why he had been there, but later claimed it had been to meet Assange for “journalistic reasons”. Smell something funny? Skunks would retch.

Earlier this month, Farage was in Germany to speak at a election rally for the far-right AFD party, which this weekend got 13.3% of the vote. The AFD hates Islam,  immigration and the EU so you can imagine how well Farage was received. On Monday, he was in Fairhope, Alabama to support Judge Joe Moore who was running for the Senate seat vacated by none other than Jeff Sessions. Moore is more toxic than Chernobyl. He thinks 9/11 was God’s punishment for the legalisation of sodomy and abortion. As a state judge, he denied a lesbian mother custody because “Homosexual behavior is crime against nature, an inherent evil, and an act so heinous that it defies one’s ability to describe it,” and because homosexuality makes for an “an unfit parent.” He objected to Keith Ellison taking his seat in Congress because as a Muslim, he would take the oath on the Koran. Given the assortment of fruitcakes in UKIP, including the nutter who thought the 2013/2014 floods were Divine Retribution for legalising gay marriage, Nigel was right at home in Fairhope and went down big with the crowd, railing against Big Business, Banks and Multinationals, the Liberal Media, people wanting to tear down statues, those blocking Trump’s agenda and “the enemy within”. WTF is particularly amused by Bannon’s and Farage’s rejection of Big Business. The former made a fortune at Goldman Sachs. The latter has often moaned how much money he gave up to go into politics from stockbroking. Lady Bracknell advised her nephew “Do not speak disrespectfully about Society, Algernon. Only those who cannot get into it do that”. In neo-con-land, the biggest decriers of banks and multinationals are the ones who made a ton of money from them.

So Farage is to be deplored not just for his pals in the UK but his pals abroad. As Aesop observed, “A man is known by the company he keeps”.  Indeed he is.

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We start our review of the week’s sartorial shockers with singer Mel B on the set of America’s Got Talent (she is a Judge), wearing Elia Nadi.

Mel is appearing in a production of Aladdin Goes Streetwalking. The whole thing is preposterous, from the badger’s bum hair to the crotch-high boots to the minge waterfall. WTF would like a rub a magic lamp and make Mel B disappear – for good.

Singer Shania Twain was a guest on the finale of AGT.

If a choirboy went to a fancy dress party as a packet of freshly-ground coffee, this is what he would look like. As for the fishnets and studded boots, WTF prefers not to speak of them.

To the iHeartRadio in London where we encounter singer Harry Styles wearing Gucci.

Gucci has copied Cezanne’s harlequin costume from Mardi Gras and has given Harry a clerical bib to go with it. He should do a duet with Shania. 

Singer Miley Cyrus was also in attendance.

Miley has not featured in the blog for some time but she has slipped back to her old ways in see-through jim-jams and wrap. Why is the top lined but not the crotch? Great sandals though.

Now to actress Katherine McPhee at the Grammy Museum, wearing Maria Medeiros.

Why does Katherine have a couple of coconuts plonked on her chest? Just plain weird.

This is actress Bella Thorne out and about in LA. She is in here a lot.

Bella looks like one of those unfortunates forced to rummage though bins, like Steve Bannon’s young companion. All that is a missing is a bottle of cheap cider….

Meet Ghanian-born comedian Michael Blackson (right), seen here with another comedian, a person going by the name of White Yardie.

Michael looks like a caterpillar, which has the merit of novelty and the demerit of being daft.

Next up, we have former Strictly Come Dancer, Ola Jordan at a charity event in London.

Charity beings at home, which is where Ola should have left this floral body stocking with plunging peekaboo and exposed bellybutton, patterned with decaying vine leaves.

Racing driver Lewis Hamilton is often seen on these pages but he has hit the buffers with this Missoni ensemble worn at Missoni’s Show at Milan Fashion Week.

And you thought Harry and Michael were bad? One word for Lewis. Prat. Two more. Fashion Victim. Three more. What the Fuck? 

Finally, here is hardy perennial, singer Mariah Carey out for dinner in LA with boyfriend and backing dancer, Brian Tanaka.

Mariah always has to be supported because she insists on tottering about in towering heels so it falls to Brian to prop her up as she descends the steps in platform trotters and a dress, not that it is a dress, that looks as if it has simply given up. The indentations from those metal pins must have lingered for days afterwards. WTF also fears for Brian’s back….

This week’s It’s Got To Go was prompted by complaints from Steve of Muswell Hill and Dan of Hertfordshire, both of whom were pissed off by aspects of the Labour Party Conference this week. Steve and Dan (like WTF) were stunned by the omission of any discussion of Brexit in Corbyn’s speech (which WTF thought was otherwise his best to date). It is only the most important issue this country has faced in decades. How can you talk about being Prime Minister without setting out your vision for how it will work? Dan (like WTF) was also angered by the fact that white Christian men dismissed anti-semitism in the Party on the basis that they themselves had never encountered it. Well, there’s a surprise. It is like a man saying he has never had period pains. Indeed, trade union leader Len McCluskey went further and said that anti-Semitism was invented by those seeking to undermine Corbyn. It’s-not-happening is not the basis of getting to grips with these major problems, lads. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF values them like anything.  And don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers, 

As Claudius remarked in Hamlet, “Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions”. Claudius must have had Theresa May in mind, although in her case, sorrows have come in armies the size of Russia’s and China’s combined. First she called a General Election that wiped out her majority, the worst public decision since Prince Oberyn Martell fannied about in his trial by combat against Ser Gregor in Game of Thrones and got his skull crushed and his eyes popped out. Then on Wednesday she made the speech from hell to the Tory Party Conference in Manchester. A “prankster” (read “tosspot” and as funny as an outbreak of haemorrhoids) interrupted her speech to hand her a P45, allegedly on behalf of Boris Johnson. She then had a sustained fit of coughing last seen when Mimi pegs out in Act Four of La Bohème. And the backdrop, bearing the words “Building A Country That Works For Everyone”, which had held up all week despite the gallons of guff and hot air emanating from the podium, suddenly succumbed to Brewer’s Droop with letters falling gently to ground like autumn leaves. One can but be thankful that the “o” stayed up in “Country” .

Mrs Maybe soldiered on in that dully determined way of hers. To her credit, she did not run away or have an attack of the vapours. But it did nothing to improve her image as a dead duck quacking. Her interviews throughout the week were punctured with braying laughter, faux-cheeriness and an insistence that her party was united, which everyone knew to be Fake News. Even had her speech been delivered in a voice as mellifluous as a BBC newsreader, it would still have been more uninspiring than a glass of prune juice. The electorate do not like her. Her Party do not trust her. The  Brexiteers suspect her of a sell-out. Her Cabinet is sharpening the knives. And now, a former Chair of the Party is openly calling for her to fall on her sword.  In short, it has all gone totally tits up.

But you can say this for Mrs Maybe. She is all that stands between us and bloated buffoon Boris Johnson, a man as fit to be our chief diplomat as Donald Trump is to man the phone for the Samaritans. On Sunday, Johnson again undercut the Prime Minister by setting out his own “red lines” for Brexit, prompting further calls for his dismissal. On Tuesday, he made a stirring Conference speech urging Britain to embrace leaving the EU and to “Let the Lion Roar”. It was more Katy Perry than Winston Churchill but it seems to go down well in the Hall, only for Boris to blot his copybook within hours by referring to Sirte in Libya as the next Dubai, adding “The only thing they’ve got to do is clear the dead bodies away and then we’ll be there.” The man is a liar, an oaf and a liability. But who else is there in the oasis of mediocrity and incompetence that is today’s Tory Government? If Mrs Maybe looks like the best option, you know that we are all doomed. Maybe that “o” dropping out of country would have been appropriate after all……

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Let us begin our perusal of the week’s preposterous clothing, starting with last week’s effort by a Dior-clad Melania Trump in Toronto, hobnobbing with Prince Harry at the Invictus Games.

Dior has achieved the impossible and made Melania look chubby. Which she is not. So was this a diplomatic attempt to curry favour with HRH by donning the deer-stalking clobber so beloved by his father and brother? All she needed was the matching cap.

Here we are in New York and actress Zosia Mamet at the launch of the Leopard, Leopard Pop-Up Shop.

Zosia has turned The Jungle Book into a one-woman show. And it is bad.

To Paris Fashion Week and celebrity son  Jaden Smith wearing Louis Vuitton.

He looks like a logo’ed knob. That is all there is to say about Jaden. Except “just go away”. 

Still in Paris, we have model  Karlie Kloss wearing an Adam Selman suit and Robert Clergerie boots.

Karlie is a leggy grasshopper in pyjamas. It may be the angle but she seems to have the knobbliest knees in the history of patellae. And why show off your bra when there is so little in it to show?

Next we have supermodel-as-was Claudia Schiffer, wearing Acquazurra.

This foul concoction is what you get when you throw an Austrian blind, a bathmat and a fishing net into a washing machine with a needle and thread. Claudia designed the boots. As Readers will know, WTF hates a peep-toe boot almost above all things. Especially these ones…

During the week, WTF aficionado Pete Clark, alias @creativeblock_, waxed wroth about Chanel’s new collection and in particular, their plastic boots seen on the runway as modelled by 16-year-old  Kaia Gerber.

That stomach is not so much flat as concave, the outfit is a nonsense and the makeup is tragic. But the boots! What the fuck are those boots? They are like the plastic sheaths you are given in department stores and museums to wrap your sodden brolly and avoid dripping everywhere. However, the image that struck WTF was that of Mark Addy in The Full Monty sitting in his shed wrapped in cling film in an effort to lose weight.

Still in Paris, this is Swedish fashion blogger BryanBoy, wearing Louis Vuitton at Miu Miu’s show.

More ridiculous boots. Those boots are amongst the silliest boots ever in the history of ever. If a member of Hitler Youth went to a fancy dress party dressed as a bumble bee, this is what he would look like.

Finally, this is Little Mix singer Leigh-Anne Pinnock at her birthday party in London, wearing something foul of her own design. 

Leigh-Anne Pillock more like. You are wearing no knickers and a bra-and-skirt combo held together with garden twine. You are also wearing a giant yellow thing on top, like the macs in Singin’ In The Rain. Don’t give up your day job, love. Really.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado Nicola from Fulham who is exercised about emails with ‘donotreply’ addresses. Nicola asks “how frustrating are they?  They are the snottiest things to receive, frequently hectoring but giving me no chance to respond”. Nicola reports that the other day she received a chastising email from her gym accusing her of not having attended a class she had booked (although, in fact, she had been here). However, she could not reply and by the time she returns to the gym, if ever she does, the moment will have passed. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF values them like anything.  And don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

WTF never knew that onanism with an ornamental plant was an actual thing, whether with or without others present. It certainly gives a new meaning to the word tosspot. Be that as it may, it is more evidence that Harvey Weinstein is a pig who should probably be in jail and should certainly be cast out of public life, a serial sex pest who harassed and sexually assaulted (and allegedly raped) women. Now we know his MO. Get a young woman up to your hotel suite on some pretext. Expose your fat, hairy body and a stiff schlong. Position yourself between the intimidated woman and the exit whilst demanding that she massage you or  watch you shower or pleasure you. Make it clear that a refusal will damage her career. If she tries to leave, chase her round the room, balls bouncing. Or she may agree because she is overwhelmed or does not think she can overpower your 6 foot, 300 lb. frame or is frightened for her career. Either way, for you it is not about sex but about power and humiliation. Weinstein liked humiliating people, whether by masturbating in front of women in private or by shouting and screaming at men in public. Now he is the one left humiliated – exposed by his accusers, abandoned by his wife, shunned by his colleagues, sacked by his company and denounced by one and all.  The grimmest joke is that the man now putting the whine into Weinstein insists that he ‘respects women’. Of course he doesn’t. He was just exercising his film mogul’s droit de seigneur. 

There has been a nauseating outbreak of faux-outrage on all sides, a political game of ‘your sex pest is worse than our sex pest’. The Republicans attacked the Democrats and their thespian supporters for not rushing to condemn Weinstein. Donna Karan indicated that women might have asked for it by the way they dress (and then swiftly recanted). The Clintons and the Obamas were certainly far too slow to speak out, as were some major stars and Bill Clinton is undoubtedly  as sleazy as fuck. But the complaints against them came from the same Republicans who staunchly defended Roger Ailes and Bill O’Reilly at Fox News against very similar allegations, the same Republicans whose President laughingly confessed on tape to sexually assaulting women and as regards whom 15 women have gone public. Donald Trump Jr, that boil on the bum of society, mocked Hillary Clinton’s links to Weinstein, despite his own father’s revolting conduct. One hardly knew whom to despise first.

But it was not just what did the Clintons and the Obamas know and when did they know it. Many people obviously did know about Weinstein. The assistants who set up the hotel meetings. The Ray Donovan types who hushed it up.  The Hollywood moguls and major movie stars who shrugged it off as ‘well, that’s Harvey’. The journalists who traded their silence about Weinstein in exchange for juicy stories about someone else. The lawyers who negotiated the pay-offs and the company officials who authorised them – in Weinstein’s case, eight of them. Eight! But still he carried on running the companies and everyone let him carry on.  Just as Fox News settled the claims against Ailes and O’Reilly. The industry regards women as commodities who are only there to flash their bits. It takes real guts to be a whistleblower in any workplace but even more where the giant corporations and the multi-millionaires have the means, the contacts and the power to crush troublemakers or to buy their silence, knowing who is deemed more valuable to the organisation. The first women to speak out this week opened the doors for others to do so. But to blame these women for having stayed silent for so long is just one more assault on them in a La La Land where sexism is rife, dinosaur are still in charge and many prefer to look the other way and cash the cheques.

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We start our review of the week’s atrocious attire at a Royal Wedding in Belgrade last Saturday. WTF loves a Royal Wedding, even where the Royals in question are no longer occupying a throne. Remember Prince Ernst of Hanover’s terrible trousers? Well here is another stinker, as worn by Danica Marikovic at her wedding to Prince Philip of Serbia. The bride is wearing Roksanda Illinic.

Love the crowns but that mishmash of a hospital gown and a sumo wrestler’s kimono is by Roksanda Illinic? Seriously? It simply does not fit anywhere, particularly around the chest, as this picture of the happy couple amply demonstrates.

Here is actress Ruth Wilson at the London Film Festival, wearing Dior.

Yes, those giant Dior panties are back again. Will they never go away? The sweater is cute but the skirt is just a kiddies’ shower curtain with a zip.

And now some shocking super-shockers from the BET Hip Hop Awards in Miami Beach, starting with chart-topping rapper Cardi B, wearing Lauren DeWitt.

This is not so much Lauren DeWitt as Lauren HalfWitt, not to mention Cardi HalfNipple. Plastic protuberances pretending to be tits, genitalia curtains, it is all there. Cardi B used to be an exotic dancer and sadly she is still dressing like one.

Next up, we have lyricist and singer Jazz Anderson, wearing Ashton Michael.

The pink is marking Breast Cancer Awareness, which is Good. But the combat jacket and frayed Robinson Crusoe trousers are Bad. Very Bad.

Nearly as bad as that completely baffling crotch, the female equivalent of elephant vagina syndrome as pioneered by designer Thom Browne.

Meet a rapper called Plies.

WTF has a sneaking admiration for the coat. But not when it is worn with that hat and without a shirt. And this is yet another example of terrible men’s trousers – these ones are folding everywhere with more angles than a Jenga Tower. 

Two hip hop artistes hit the Red Carpet in the same TLZ L’FEMME skirt. Well, I say skirt. First there was  Brianna Perry.

And then there was Premadonna in a white version with black lacing and $10,000 St Laurent boots.

That is not a skirt. That is an assortment of large laundry labels tied together with string. And just think of the indentations….

And finally we have a person called Keyshia Ka’oir, the fiancée of rapper Gucci Mane.  She is “wearing” Gucci and the same St Laurent boots. Careful now. You thought Brianna and Premadonna were bad? Wait until you clock this one….

For a Plus One, she seems a trifle underdressed. Why would you wear a chain mail bodysuit? Meanwhile, WTF is going to take a punt here and suggest that those tits are not natural. In fact they are the most unnatural-looking tits she has seen for quite a while, like a pair of Puerto Rican maracas separated from their handles.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from Martyn from Isleworth, West London, who is most exercised about Theresa May’s Vivienne Westwood jacket. 

Martyn’s point is that the jacket is a metaphor for the woman herself – confused and ill-fitting. It is as if she could not decide what shade to wear and so wore this Joseph-and-his-jacket-of-many-tweedy-colours so as to avoid making a decision. WTF agrees and would add that wearing Vivienne Westwood or those saucy shoes May favours or both is her way of trying to tell us that she may seem stupefyingly dull but actually she has this fun, wild side. Except that we know she doesn’t. And this jacket has Got To Go. 

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF values them like anything.  And don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

 Hallo Readers, 

When Donald J Trump was elected President, some people still hoped for a Damascene conversion to something more thoughtful, more measured, less mendacious, that he would be guided by the knowledge, wisdom and experience of his advisers. Yes, they were really that stupid. Of course, there was no Damascene conversion. Trump has not even flown over the road to Damascus on his way to another weekend of golf. And the morons and bigots who voted for him would not want it any other way. As Barry White sang, “Don’t go changing….I love you just the way you are”. They love him for being a narcissist devoid of compassion, a bully and a pathological liar.

On 4 October, four US soldiers were killed in Niger. As Commander in Chief, a President, any President, is required to write or phone or meet Gold Star Families, to thank them for the service and bravery of their loved one and to say a few words of comfort. But this bloated, draft-dodging braggart, a man who boasted that his personal Vietnam had been in avoiding the clap, did not contact the families or even refer to them in his daily tsunami of tweets. On Monday he was asked why, at which point he did what he always does. He made it all about him and he lied. He said he had written letters that weekend which were, or shortly would be, in the post and would call when it was appropriate   He said Obama had not telephoned Gold Star Families whereas he, Trump, always both wrote and telephoned. before admitting that he did not actually know what past Presidents had done. He then told us how upsetting these phone calls were for him. Who knew talking to bereaved families could be so hard? 

On Tuesday, Trump called Myeshia Johnson, the pregnant widow of Sgt La David Johnson, whilst she was in a car taking her, her two children, her husband’s mother Cowanda Jones-Johnson and a family friend, Rep Frederica Wilson, to Miami airport to meet the coffin. On Wednesday, Rep. Wilson publicly criticised that call. She said Trump had told Mrs Johnson “..that’s what he signed up for but I guess it hurts anyway”. Even worse, he had not mentioned Sgt Johnson by name. The Cretin-in-Chief immediately accused the “Democrat Congresswoman” of “fabricating” her account. Rep Wilson stood by her story, which was confirmed by Mrs Jones-Johnson and by another passenger in the car. Trump again denied it, claiming he had “a very nice conversation” with “the woman, the wife”, probably because he had no fucking idea what her name was. Only Trump could claim to have had “a very nice conversation’ with a sobbing widow on her way to receive her husband’s coffin, but then this is the man who told homeless Puerto Ricans to “have a good time” and threw paper towels at them like chucking fish to seals at feeding time.

We now know Trump did refer to Sgt Johnson as “your guy” and not by his name. This was confirmed by Comical Ali in drag, Sarah Sanders. We know that he said, “he knew what he signed up for”. This was confirmed by General Kelly, who was supposed to be the “proof” that this was not said. Rep. Wilson and Mrs Jones-Johnson were therefore not lying but no one will ever apologise to them. Instead Trump, Sanders, Kelly and the rabid Trumpers attacked her for “politicising” the call. Kelly, who is now Trump’s gatekeeper, said he was stunned by “that woman” reporting on a private conversation between the President and a young wife (in which case, why was he listening to it and did Mrs Johnson know he was?) and that Trump had tried to comfort the family “in the best way he could”. (In other words, Trump had completely screwed it up). The point is not that Rep Wilson listened to the conversation and then talked about it. The point is that Trump lied about Obama’s past practice to cover his own dereliction of duty and then lied about Rep Wilson and, by implication, about Mrs Jones-Johnson, to cover up the inadequacy of his call. (He has not contacted every Gold Star family either – another lie). Do you think Trump and Kelly would have been outraged if Rep Wilson had praised his warmth and compassion during that call?

Attacking Gold Star families is getting to be a bit of a habit. And what do Rep Wilson, Mrs Jones-Johnson and the Muslim family Gazir and Ghazala Khan whom Trump attacked last year all have in common? They are not white.  It is a wonder Trump could restrain himself from using the word “uppity”.

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Let us start our review of the week’s clothing crapulence with singer Paloma Faith at the Q Awards in London.

We haven’t seen Paloma on these pages for quite a while but this horror is more than worthy of inclusion. Why would a grown woman want to go out and about dressed as a stick of rock? And where are her feet?

But Readers! That is not even the worst of it. She is wearing gold lip rings.

Some of us who have heard Paloma warbling away over the years might well have wanted her to to keep quiet. But not by stapling her lips together, which is just horrible.

To the AmFAR gala in Los Angeles and artist Romero Britto. His suit is very shiny.

WTF does not like a shiny suit, especially when it is worn with ill-fitting trousers with some unfortunate colour shading in the crotch area, suggesting leakage. And those bejewelled sneakers!

Next up, we have singer Rihanna wearing items from her new range, Fenty x Puma.

The top half of this ensemble is inspired by a Scottish serving wench from Braveheart whilst the bottom half is a homage to the historic moment when Neil Armstrong first set foot on the moon. All Rihanna needs is an upturned fishbowl on her head to complete the look…..

We call in at the at the Elle Women in Hollywood Awards and meet actress Juliette Lewis wearing Andreas Kronthaler for Vivienne Westwood.

This is the lovechild of a Spanish Flamenco dancer and a Christmas Bacofoil Centurion. Olé!

Actress Kristen Stewart was also Elle’s guest, wearing Antonio Beradi instead of her usual Chanel.

Love the shoes. Quite like the trousers. Could even have lived with the bralet. But that jacket is an It’s Got To Go all on its own with the ubiquitous cold-shoulder that is not actually bare but held together by a pair of old tights.

Actress Nicole Kidman accompanied her husband singer Keith Urban to the CMT Artists Awards in Nashville,  wearing Versace.

Here is a WTF rule. No one looks good in vaginal pink velvet, not even when the dress is nicer than this one. 

Finally, to the TIDAL Benefit in Los Angeles where we encounter rapper Remy Ma, wearing a Jennifer Le fur jacket and Fendi furri bootees. Oh, and her underwear…

Fur has come back as an actual thing after years in the fashion wilderness. WTF confesses to having hung on to her late mother’s mink coat from the 1970’s which she wore to the funeral by way of homage (plus it was a very cold day). But the point of fur is to keep you warm, not to wear it with everything else hanging out and stupid bootees like a polar bear’s paws.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado Sue Peters, who has raised her pet hate, namely the use of adjectives as nouns, such as `My Bad` or`Feed my Funny` (used by the BBC) or `Feed your happy` which has its own website or even ‘Find my Happy’.  It’s bollocks. It’s offensive. It’s twee. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF values them like anything.  And don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers, 

At the start of 2017, Jared O’Mara was a 35-year-old, Ed Sheeran lookalikey who ran a nightclub in Sheffield called West Street Live. WTF’s advice is to stay away for reasons that will become apparent as you read on. O’Mara was born with cerebral palsy, got a First in Journalism at Staffordshire University and has creditably spent years campaigning to help those with disabilities. Then in May, without warning, Theresa May called her disastrous General Election which caused a problem for the Sheffield Hallam CLP as it had no candidate and had to find one in a hurry. They chose O’Mara, seemingly without a competitive interview, and he fought the campaign on a platform of pro Corbyn, anti-austerity and help for disabilities. To everyone’s amazement, the sitting MP and former Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg lost his seat and on 9 June, O’Mara was suddenly Jared O’Mara MP. It is fair to say that his performance has been undistinguished. He is yet to make his Maiden Speech, has asked only six written Parliamentary Questions but he was appointed to the Women and Equalities Committee.

And then it all went tits up.  A right-wing website unearthed remarks O’Mara had made on Facebook over a decade ago, showing him to be a seriously nasty young man. Gays were referred to as ‘fudge-packers’ and ‘poofters’. He disparaged fat people, fantasised about an orgy with Girls Aloud (minus, for some reason, Sarah Harding), and expressed his dislike of singer Jamie Cullen by expressing the wish that he (Jamie) would be sodomised ‘with his own piano so that he died of a sore arse’. The Labour Party dithered whilst O’Mara resigned from the Women and Equalities Committee and apologised for his remarks, saying that had made them as a young man at a difficult time in his life and now understood that they were very offensive. We have all made comments we regret, but O’Mara seems to have stockpiled them for a rainy day. And now it is pissing down.

Worse was to come. Sophie Evans, 25, described how she had met O’Mara on a dating site but did not go out with him. When he later saw her at his club, he told her, in front of her friends, “I wouldn’t touch you with a manky woman’s cock, you ugly bitch”. This was in March 2017, only three months before becoming her MP. Then Liz Aspden, 42, alleged that O’Mara had stood by and smirked as bouncers threw her out of his nightclub (on his orders) giving her a black eye. The next day, Labour suspended O’Mara after yet more old comments appeared, including a reference to women as ‘sexy little slags’, to Spaniards as ‘dagos’ and to Danes as ‘pig-fuckers’. What a pity that O’Mara is (for now) a Labour MP. With those views about foreigners, he would fit right in at Boris Johnson’s Foreign Office.

O’Mara, who denies the recent allegations, maintains that he has ‘been on a journey’ since his 20s. If Ms Evans and Ms Aspden are telling the truth, it seems that his journey ended well before he had reached his destination. His comments from ten years back could have been forgiven had there been some evidence that he had actually changed. But if the new allegations are correct, he has not changed at all and the people of Sheffield Hallam deserve better. Much better. His presence on the Women and Equalities Committee was like Mike Pence becoming trustee of an Abortion Charity. It is time for O’Mara to restart his journey and travel far, far away from Westminster and into the obscurity where he so clearly belongs.

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We start our review of the week’s ghoulish garb with Foreign Secretary, Boris Johnson of whom we spoke earlier.

No, sorry, we have all had enough of this sorry slob. His politics are quite bad enough but he could at least try and look the part of Foreign Secretary, even if he does not behave like one. The hair! The collar with rampant wingitis! The ridiculous trousers! WTF has seen better dressed scarecrows.

Here is a newcomer to these pages, actress Lake Bell, wearing Rosie Assoulin.

To be frank, Rosie Assoulin is taking the piss as she has put the lovely Lake into a scarlet shopping bag.

This is singer Kelly Rowland wearing George Chakra couture at the Instyle Awards.

When did Kinky Bride become an actual thing? WFF is baffled. Baffled.

The same event saw stylist Petra Flannery wearing Valentino.

Is there was ever a case of Physician Heal Thyself, as Jesus was wont to remark, this is it, a disturbing mix of little girlie frock and faux bra that is just downright pervy, Shirley Temple goes streetwalking in sassy sandals.

To New York and actress Amy Sedaris, out and about in a very frothy concoction.

Amy looks like an exploded geranium and that wide-legged stance could best be described as unfortunate….

Now we have singer and celebrity hair stylist Jesse Montana, wearing some truly terrible Bieber-like trousers at the Make A Wish Gala.

Either Jesse is hung like a giant stallion or those trousers are just plain stupid. That crotch is not so much dropped as collapsed.  If WTF made a wish, it would be that she never had to see Jesse or his trouser again.

Meet TV Presenter Dr Gillian McKeith turned at a film premiere in London last night wearing this thing by Alisa Vaseghi.

When did it become alright for ladies of a certain age to go about dressed like this? Or, for that matter, anyone? Gillian sprang to fame examining faecal matter on TV health programmes. Now she is wearing it.

Finally, she is back! Yes, we have singer Rita Ora wearing Burberry.

Burberry used to be the uniform of the CHAV, defined in the dictionary as a “young lower-class person typified by brash and loutish behaviour”. Then Christopher Bailey took over and it got all poncy and pricy. If you want this absurdity, do not bother paying ££££££££ for it. WTF has  discovered a fancy dress shop in Byker, Newcastle (birthplace of Cheryl Tweedy-Cole-Fernandez-Versini-Cheryl, or whatever her name is these days) called Make Believe where you can hire this “Chavette” outfit for only £27 50. And you get a matching bag!

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes (quite separately) from WTF aficionados Pete Clark, Andrew Purcell and Annette about these “thong jeans” by Japanese designer Thibaut. They sound slightly better in French, where they are referred to as “le jean-string”. They are, without question, the stupidest things ever in the history of ever, although not quite as offensive as the scrote tote, (those who saw it still bear the mental scars). Here we go. Brace yourselves …

And the rear…

Like denim ropes anchoring a flagpole. What nonsense is this? The only benefit of these jeans is that if you were to be caught short, you could relieve yourself from, er, front or back bottom with minimum fuss.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF values them like anything.  And don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good.

Hallo Readers,

Last week, we had allegations against Labour MP Javed O’Mara who was suspended for all manner of discriminatory comments and yobbery. This week it got much, much worse. Bex Bailey, a respected Labour activist, complained that she had been raped by a Party colleague in 2011. When she told a Party official, she was warned not to report it. 36 Tory MPs were accused of all sorts in a leaked Spreadsheet of Shame, most names tantalisingly redacted and the rest freely available on Twitter. The Defence Secretary resigned, purportedly for putting his hand on a female journalist’s knee 15 years ago. But last night, there was even more. Labour suspended Kelvin Hopkins MP, 76, following an allegation of sexual assault on a woman young enough to be his granddaughter. Then we learned, to the surprise of absolutely no-one, that Sir Michael Fallon had been forced to resign after more allegations of seedy, sexist behaviour. We were surprised to learn that the complaints were made by his Cabinet colleague Andrea Leadsom, who told the Prime Minister that six years earlier, Fallon had made lewd comments to her, put his arm around around her and had also behaved badly to, and about, other women. Given that May had just told the Commons that she would weed out Ministers who behaved in this way, some may feel that Leadsom was right to report him now, but she will cop it big time nonetheless.

In a twist worthy of House of Cards, the Chief Whip Gavin Williamson, who negotiated Fallon’s exit, succeeded him as Defence Secretary, despite never having held Ministerial Office. But then Williamson not only knows where the bodies are buried, but was also Witch Finder General and Gravedigger-in-Chief. His list includes Deputy PM Damian Green, who allegedly subscribed to an adulterers’ website (which he denies). Since then, a young woman journalist has accused him of putting his hand on her knee; he claims he thought it was the tablecloth. Michael Garnier sent his female PA to buy sex toys. Stephen Crabb has “inappropriate relations with women”. Crabb, a ‘devout Christian’, resigned as a Minister last year for sexting, and admits to have been at it again, making outrageous remarks to a women he was interviewing for a job and then texting her to tell her he would like to have sex with her. Mrs Crabb must be thrilled. What a catch. A wealth of unnamed MPs were said to be “inappropriate” or “handsy” with women or men and sometimes with both. Some on that list may have been unfairly accused (several have outed themselves and protested their innocence, like Rory Stewart) and the authors of the list are unknown. However, that still leaves some important men, often pissed on subsidised alcohol, in London during the week away from their wife or partner and possessed of a pronounced sense of entitlement. As Isabella put it in Measure for Measure: “Man, proud man, dressed in a little brief authority, most ignorant of what he’s most assured”. To date, no Tory MP has been suspended, although there seems to be plenty of grounds to do so in some cases.

Oddly, some on the Spreadsheet of Shame are chastised for consensual workplace relationships, including Home Secretary Amber Rudd, who, like her partner, is  single. Another female, married, Minister is accused of “fornicating”, for God’s sake, as if we were living in 17th Century Salem. One (male) MP is said to like sex whilst wearing women’s perfume. Others had gay sex. So what? It does a major disservice to those harassed or sexually assaulted to lump the perpetrators together with people in a genuine relationship, whether straight or gay. 

Inevitably, some MPs have expressed outrage at what they term misplaced political correctness and complain that men are no longer able to flirt. Flirt! As if leering at women and handling them like meat is flirting. These arrogant little men – in all parties – pontificate on others’  behaviour but consider themselves free to lay hands on, or to proposition, women (and men) who are, in their view, there to be the subject of crude, sexual “banter’, to be ogled or pawed or badgered into bed and then bought off when they complain about it. When he resigned, Fallon invoked the Weinstein defence, namely that things used to be different. They were but only because people were too scared to speak out, to be dismissed as fantasists or liars and quietly got rid of. And with good reason. This week the White House Press Secretary said that the women who had accused Trump of molesting them were all “liars”. This week, the Daily Mail, the UK version of Fox News, launched a vile attack on Kate Maltby for making harassment allegations against Damian Green, painting her as an opportunist seeking to launch her political career. Colleagues are already smearing Leadsom for speaking out and are furious with her for rocking the boat. This week, successful journalists like Anne Robinson, Jan Moir and Sarah Vine mocked women for not “manning up”. But people should not have to speak up about being groped, harassed or assaulted. They should be able to do their job or meet or interview an MP without being groped or harassed or assaulted. Here are some words for those affronted, handsy, victimised, MPs to reflect upon. Respect. Dignity. Professionalism. Self-restraint. Equality. Keep your hands to yourself. The days of droit de seigneur are at an end. Get over it or get the hell out.

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This week was Halloween. When you survey the week’s sartorial shockers, you will see that it was hard to tell who was in costume and who was not, starting with singer Ellie Goulding at the Bulgari Party in New York, wearing Redemption.

Ellie looks like a bat bedecked in Bulgari diamonds.

Still in New York, we meet another bat, French actress Adèle Exarchopoulos wearing Louis Vuitton at a Louis Vuitton event.

What is it with this bat thing? Did you know that Melbourne, Australia was once called Batmania? Maybe someone from Melbourne now works for LV. Or maybe the design team at LV has gone stark, staring, mad. WTF is voting for option two. Adèle looks miserable as hell and understandably so.

And here is actress Jennifer Connelly, also wearing Louis Vuitton. She always does as she is one of LV’s muses.

Jennifer is moonlighting in a Bavarian Bierkeller. Ja! WTF feels to compelled to criticise the fake tan, a shade that should now be known as Trumporange.

Still in New York, we go to the 2017 Innovator Awards to find supermodel Naomi Campbell, wearing Jean-Paul Gaultier.

One sleeve is bad enough, but one leg as well? Even Naomi cannot make this work. And at first sight, it looks as if she has a giant pimple on her nose.

No. Just no.

Another guest was dancer/choreographer Ryan Heffington, wearing a most preposterous ensemble.

Ryan is wearing a patterned shirt and giant matching trewsies with one of the most disturbing crotches WTF has ever seen, like a massive codpiece.  

We cross the States to Hollywood and the Latin American Music Awards where we encounter singer Alejandra Guzmán.

The skirt and train make her look like a contortionist standing with her trunk twisted 90 degrees to face the camera. In case you are wondering, illusion panels are holding the thing together with a zip up the back. Just terribly, terribly, terrible.

We conclude at the Pride of Britain Awards in London with McFly singer Tom Fletcher and his wife Giovanna. Giovanna looks lovely. Tom, on the other hand, does not.

There has been some rascal suiting in the blog over the years but this is bad. Tom’s jacket is squeezing him tighter than a boa constrictor’s cuddle and is at least two sizes too small, the trousers are decidedly snug and the shirt is an affront on its own, let alone when paired with the suit. The patterns remind WTF of a clown about to squirt water in your eye.

Hallo Readers,

There are many reasons to despise Boris Johnson. His lies. His Brexit lies. His lack of conscience. His betrayal of wives, mistresses, colleagues. His bluster. His failure to master his brief. But Johnson has now plumbed new depths with his negligence and his arrogance exposing a British woman to the risk of years in an Iranian prison, yet refusing to apologise. Worse still, he is unsackable – and he knows it.

Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe lived, and please God, will again live, in Hampstead, North London, with her husband Richard and their daughter Gabriella, now aged three. He is an accountant, she works as a project manager for the charitable arm of Thomson Reuters. On 16 March 2016, Nazanin, who has dual British and Iranian nationality, took Gabriella to visit her parents for the Iranian New Year. On 3 April 2016, she was arrested, spending most of the next nine months in solitary confinement. Gabriella is still with Nazanin’s parents and has been in Iran for so long that she has forgotten all her English, whilst Richard’s Farsi is less than fluent, making phone calls difficult. In September 2016, Nazanin was sentenced to five years in prison for “allegedly plotting to topple the Iranian regime”, after a “trial” without legal representation or any details about the charges against her.

In the 14 months since taking office, Johnson refused to meet Richard, even in the company of his MP, Tulip Siddiq, although yesterday he graciously changed his mind. As Foreign Secretary, Johnson was clearly briefed that Nazanin had worked for the BBC Media Action’s International charitable project between 2009-2010, which was problematic because the Iranian Government was enraged that the BBC had offered training courses to Iranian journalists, some of whom have been threatened or incarcerated. It was therefore an act of folly for him to tell a Foreign Affairs Committee last week that “If you look at what Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe was doing, she was simply teaching people journalism as I understand it, at the very limit”, not so much adding fuel to the fire as driving an oil tanker into it. After the ensuing uproar, Johnson grudgingly telephoned his Iranian counterpart to say he had been “misrepresented”, but the damage had been done. On Saturday, Nazanin was dragged back to court where Johnson’s comments were cited as proof that she had been engaged in “propaganda against the regime”, which could result in her sentence being doubled.

Any politician, any decent human being, who had wrought such havoc would immediately have apologised to Nazanin and Richard and to Parliament and grovelled to the Iranian Government. But Johnson is far more interested in himself than in a innocent woman, a bereft husband and a little girl separated from both her parents. On Tuesday, he turned up in the Commons, denied all responsibility for what had happened and blamed his critics for “politicising” the issue before eventually conceding that “my words could have clearer”, adding “I’m sorry if any words of mine have been so taken out of context and so misconstrued to cause anxiety to Nazanin’s family.” Any apology beginning with the words “I’m sorry if” is not an apology, it is a fucking insult. Johnson’s was even more insulting because he insisted that the “anxiety” (anxiety? terror is more like it) had been caused by his words being taken “out of context”, which was a blatant lie. (When people claim their words have been taken out of context, they never tell you what the context actually was). In any event, his “apology” made no difference because on Wednesday, Iranian TV announced that Johnson’s initial statement was “an unintended confession”.

May has already lost one Brexiteer Cabinet Minister this week. Priti Patel, “resigned” over her unauthorised contacts with Israel , which she then lied about. Last year Patel famously stood in front of the Brexit Bus promising £350m a week for the NHS. Now she has been thrown under it, replaced by Penny Mordaunt, the other one in the photo, who falsely claimed that the UK could not veto Turkey joining the EU, thus allowing millions of Turks to come over and swamp us all.

However, May needs to balance her tottering Cabinet between Leavers and Remainers and Johnson is a leading Brexiteer and has to stay put. And so, disgracefully, Tories spent the week defending the indefensible, maintaining that Johnson has apologised, which he has not, and that attacks should not be made on the Foreign Office but on Iran. As if they do not know that it is the oafish, preening, Johnson, a man patently unfit for his (or any) role, who is the one under attack; as if they believe that anyone condones Iran’s outrageous conduct. But a Tory Government is far more important than some inconsequential North London family and so they deflect blame, enabling Johnson to pursue his squalid, political ambitions over the freedom and safety of people whose interests he is supposed to protect. Scum always rises to the top. And, in Johnson’s case, it looks like he is staying there whilst Nazanin Zaghary-Ratcliffe languishes in prison. For shame.

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We begin our review of the week’s fashion foul-ups at The Inside Soap Awards in London, always a prime source of sartorial shite, with soap star Gemma Merna wearing House of CB.

House of CB specialises in dressing soap stars in titsy, tawdry clothing, all peekaboo, under-boob and Minge Moments. Hideous.

Next up we have actress Diane Kruger at the Inaugural Indiewire Honors in LA, wearing Dior.

Lederhosen with genitalia curtains, also in leather. Yurgle. Meanwhile, the choker makes Diane’s head seem attached to her neck with masking tape.

This is French actress Josephine de la Baume, at the London premiere of Murder on the Orient Express, wearing Self-Portrait.

This looks like a half-knitted sweater Granny had to abandon unexpectedly when her false teeth fell out and she got distracted. As for the shoes, they are simply beyond hideous.

Next up is singer Mary J. Blige at the Hollywood Film Awards, wearing Zuhair Murad.

Like a circus ringmaster with nipple pasties.

Here is the thing about nipple pasties. You should not wear them because you should not be wearing anything needing nipple pasties. But if you do need them, let them at least be the same colour as your nipples. That is all there is to be said about nipple pasties.

And now the Country Music Awards 2017 in Nashville, where horror is always in abundance.  Here is actor and singer Rudy Mancuso.

Who lent him that bomber jacket – Giant Haystacks?

More nonsense in the shapes of LoCash, aka Chris Lucas (left) and Preston Brust.

WTF cannot work out what is happening with Chris’ shirt and his trainers are to be deplored whilst Preston seems to have based his look on the late Jackie Collins.

Finally, singer Maren Morris wearing Francesco Scognamilio.

This seems to be made out of plastic poultry wire with a frilly overhang, genitalia curtains and some nasty growths around the waist, like exploding pustules. And those accessories! Maren’s stylist needs a slap, a P45 and another slap.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF of Islington, who remains aghast at the stupidity of Americans who cling stubbornly to the Second Amendment and then express shock when psychopaths exercise their inalienable right to shoot strangers in churches and schools. The biggest prick of the week was former Congressman, and current radio loudmouth, Joe Walsh (emphatically NOT the one from The Eagles) who tweeted this the day after 26 people were murdered WHILST AT PRAYER in a Baptist chapel in Sutherland Springs, Texas:

You all remember the Bible passage in which the Good Lord sanctions the right to carry a gun (first invented 1364 A.D.) It is in the Book of Colossian Pricks. Hallelujah! 

He (Joe, not the Good Lord) has SO Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF values them like anything.  And please don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good.

Hallo Readers,

Here are some good things about Alabama. Nat King Cole. Emmy Lou Harris. Coretta Scott King. Harper Lee. Joe Louis. Jesse Owens. Rosa Parks. Hank Williams. And here are some bad things about Alabama. Jeff “I can’t recall” Sessions. Roy Moore. His wife Kayla Moore. His brother Jerry Moore. Oh mah Lord.

The Alabamian Senate seat became vacant following Sessions’ appointment as Attorney-General earlier this year. The Republican nominee for the seat is gun-totin’, bible-wavin’, sod-o-mite-hatin’ Judge Roy Moore, a man twice chucked out of judicial office, first for his refusal to remove a statue of the Ten Commandments from his courthouse and second for his refusal to follow a Supreme Court decision overturnin’ a State law against homosexuality. Moore believes that 9/11 was God’s punishment for legalisin’ sodomy and abortion. His campaign is supported by  those champions of the Church, Steve Bannon and Nigel Farage.

But then Satan, in the form of The Washington Post, intervened. Four women claimed that nearly 40 years ago, Moore, then an unmarried DA in his 30’s, molested them as teenagers. One of them had been 14 at the time. Since then, four more women have made similar allegations relating to that period. Moore insists that this is a plot to keep him out of DC and that he never dated anyone without her mother’s permission, which hardly quashes the suspicions about him. His former colleagues in the DA’s office remembered that he had always dated teenagers and a security guard recalled that the local Mall banned Moore because of his interest in young girls.

Moore’s supporters are undeterred. Some question why the women waited so long to come forward (yes, that old chestnut) or justify his behaviour because these had been “consensual relationships”. Hell, Joseph was much older than Mary and they were Jesus’ maw and paw. Jerry Moore likened his brother’s treatment to the persecution of Christ but said that “God is taking care of it”. Kayla Moore produced a letter of support for her husband signed by 50 pastors, some of whom have demanded that their names be removed from it, and she is now suggestin’, without a shred of evidence, that the accusers are being paid. Oh, and there was the tweet from a bot, now deleted, which claimed that someone had heard from someone else’s auntie that a Post reporter was offerin’ women 1000$ (sic) to say that Moore had molested them. Others go further, openly declarin’ that they would rather vote for a paedeophile than for a Democrat. Because of course Obamacare and gun control are so much worse than child molestation. Last week, Joe Walsh claimed that his right to carry a firearm “comes from God.” This week, Alabamian nutters are telling us that He also sanctifies lyin’ and kiddy-fiddlin’. The hypocrisy is just breathtakin’.

Senator Al Franken, who had put Sessions on the spot during the Confirmation process, was yesterday accused of kissing and groping a woman’s breasts in 2006. What Franken did was completely wrong but it does not make Moore’s molestation (or Trump’s) right. And at least Franken has the guts to admit he was wrong and to refer himself to the Ethics Committee. If only others could say the same. The President of the USA in particular.

The irony is that Sessions himself may soon be out of a job, either because he won’t follow Trump’s deranged demands that he prosecute the Clintons for anythin’ and everythin’ (to his credit, Sessions seems to be resistin’) or for lyin’ to Congress. Sadly, Sessions is afflicted by Trumpitis Russki Amnesia, a condition affecting the memory of those involved in Trump’s Presidential campaign, the effect of which is that they forget anythin’ to do with Russia, whether it be a politician or a plate of piroshki. During the Senate Confirmation process, Sessions said that he knew nothin’ about contacts between the campaign and Russia but since then he has done more rowin’ back than Steve Redgrave as evidence emerges drip by drip. One thing is clear. A man with a memory as bad as his is unfit to be the coffee boy in the Justice Department, let alone to run it. Sessions would probably not even remember where Starbucks was, far less who had requested an extra shot in their soy cappuccino.

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We start the week’s sartorial silliness with the loathsome Louise Linton, the Marie-Antoinette of US politics, seen with her husband Steven Mnuchin, the Treasury Secretary. WTF aficionados Jen and Philippa both alerted her to this picture of Mnuchin showing off the new dollar bills with his signature to his designer-clad bride.

This gruesome twosome would do well to remember 1 Timothy 6:10 “the love of money is the root of all evil” At least they have one thing in common. Meanwhile, he should stop bringing his wife to work and she should stop dressing as Coco the Commander. 

To the Glamour Awards and Beyonce’s singer, Solange Knowles, wearing Jean Paul Gaultier.

That split is virtually waist-high and is putting horrified onlookers in fear of an imminent Minge Moment. If a mouldy lemon went to a fancy dress party dressed as Princes Leia in bionic gloves, this is what it would look like.

To the MTV EMA awards in London, and nominee rapper Stefflon Don wearing who even knows what.

Several Muppets died to make the coat and it wasn’t even big enough to cover that excrescence of an outfit.

This is Demi Lovato wearing Styland.

Demi is dressed as a clown with tits and without feet. Those trousers could sleep a family of four.

Next up we have actor and singer Jared Leto, wearing Gucci. He always does.

He looks like a Dulux colour chart for the range “vomit florals”.

And here we have singer Zara Larsson wearing Alessandra Rich. Sunglasses on!

Ouch! This looks like a bundle of newly washed sheets after someone has inadvertently left a coloured sock in the machine.

The host of the event was singer Rita Ora, wearing Palomo Spain.

CNN is running a brilliant ad, Facts First. “This is an apple. Some people might say it’s a banana. They might scream banana, banana, banana, over and over and over again. They might put BANANA in all caps. You might start to believe that it’s a banana. But it’s not. It’s an apple”.  Similarly, this is a dressing gown. Some people might say it’s couture. They might scream couture, couture, couture, over and over and over again. They might put COUTURE in all caps. You might start to believe that it’s couture. But it’s not. It’s a dressing gown.  

And finally, meet singer and MTV nominee Petite Meller.

Petite seems to have overdone it with the blusher and the pink nose makes her look as if she has a nasty cold. She seems to have wandered in from playing a particularly bedraggled, mingetastic danseuse in a film biography of Toulouse-Lautrec.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from Rebecca of Cornwall, who is rightly up in arms following the despicable Daily Telegraph front page on Wednesday, calling Tory MPs opposed to a Brexit without proper Parliamentary scrutiny, “mutineers”. The Daily Mail was not far behind, dubbing them “collaborators”.

This continues the outrageous trend which described the Judges who ruled that Article 50 could not be triggered without a vote as “Enemies of the People” and ‘Traitors” and labelled Remainers as “Saboteurs”. So much for restoring Parliamentary Sovereignty. Both the Mail and the Telegraph are owned by patriots who love this country so much that they live elsewhere to avoid tax. 

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as WTF values them like anything. And please keep those excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go coming.  Let us meet again next Friday. Be good.

Hallo Readers,

In 1980 Robert Mugabe, a clever, educated, erudite, passionate, man who had spent much of his life either in prison or in exile, was elected as Zimbabwe’s first black Prime Minister. The country’s fertile soil then produced an abundance of maize, cotton, soybeans, wheat, tobacco, roses and vegetables and it was known as the bread basket of Africa. It has diamonds, platinum and a wealth of minerals. An exciting new age of freedom and prosperity dawned. And then it all went horribly wrong. 

Zimbabweans, both black and white, and equally frightened for the future, fled the country, taking with them their know-how and their skills. Violence was endemic with Mugabe’s Fifth Brigade murdering at least 10,000 people in Matabeland. Protest was repressed, often with torture. In 1987, Mugabe became President and remained President for 30 hideous years. When his economic policies failed, he naturally blamed the remaining white population for the nation’s ill and sanctioned the expropriation of farms, but the new occupants proved unable to run them and so the crops failed, inflation soared, and people were hungry. Elections were rigged. The freedom fighter had become the enemy of freedom. And he went on. And on. He is now 93 years old.

Mugabe may have been a Marxist but his lifestyle was hardly abstemious. After his wife died, he married his former secretary Grace, 41 years his junior, in a lavish Catholic ceremony. Grace had been his mistress for years, had borne him two children and was a (recent) divorcée, things which might normally be impediments to the full ritual. Their first married home was a palace supposedly purchased with Grace’s “savings” whilst their second palace cost £26m, “a gift” from Mugabe’s party Zanu -PF as a “thank you”. They have an estate in Malaysia and a home in Hong Kong and there are allegations of their amassing millions through flogging diamonds from a Zimbabwean mine. Grace shopped until she dropped in Paris and Hong Kong, only she was dropping Zimbabwe’s money rather than her own. WTF suspects that by then the Mugabes could not tell the difference or didn’t care.

Two weeks ago there was a bloodless coup, albeit that the Army insisted that it was not a coup, an impression somewhat undermined by the sight of Maj-General Moyo, in fatigues and beret set at a jaunty angle, appearing on TV to announce that the President was under house arrest. Mugabe declined to resign and a Bill of Impeachment was drawn up. For murder? For torture? For repressing freedom of speech and human rights? Of course not. Instead, he was charged with being very old and allowing Grace to prepare to replace him. WTF is no fan of Grace Mugabe, Heaven knows. But was Mugabe’s worst crime that he was a nonagenarian who failed to keep proper control of his wife?

On Tuesday, Mugabe finally stepped down to be replaced for the interim by Emmerson Mnangagwa, 75, the former Vice-President sacked in September at Grace’s instigation. Mugabe and Grace have been granted immunity, promised safety and allowed to remain in their gracious home, the one “paid for” by Zanu-PF as a thank you for ruining the country and bringing misery to millions and Mugabe will even get his pension, not that he needs one. Joy seemed unconfined as people cried and danced in the streets but what chance of a happy ending? Think about it. Why would Mnangagwa, a man who stuck to Mugabe like shit to a blanket for nearly 40 years, suddenly bring freedom of speech, democracy, riches and justice to a country denied it by the very Government in which he played so willing a part? He and Grace had been jockeying for position to succeed the increasingly frail and ailing Mugabe and just before his dismissal, she described her rival as a serpent whose head should be crushed. Had he not been thrown out on his ear, would he not have stayed on, professing loyalty to the monster he served for so long? One can but hope that he will bring change, including of himself. Because change is desperately required and after 37 years, Zimbabwe and Zimbabweans deserve so, so, much better.

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Let us turn to our review of the week’s woeful clothing. First up we have model Candice Swanepoel at the Victoria’s Secrets Party in Shanghai, wearing Aadnevik. 

Aardvark has taken a Barbie doll dress, called it a bodice and attached it to a pair of large lacy panties with its built-in crotch curtain. 

The back is also bad.

This is model Devon Windsor at the same event, wearing Minge Maestro Julien Macdonald.

This is typical of Julien’s oeuvre, a spider’s web with a ‘This way to My Vagina’ arrow and a matching chest strap. Titsy, tacky and tawdry. As usual.

Next up we have singer Miley Cyrus on the set of The Voice, wearing Agnes Ruiz de la Prada.

Twitter exploded on seeing Miley, including WTF aficionado Sue Peters who immediately tweeted WTF in great indignation. Miley is only 5′ 5″ and was somewhat swamped by this mutant shower puff. Not that anyone could have worn it.

To the American Music Awards, always a rich source of silliness, starting with singer Macklemore.

Macklemore paid $75 for the suit, which is $70 too much. A pale pastel suit is very Don Johnson in Miami Vice but (i) Don wore two pieces and not three and a tee, not a crumpled shirt (ii) his trousers were always in close proximity to his ankles and (iii) he was in Miami.

Here is actress Tracee Ellis Ross, wearing Roland van der Kemp.

That dress is alive. No really. Particularly between the pudendum and the patellae. Creepy.

Next is singer and talent show judge Nick Cannon wearing, – well, you tell me.

Unless you are a Sikh, no man should wear a pink turban, particularly not with mirrored sunglasses, shorts over black tights, a hanging hankie and hobnailed boots. Even by his own high standards, he looks like a knob.

We meet singer Rachel Platten, wearing Thai Nguyen.

Rachel is wearing sheer trousers, big knickers and a gaping tit window. None of which is acceptable.

And now we have singer Bebe Rexha, wearing August Getty Atelier.

Bebe! Why are you modelling yourself on Kim Kardashian? 

And Bebe! We do not want to see your arse cheeks, peeping out from behind a gauzy curtain like moonlit ostrich eggs. Please put them away.

Another badly-dressed gent, rapper Machine Gun Kelly wearing Comme des Garçons.

It is as if a paint factory threw up all over him. And his trousers have shrunk in the wash. WTF asks again, what has happened to men’s trousers? It is one of the great mysteries of the Age.

Finally, this is Albanian ‘singer’ Bleona Querti wearing Laurel DeWitt.

You only see Bleona at events such as this, where she turns up with her bits on show like the sparkling fishing net she wore to the AMAs in 2014 or at the Grammys in 2015 dressed as a Cyborg blowing smoke out of her arse. After the 2014 AMAs, her poor parents were so mortified that they barricaded themselves inside their home in Albania and refused to come out. In fact, they are probably still inside, with kind neighbours leaving plates of gjellë, the national dish, on their doorstep. Bleona appears to be earning a living as an Angelina Jolie lookalikey but Angelina would never venture out dressed as a metallic hatcheck girl.

Hallo Readers,

You know how it is with long distance relationships. At the beginning it is so romantic, flying across oceans to snatch weekends together, phone calls, tweets and FaceTime. Meeting up and gazing into others’ eyes, canoodling under the stars, holding hands in the Rose Garden. You get engaged, pledging eternal love. But then it all gets tricky. People carp. His friends don’t like her friends. Her friends are offended by his erratic behaviour.  He turns out not to be very nice. She turns out not to be as compliant as he thought. He insults her on Twitter, albeit that he uses the wrong account to abuse her because he is, in reality, really stupid. She responds with hurt dignity. And then, suddenly, it is all recrimination and disappointment. His friends don’t think she is the one. Her friends are calling for an end to the relationship. The boss lets it be known that there are no circumstances under which that oaf will be welcome in her house and that she fully intends to be walking the corgis whenever he comes to call. T’was ever thus….

But that is enough about Theresa May and Donald Trump.

There was another engagement this week and this one augurs better. Prince Harry popped the question to American actress Meghan Markle as she was roasting him a chicken (that is not a metaphor, you rude people, it is a culinary fact) and she accepted. They posed at Kensington Palace, smiling up a storm and clearly enamoured of each other. They got through the usual cringe-making BBC engagement interview, (why is this still an actual Thing?), recounting when and where they met, how he had proposed and what his Mum would have thought. They looked extremely happy. WTF has not got much time for the Royals but apart from that time in 2005 when he went to a party dressed as a Nazi, he seems like a nice guy and has done a lot to bring mental health issues into the open. (Here’s a challenge, your Royal Highness – have a go at getting Donald Trump to go and see a psychiatrist. Or a gerontologist. Or someone). She is self-assured, sexy, sassy and smart. And she has a beautiful engagement ring, not that hideous thing poor Kate got lumbered with. 

Of course, the carpers have been out in force. Ms Markle has a cornucopia of characteristics to make the snobs sneer and the bilious Daily Mail readers boil.  She is divorced – from a Jew. She is American. She is a successful actress (male Royals have always loved an actress). And she is of mixed race. Some white people are offended that she is not white enough and some black people are offended that she is not black enough or that she does not identify as black enough. Vox pop declares her to one or all of pregnant, money-grabbing, attention-seeking, scheming and wearing her shoes too big (actually, they were). The Telegraph assembled a panel of “experts” to assess how long the marriage would last. The Spectator, the voice of Tory Toffs and Tossers once edited by Boris Johnson, opined “Meghan Markle is unsuitable as Prince Harry’s wife for the same reason that Wallis Simpson was unsuitable: she’s divorced and Harry’s grandmother is supreme governor of the Church of England”. Which is tosh because after the Queen goes, bless her, the next supreme governor will be Prince Charles, who is divorced, married to a divorcée, the nephew of a divorcée and who has a brother and a sister who are both divorced. In a multi-cultural Society, another thing to make Mail readers froth at the mouth, the Monarchy and the Church of England should be separate but that is a topic for another day. Prince Harry is going nowhere near the Throne, being only fifth in line, and after the birth of HRH Foetus, sixth in line. The best reason to cheer this engagement is the number of unpleasant, pompous, biased, bigots who have been pissed off by it. Not to mention how upset Trump will be when he sees Obama and Michelle quaffing the Krug and nibbling on a quail’s egg whilst his invitation never landed on the White House mat. Mazeltov to the young couple. Have fun.

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Let us start our weekly survey of the week’s clothing crapulence with singer and X- Factor Judge Nicole Scherzinger at last week’s semi final.

Nicole, bless her, has now lost whatever vestige of sanity she may once have had (which, to quote Lady Bracknell, was probably not much), and is now officially quite bonkers. She told one contestant last week that his song had three of her favourite things, ‘balls, hair…..and teeth’. The eccentricity extends to her outfit which bears, or should that be bares, many of the signs of sartorial silliness, namely one sleeve, a slashed skirt and a giant crotch camellia.

To the Arias in Sydney and singer Harry Styles, wearing patterned Alexander McQueen.

As WTF aficionado Navid remarked, he looks like a walking oil slick and judging by those things on his feet, he looks like he is an oil slick walking on gold ingots.

Australian singer George Maple  was also in attendance.

George is wearing 1950’s lingerie under black bubble-wrap which is so long that the prospects of her tumbling arse over tit are higher than those of Donald Trump offending someone before breakfast, but at least the bubble-wrap will cushion her fall.

To London and the MOBOs which were strangely muted in terms of fashion horrors, but there was rapper Stefflon Don to keep down the standards.

If they ever make a mashup version of Singin’ in the Rain, Pretty Woman and Trainspotting, here is the ideal costume.

Still in London we go to the ballsachingly trendy restaurant, the Chiltern Firehouse and singer Nicola Roberts, formerly of Girls Aloud.

Those trousers are amongst the worst things WTF ever did see in her life, flapping like flags at half mast, whilst the proportions of this nonsensical outfit would be appropriate for one of the Seven Dwarves. 

She’s back! Here is WTF’s favourite Z-lister Lizzie Cundy, a woman who serves no purpose whatsoever other than to adorn the pages of this blog, at the National Curry Awards. Seriously.

Lizzie has been entirely rebuilt. The hair. The face. The tan. The globular tits. It is all so terribly, terribly, terrible. Here she is dressed as Ms Polynesian Pillock with nipple nudge.

Finally, here we are in New York at the Gotham Film Awards and actor John Cameron Mitchell. This one is going straight into the contenders for the WTF Christmas Turkey.

This can best be described as off-cut couture and it is very, very bad. In fact, it left bad several miles down the road and is currently parked at shocking. And what are those shoes? They look as if someone left them out in the path of a line-painting machine, like those people who go on holiday and come back back to find the Council has painted yellow lines into their street, including over the family car.

Hallo Readers 

Last Saturday, WTF was so outraged by everyone and everything that she practically exploded. She was put on the Twitter naughty step and was generally homicidal and downright furious. (Admittedly, this was not helped by Arsenal losing at home to Manchester United). At about 9 pm, her friend Dave emailed her to suggest she have a large drink and an early night (neither involving him). WTF replied that she was operating on the hypothesis that everyone was a c**t. Whilst that may have been somewhat broad (and of course, dear Readers, there are exceptions to that designation), the general principle still holds good. Good God, why are so many shits prospering and why are so many credulous fools allowing them to prosper? 

Take Brexit. Early this morning we have scraped together some sort of deal to proceed onto the next stage of negotiations, preserving the present status of the  Irish border and the rights of EU citizens here and there and we are still in for at least two more years. It will cost us (as yet untold) billions just to leave, despite what the idiot David Davis told us. A deal was almost reached on Monday but was scuppered when the malignant dinosaurs that are the Democratic Unionist Party, whose support Theresa May bought with a billion pounds of our money, objected to the proposals about the Border. Who knows what they will have been promised to get to today’s deal? The Irish Prime Minister, Leo Varadkar, was attacked for putting the interests of his country before ours, the abuse heaped upon him obviously exacerbated by his being gay and half-Indian. And during the week, Davis admitted to a Commons Select Committee that there were no impact assessments on the effect of our leaving, although he had said on a previous occasion that Theresa May was reading them. And then he giggled. He giggled! But where is the outrage from those who had previously believed him? There was a time when people resigned for lying. Now they just giggle, blame gay foreigners and carry on letting you pay their fat salaries.

And there is Trump. And Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, who drove a tax bill through the Senate on the middle of the night that no one had actually read, 500 pages affecting people’s lives for decades to come which Democrats were given one hour to peruse. Republicans, with one honourable exception, voted for tax cuts for billionaires, voted for tax-free private planes. This Bill was sold as a tax cut for the Middle Class but next year those cuts will be offset by hikes in everything else to pay for it and cuts in services to those needing them most, whilst the billionaires continue to benefit, putting the billion into Bill. Including Donald J Trump, who told us that the bill would cost him money although the abolition of estate duty will save his family more than a billion dollars and his taxes (if indeed he pays any) are cut by 15%. And all the time, his idiotic fans purr and coo with pleasure whilst being fleeced by a conman. He has poisoned peoples minds, a cancer on the body politic, turning his devotees against Robert Mueller, James Comey the FBI, the CIA, the courts, the media, anyone or anything shedding light on his fraudulence and his vile cultist followers spew poison about them on Twitter and Fox. This Tuesday, an alleged child molester, a rabid, religious maniac who thinks homosexuality is akin to bestiality, will be elected Senator for Alabama with the support of the President of the United States and the GOP because they need his vote. They need it to slash welfare and healthcare. They need it to build a Wall. They need it to elect more conservative, intolerant judges to outlaw abortions, to ban Muslims from coming in, to throw Dreamers out, to deny rights to women and gays.  Above all, they need it to prevent this lying, incompetent, blustering, racist, crook from being impeached. This is the world we live in and these are the morons whose votes allow shits to prosper and honesty, integrity and the values we held dear to vanish down the drain. 

So yes, WTF is furious because there is a lot to be furious about. And you know what Dave? A large drink and an early night is not going to make it better.

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Let us at least smile at the sartorial survey of the last seven days, starting  with actress Jennifer Connelly wearing Louis Vuitton.

It seems that granny’s old, discoloured bra blew off the washing line and landed squarely on Jennifer’s chest. What nonsense is this?

Next up, we have fashion blogger Jonysios at Beautycon, London.

His nausea-inducing, ruched trousers have had a serious fallout with his ankles and he is wearing brogues without socks. Meanwhile, the eyebrows! The preposterous pout! The fur! He looks like Joan Crawford as Mildred Pierce.

To the iHeart Radio festival and singer Demi Lovato, wearing Frolov.

It is not often that WTF wishes that someone had worn less but in this case, anything, a bare leg, a prosthetic leg, a table leg, would have been better than one half of these floppy beige slacks worn with a gold lamé, one-limbed toga. And where are her feet?

To the British Fashion Awards in London where a variety of rubbish was available for inspection, including this terrible Burberry trouser suit on model and actress Agyness Deyn.

WTF is astonished that (i) Burberry would design this (ii) someone would wear it. If you found this in the rummage basket at an Oxfam shop, you would shudder and put it back.

And there was singer Zendaya in a silly blonde wig, wearing Vivetta.

She has horses’ heads on her tits. Horses’ heads. Remember that scene in The Godfather? These horses’ heads are bloodless but are distinctly pervy.

There is also the small matter of the baggy illusion panels…..

Oh here he is again. WTF speaks of racing driver Lewis Hamilton, seen here with Donatella Versace. She looks great. Note that his hanging hankie matches her frock.

Lewis is giving us his Twatty McTwatty look with hiking boots and a necklace over a polo neck and the aforementioned hanging hankie in homage to Captain Sparrow. Why does he always have to look like such a knob? Teams of rocket scientists are currently working around the clock to resolve this conundrum.

Finally from this fiesta of fashion farragos, designer Matty Bovan, presumably wearing something of his own design.

This is Madame Butterfly in full kabuki meets Piglet with a side order of silly sleeves. Daft.

TV health pundit,  Dr Gillian McKeith is back again.

Gillian has been giving in to her inner showgirl, as she did a few weeks back in similarly revolting fashion. Just because you can does not mean that you should. Go and buy a skirt. If you’re short of cash, WTF is sure that her Readers would willingly each contribute 20p for such a deserving cause.

Another serious stinker, this time on singer Janelle Monáe, wearing Thom Browne.

She has an extraordinarily beautiful face, looks fabulous in that hat and the shoes are great. Everything else is awesomely bad, particularly the crotch-casement, the stupid suspended trouser and the handbag like an upturned Louboutin pump.

This last one come from the London Film Festival in early October this year but WTF missed it. However, it is, without question, one of the worst outfits anyone has ever seen. Brace yourselves. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

AND HERE IS ANOTHER WARNING TO GO WITH THE FIRST WARNING!!!!

This is so….labial. It is like examining an excited frog’s vagina in 4D. That is quite bad enough but then there are the sparkly clogs and the thick Ms Marple tights and the way the “skirt’ explodes from her waist like a set of overstarched tablecloths. This is a stupendous stinker.

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