As classy as a non-British guy who drops the c-word

Do you remember how little-girl-plays-dress-up Lindsay Lohan looked earlier this Summer as the guest of honor at the Maxim 'Hot 100' fête in her all sorts of rainbow Hervé Léger halter dress?

I can just picture her alongside her LiLo-in-training little sister Allie, deluded but sure, thinking aloud, "This will be the perfect way to show the world just how 'hot' I am."

Every time I see a woman sporting 10 opaque-white stripes across the tops of her toenails, I can't help but think of Lindsay and her technicolor dress. My tendency to immediately associate the two isn't because I recognize between them a shared brand of tackiness (though that is the thought immediately following) but rather that both were the direct result of an extremely misguided pretense.

Teaching a 21-year-old celebutante whose own mother can't seem to tell the difference between trashy and classy why a super tight, super short, super bright mini dress doesn't a talented actress imply is an endeavor for which I neither have the influence nor the patience; clearing up the ubiquitous myth that the most sophisticated way to climb down from the massage chair after a $45-plus-tip pedicure is to have one's toes resemble one's fingers, however, is a duty with which I'm more than pleased-as-punch to be charged.

Habits are hard to break, this I know only too well, but assumed truths, those you've been taught from a young age, those you've blindly accepted and likely passed onto others -- those are the ones you never think to question and that ultimately turn out to be the most difficult to leave behind.

But let's take a moment and look at this picture. I mean, really and objectively look at it. Sure, this isn't the most neatly-applied polish job, the most appealing set of toes or the most elegant pair of lobster-emblazoned grosgrain-ribbon-trimmed flip-flops, but even so, the point I'm trying to make, that the correlation between toes fashioned to look like fingers and high-class is utterly nonsensical, rings loudly and clearly.


And if you need more proof than just, oh I don't know, my opinion, I encourage you to watch an episode or two of the WE Network's can't-take-your-eyes-off-it trainwreck, "Bridezillas." The first tanorexic Long Island bride who demands her ladies-in-waiting spackle foundation over their ankle tatts and adhere to her "Crystal Elegance"-themed wedding with French mani/pedis might not convince you to step away from the stripes of "Birthday Babe," but keep watching, because with each and every class-act thereafter who, without fail, imposes the same nail uniform, you will begin to see before your very eyes the crystallization of a different correlation.

Just sayin'.

So please, join my girlfriends and me in putting a stop to the spread of the oh-so-creepy and oh-so-played-out finger-toes and opt instead for a lovely shade of 'A-List,' 'Midnight in Moscow' (see below) or, for the lower-maintenance among you, the muted Fiji Weejee Fawn or just a simple and fresh, clear-shine.

Your cooperation on this matter would make Monte oh-so-happy.

Why you don't let your little sister dress you

At first glance, I actually didn't hate this dress.

The more I looked at it, though, the more angles and closeups I clicked on, the more I realized, no, I didn't hate it but I didn't really like it, either. In fact, it wasn't like or dislike I was feeling, it was more...nostalgia. I'd had this reaction to a dress before. But which dress was it? Who wore it? When? The more I racked my celeb-saturated head for the answer, the farther that bit of stored information slipped somewhere in between my second favorite red carpet gown of all time (Natalie Portman in gunmetal Lanvin at the 2005 Oscars) and the lyrics to Lionel Richie's "Stuck on you."

So I took a break, ate my cherry Jell-o cup and two slices of double-anchovy thin-crust with light-cheese and light-sauce, read thesuperficial.com, then came back with a clearer head and a fuller tummy and took a second stab at it. No sooner had I turned on my standard he's-thinking-about-me-I-know-he-is Snow Patrol did it come to me.

The reaction I had to this rainbow-hued Hervé Léger-looking dress was the same one as when, at 10 years old while watching Pretty Woman for the first time, I fell in love with the blue-and-white lycra and stainless steel contraption Julia Roberts wore when she was on her knees unzipping Richard Gere's grey pinstripe suitpants in the penthouse suite at the Regent Beverly Wilshire.

Put simply, the super-tight, super-short, pole-dancer-heeled, 7th-grade-friendship-bracelet-ed ensemble Lindsay Lohan wore last night to a fete in her honor for being named Maxim Magazine's "hottest woman in the world" at NYC's Gansevoort Hotel is the kind of ensemble a little girl with no sense of fashion or understanding of what blowjob-for-a-twenty-wear looks like might pick out when asked the question, "Honey, which dress do you think the hottest woman in the world should wear to her big party?"

For more of Lindsay looking like the X-rated hybrid of Jem and Rainbow Brite, see the pictures below.

And I beg of you, unless you want to see the tragedy that is a 20 year old looking six months shy of Rue McClanahan, do NOT click on the close-up.

Checked again and nope, Lindsay still not that hot

One would think the day after being named the hottest woman in the world - a decision by the way, questioned not only by yours truly but many, many others - Lindsay Lohan might go a wee bit out of her way to look the part.

But last night, stumbling out of Stereo nightclub in NYC with current hump-puppet Calum Best in tow, LiLo, with her coke-bloat, mussed hair and smudged kohl-rimmed eyes looks more like she's about to take the stage at a Poison trubte band concert than strut the mmmhmmm-I'm-hotter-than-all-y'all strut the way Maxim's top lady should.

And I don't care if she did have a Wilson's gift-card "just lying around" -- there's no excuse for that jacket.

Who the flip is in charge of this?

Jessica Alba, getting too skinny but okay.

Scarlett Johansson, oh yeah.

Jessica Biel, mmm...cutting it close, but fine.

Ali Larter, kinda d-list, but I can see it.

Eva Mendes, no question - yes with a capital "Y".

Eva Longoria, annoying as f**k but I guess she has a pretty face.

The six women listed above make up places 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, and 9 on Maxim's newly-released, annual "Hot 100" list.

These are the ones, for better or worse, that make sense. Now we move on to the remaining four, some of whom are more curious choices than others:

Lindsay Lohan (1)
Christina Aguilera (4)
Rihanna (8)
Fergie (10)

Let's look at Lindsay and Rihanna first. Both clearly have good looks and good bodies, that's not up for debate, but what they don't have is what other women like the majority of those listed above and Vanessa Minnillo (34), Adriana Lima (53), Kim Kardashian (97), Marisa Miller (not on list) and Monica Bellucci (not on list) have as well, which are outstanding looks and outstanding bodies.

The belly-baring coke-bloat youngness of LiLo and the bootyliciousness of Rihanna beating out the feral sexiness of Angie (12) and the just-wanna-kiss-her-ness of Penny (58) is one thing (it is Maxim, not Esquire, after all), but Christina and Fergie cracking the top 10 is nothing short of hotness blasphemy. Their inclusion literally boggles my pretty little mind. I suppose, if you added them together, subtracted Christina's makeup, Fergie's face, Chrstina's bad boob job, Fergie's face again because once wasn't enough, Christina's synthetic highlighter-yellow hair, Fergie's Meth mouth and Christina's Tang-like glow, you might have a hot piece of something, but still, these two over Carmen Electra (28)? Come on, now. The jig is up.

Granted, I haven't read the article's fine print in which it assuredly explains in U.S.-News-&-World-Report-style detail how these rankings were determined through the assignment of discrete hotness indicators (e.g. face, legs, ass, etc.) relative weights of said indicators (e.g. face = 30%; attitude = 25% ass = 20%; legs = 15%; chest = 10%) and most important, the description of the process through which such qualitative pieces of data were translated into objective, quantitative figures.

I'm sure once I do my homework and work through Maxim's thorough research plan, all my questions will be answered. In the meantime, I'm gonna grab a smoothie and contemplate my own, boys-allowed "Hot 100".

Now *this* is age-appropriate dress done right

This picture makes me happy. Really happy.

Three movie stars representing three very different age-groups - 70s, 40s and 20s - each one with as much sexiness and elegance as the other, none of whom are at all shy to show off how perfectly their enviable figures pour into their clothing, and all of whom abide by the so-often-bucked-in-Hollywood rules of age-appropriate dress.

The film for which Jane Fonda, Felicity Huffman and Lindsay Lohan were so well-dressed at last night's premiere may not be theater-worthy (or even on-Demand worthy), but if all that comes out of it is this pretty picture - a static reminder to aging women in Bethesda everywhere that it is far more attractive to flaunt your assets with flattering cuts, subtle hints of skin and the *perfect* fit than the short-n-tight-n-bare-everywhere look - it'd still be worth it.

Well played, ladies.

Stick to wearing dresses, Lohan.

Lindsay Lohan seems to like guns.

And while I'm normally pretty cool with hot chicks who like to spend time at the range, I can't help but look at this picture of LiLo with her half saucy, half I-have-no-clue-how-this-thing-works expression against a peach satin bridal suite backdrop and think this girl is making things worse for those of us with NRA memberships waiting with bated breath and crossed fingers for the day when we can legally transfer our guns from the Heartland to the District.

The more I think about this, though, the more convinced I am that this kind of not-thought-through behavior might benefit us in 2008. If she continues to wield guns and wear gun accessories, engage in 20-lines-a-night bathroom stall behavior and then, as they all do, endorse whatever democrat takes the early lead, this very well may work to our advantage.

With "us" and "our," of course, referring to those vigilant among us who actually hate terrorism and still cry at night because John Ashcroft and Paul Wolfowitz are no longer leading the good fight.

Costume Institute Gala: best, worst & most disappointing

Best:

1. Lindsay Lohan (Zac Posen)

2. Rose McGowan (focus on the dress, not the face)3. Jennifer Lopez (Marchesa) 4. Sandra Bullock (Alberta Ferreti) 5. Iman (Emporio Armani)

Worst*

1. Ivanka Trump

2. Elizabeth Banks 3. Giselle Bünchen (YSL) 4. Renee Zellweger (Carolina Herrera) 5. Kirsten Dunst (vintage YSL)

*Jessica Simpson has her own category that goes beyond "worst"

Most disappointing:

1. Cate Blanchett (Balenciaga)

2. Scarlett Johansson (Stella McCartney) 3. Jennifer Garner (Valentino)4. Chloë Sevigny (Balenciaga)5. Julianne Moore (YSL)

Quote of the day: Pam Anderson

"Scarlett Johansson would definitely be my number one choice, but I doubt she would ever agree to do it."

(Pam Anderson, on who her ideal Playboy Playmate would be)

Unfortunately for all of us, I think Pammy is right on this one.

But don't fret, I see ScarJo getting "tastefully" nude in a Merchant-Ivory-esque film in the very near future. Women with bodies like hers don't like to be encumbered by clothes and accessories; nudity is their default, whether they're at home making microwave popcorn, splayed on a hotel room chaise watching Kindergarten Cop on HBO or climbing into bed with The Executioner's Song for a quick read-n-nap in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. I see her as the kind of woman who's already unbuttoning, unfastening and de-tucking her various articles of clothing before she even pulls her house key out of her handbag. Because of her why-wear-pants-if-I-don't-need-to? attitude, she's the kind of woman who would be just as likely to wear nothing but a trench to pick her man up from the airport as she would meet her girlfriend for coffee or head to CVS for a late-night pint of pineapple coconut Häagen Dazs.

While the prospect of never seeing Scarlett's lusciousness on the cover of a nudey-rag is certainly depressing, I think we can all agree that waiting for rewind-able, pause-able, slow-motion-able video footage is way worth passing on a few airbrushed-to-the-hilt stills.

Even after seeing Scarlett's not-so-lovely gams on-stage at the Coachella music festival last weekend, my fingers are still crossed she nabs the role Lindsay Lohan abandoned in the in-production Dylan Thomas biopic, The Best Time of Our Lives. Rumor has it there's a racy, nudity-required Keira Knightley/???/Matthew Rhys ménage à trois written into the script.

A beautiful Brit, a sexy Welsh and an American temptress -- now that sounds tasteful.

Lindsay Lohan('s stylist) reads my blog

How else do you explain the guns and black lace look she debuted two nights ago while most likely - judging from the fact she decided to finally wear a bra - out for a family dinner and a screening of Meet the Robinsons?

True, hers is a Heckler & Koch USP necklace, not a Glock 19 lapel pin, and granted, I've only written about wearing black lace unmentionables while Magic Eraser-ing the bathtub or watching late-night news programs, but still, it seems pretty obvious that even though it in no way applies to her, somewhere during the commute from Whore Island to Wonderland, LiLo('s stylist) has been exploring exactly why a serious job is no excuse.

If I forget to tell you later...

...I had a really good time blogging today.

Sorry, I just had to include an allusion to Pretty Woman on my first day. For those of you who know me well, you've already heard more than you probably cared to about my everything-in-life-comes-back-to-Pretty-Woman theory. For those of you who haven't heard of it, well, Christmas might just come early. Cross your short black-nailed fingers, and you might just get lucky.

Speaking of black nails, did you see that OPI just released their own black polish - Black Onyx - to rival Chanel's nearly extinct Black Satin? I scooped up two bottles on Wednesday ($8 each at PIAF Salon) -- better hurry before they're all gone!

Oh wait, I just remembered I live in Washington. No one here gives a Stuckey about emulating the enduring style icons that are Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff.

Hmpf.