PHallo Readers,

Admittedly like the rest of the population, WTF is suffering from some sort of advanced heatstroke, but try as she might, she simply cannot remember Brexiteers telling us that if we voted leave, we might be leaving without a deal. Nor can she recall being told that leaving without a deal would mean that we would all have to start stockpiling corned beef, tomato soup, and baked beans in anticipation of that glorious moment at midnight on 29/30 March 2019. Normally, there would be street parties but it seems that there will be sod-all to eat. WTF advises you all to dash down to the off-licence and buy in a few bottles of Prosecco and some of those nice Dutch cheesy nibbles, because there is no chance of being able to afford them once we have reclaimed our sovereignty and told M. Barnier to stick his customs union where the sun don’t shine. No, it is back to the halcyon days when Blighty stood alone against the Hun. So what if food was rationed? Everyone was thinner and healthier (that is, until a bomb landed on their house and blew them to smithereens). We all pulled together to the sound of Dame Vera Lynn. Gosh, it was good.

Here is what you were allowed every week in 1940.

• Bacon & Ham         4 oz 
• Other meat           value of 1 shilling and 2 pence  (7p) (equivalent to 2 chops)
• Butter                      2 oz
• Cheese                     2 oz
• Margarine              4 oz
• Cooking fat            4 oz
• Milk                          3 pints
• Sugar                       8 oz
• Preserves               1 lb every 2 months
• Tea                           2 oz
• Eggs                         1 fresh egg (plus allowance of dried egg)
• Sweets                    12 oz every 4 week.

Thanks to the stalwart efforts of Nigel and Boris and David and Michael and Gisele and Jacob and their pals, Britain will soon regain both its dignity and its waistline. Ok, everything will taste like shit, but isn’t a powdered yolk a price worth paying to be rid of the yoke of Brussels? Just think of the camaraderie as you and your family sit down to a plate of Lord Woolton Pie (basically carrots and spuds under a potato pastry crust), or tuck into a plate of snoek and chips. (If you are wondering what snoek is, it is a species of snake mackerel. Apparently it is very low in fact, and tastes absolutely disgusting. During the war, most Brits found it so repulsive that they preferred to go hungry, but stick a bit of curry sauce on it and anaesthetise yourself with some clandestinely-obtained claret, and you won’t even notice how horrible it is until you throw it up later). Nothing comes without sacrifice.  Particularly stupidity. 

Oh, by the way, could you please try not to get ill? Or if you do, can you get ill with something that does not need to be treated with medicines made abroad? Because it seems that there will be a shortage of those as well. Still, not to worry. According to Jacob Rees-Mogg, after fifty years everything will be tickety-boo again. Just be patient. And in good health. And have a trust fund and a house in Provence. It will be all be fine…..

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WTF is taking a summer break so this is the last fashion round up until 17 August. Let us begin with actor and singer/rapper Daveed Diggs. wearing Agnès B.

He is cute, but the suit is like having your eye super-glued open to the viewing end of a kaleidoscope. And the striped socks are definitely de trop. 

Next, we have English rose, actress Lily James, wearing Hellessy.

Ww came to know Lily in Downton Abbey, where she gave a performance so wooden that Equity started receiving applications from items of furniture. She is now quite the movie star, and is currently starring in Mamma Mia 2 in which ageing thespians again warble crap songs out of tune against a Mediterranean backdrop. Lily’s pink trousers appear to have their own attached toddler reins.

Lily is 28.

To the US and basketball player Chris Paul of the Houston Rockets, wearing Dolce & Gabbana. WTF aficionado Andrew Purcell will not be happy to see someone from his home town dressed like this.

Last week’s quintessence of queasiness in the manly shape of American footballers and basketball players was a big hit, so here is another one. Chris has decked himself in kiddies’ wrapping paper, and is clashing horribly with the event logos, but it was a child’s thing so at least he got into the spirit of the occasion.

There was no room last week for designer Celia Valverge at the Vogue party in Spain, wearing herself. 

If the opera curtains at the Teatro Real in Madrid went to a fancy dress party dressed as a pervy bishop, this is what they would look like.

To Newcastle and Sophie Kasaei, ‘star” of Geordie Shore, wearing Pretty Little Thing trousers and not enough else. 

The trousers are a trifle snug around the lady parts, but that is like quibbling about the finish on the deck of the Titanic as it went glug, glug, glug, to the bottom of the ocean. That is not a top. That is a child’s napkin intervening  in a brave quest to save Sophie’s nipples from a public outing. Citizens going about their business in Newcastle should not have to see this sort of thing. In fact, no one should. Actually, that is WTF aficionado Yvonne Ridley’s home town. She will not be happy either……

Now we have actor Ezra Miller at Comic-Con in LA.

Ezra is dressed as a transgender toadstool. Why is this even happening? There is costume. And there is weird. Guess which one this is?

And now, two nightmares from the Maxim Hot 100 Party in Los Angeles. First up is actress Porscha Coleman.

There is a serious design fault when there is more material in the sleeves than in the rest of the garment. And, as WTF has remarked before, if you have to keep your hand over your minge, there is something fundamentally wrong with your dress. And with you for wearing it.

Finally, here is actress and model Lindsey Pelas wearing Stello.

Stello is the new name for the clothing line M T Costello, designed by Minge Maestro, Michael Costello, a man incapable of sewing up a seam. No gap is too big for Michael to leave untouched by a needle and thread. Whilst there is a surprising amount of skirt, there is a horrifying amount of tit bursting out of an origami tit window. One is tempted to observe that the current chest support is rather  inadequate.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again on Friday 17 August. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

The former British Foreign Secretary, Boris Johnson, has fallen out of the obligations, not that he observed them much, of life in the Cabinet, and bigly back into the schmaltz of citizenship, starting with a fat paycheque from The Daily Telegraph, thought to be in the region of £275,000, not to mention his salary as an MP (£74,000). Hey, you can scrape by on that. He marked his freedom from Protocol by penning an article attacking women wearing the burkha and comparing them to ‘letterboxes’. He added that if ‘a female student turned up at school or at a university lecture looking like a bank robber’, he would ask her to remove her face covering. Even in an article opposing the recent Danish ban on wearing burkhas in public, he managed to be crass and insulting. These aperçus can be added to Johnson’s impressive list of insults against many, including the saucy song he once made up about the Turkish President, describing him as the ‘wankerer from Ankara’. Oh, how we howled.

As it happens, WTF is not in favour of the burkha. Not because it makes other people feel uncomfortable  – that can never be a basis for forbidding an article of clothing, because the next thing you know, there goes the hijab and the yarmulke and the turban, followed by the crucifix and the star of David and the kara. WTF dislikes the burkha for two reasons. First, because she regards it as a subjugation of women to reduce them to an anonymised piece of cloth. And second, because there are security reasons why people should be recognisable in public. But these are sensitive matters. There is an argument to be had, but it has to be had sensibly and delicately. Johnson was not interested in sensitivity and delicacy. Sensitivity and delicacy are not publicity-grabbing. Sensitivity and delicacy do not rally the bigots and bullies and hardliners whose support he needs to advance to 10 Downing Street. It did not take long for some yobs to approach women dressed in burkhas and attempt to stuff their faces with letters. Johnson said his analogies were a joke. No. By using language like ‘bankrobbers’ and ‘letterboxes’, Boris was blowing the dog whistle, just like Nigel Farage during the Brexit debate then he declared that foreigners came over here hogging hospital beds with their HIV-related conditions. This is the level of political discourse in Britain today. Humiliation. Denigration. Dehumanisation.  

Perhaps Boris is emulating his hero, Donald Trump, a man who has consistently scraped the bottom of the barrel since aspiring to, and then gaining, the highest office in the Western World. Trump hit a new low this week, even for him, by referring to a former White House employee, previously his TV associate, as a ‘dog’.  Omarosa Manigault Newman is probably as big a publicity-seeking opportunist as Trump, but she happens to be both black and female. Calling her a ‘dog’ toots that whistle beautifully for the Trump faithful, just as his constant references to prominent black politician Maxine Waters, CNN TV presenter Don Lemon and leading black footballers and baseball players as ‘dumb’, neatly invoking the soubriquet of the dumb n****r, a race too stupid and contemptible to be worth listening to. 

And Readers, this is why people love Trump and Johnson and Farage – they are rude and racist and they have made it alright to be rude and racist and people love them saying the things that people would never previously have said in public, particularly by mainstream politicians. Blow that dog whistle, lads. Way to go. Let’s all frolic in the gutter and watch decency go glug, glug, glug, down the toilet. 

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Let us now plunge into the latest review of rebarbative fashion, starting with Jennifer Lopez wearing preposterous Versace denim boots.

Look! They are proper jeans, with belt loops and pockets and all….

Those boots are not meant for walking… and wearing jean-boots is not a substitute for putting something on under your shirt. Like trousers, jeans, shorts, ANYTHING to avoid a minge moment.

Another WTF favourite, singer Rita Ora visiting Radio One in London, wearing Koché.

WTF continues (blindly, though brokenly) in her loyalty to the Arsenal, sponsored by Emirates Airlines, but even she has her limits – and this is it. If Joseph, he of the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat, went to a fancy dress party as an Arsenal supporter, this is what he would look like.

Next up, we have singer Nicole Scherzinger at a Unicef gala in Porto Cerva, Italy, wearing Jessica Choay.

What is that thing across her chest? It appears to be a silk tit sling. In what circumstances does a woman require a tit sling? You don’t see many of those on Casualty.

Here is celebritee Blac Chyna out and about in LA, wearing who even knows what?

The criss-cross nip-tape provides a classy touch, as do the flap-frills framing her tiny G-string. The final coup de grace is the word ‘fuck’ tattooed under her armpit. Audrey Hepburn lives….

Off we go to the Teen Choice Awards in Inglewood, California, where a variety of nastiness awaits your appalled gaze. First, we have actor K J Apa wearing Dzojchen.

KJ said he chose this suit because he thought it looked ‘spiffy’. That is one way of putting it. Perhaps he meant ‘spliffy’. Or ‘dressed-like-an-apricot-coloured-US-mailman’. 

This is the co-host of the event,Venezuelan celebrity-something-or-other, Lele Pons, wearing a dress by Kaimin and Giuseppe Zanotti sandals….

This is preposterous, half negligee and half Michael Jackson in Thriller. Did one of the ghoulies eat part of Michael and stick the rest onto the remains of a half-consumed, female person?

And here is the other co-host, singer and entertainer Nick Cannon.

So obviously Nick also really, really, wants to be Joseph and his coat (and trainers) (and sunglasses) of many colours…. Perhaps he and Rita can have a sing-off for the role.

And finally singer Bebe Rexha wearing Laroxx.

Bebe is wearing head-to-toe, Pepto-Bismol-coloured, bruise-revealing, thrush-inducing latex, with matching sandals, hair like a dilapidated mermaid, and a sequinned bra. Pepto-Bismol is an aid to nausea. WTF has just ordered in a lorryload……

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

In George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, which grew up to be My Fair Lady. Alfred Doolittle appears at Henry Higgins’ house after his daughter Eliza has moved in there to learn to speak proper and, in effect, offers to sell her to him for £5. He says, ‘I’m playing straight with you. I ain’t pretending to be deserving. I’m undeserving; and I mean to go on being undeserving. I like it; and that’s the truth’. Doolittle père described himself as the undeserving poor. At the other end of the spectrum is Prince Andrew, the Queen’s third child and seventh in line to the throne. Prince Andrew is the undeserving rich, pottering about deputising for his aged parents at various duller-than-ditchwater occasions, receiving a dignitary here, attending a function there, and living in some style with his former wife, the ghastly Duchess of York, at Royal Lodge in Windsor Great Park, a grace and favour residence, which used to belong to his granny. There was a time when Andrew was known as Air Miles Andy, racking up flights at public expense as a “Trade Ambassador”, where he hobnobbed with dictators and oligarchs various from places you can’t name but used to be in the old Soviet Union. He lost that gig after a scandal involving his friendship with paedophile billionaire Jeffrey Epstein, and now has to pay retail like everyone else or else get Mummy to approve a trip on her behalf in which case it gets paid for out of a wedge of public cash called the Sovereign Grant.

Andrew’s daughters have no public duties, much to their father’s chagrin, and their chief purposes are to keep us entertained with their shocking sartorial choices and to attend every celebrity party going. They seem perfectly pleasant and each has a paid job, although how their work fits in with their gallivanting is unclear. The youngest, Princess Eugenie, is getting married in October to a person called Jack Brooksbank, a Tequila Ambassador, whatever that may be, for George Clooney’s label Casamigos. Like her cousin Prince Harry, Eugenie’s nuptials will be held at St George’s Chapel, Windsor with more or less the same guest list as graced Harry and Meghan’s event in May, including the Clooneys and the Beckhams, without whom, it appears, no function these days is complete. But also like Harry and Meghan, Andrew and/or Eugenie are insisting on the horse-drawn open carriage through the streets of Windsor – on a Friday!-, thereby doubling the costs from £1.6m to £3.5m with Tim and Tilly Tosser, the taxpayers, picking up the bill for the requisite security.

Readers, here’s the thing. If Eugenie and Jack want to risk getting pissed on in their wedding finery whilst ten tramps, who have only just regained their pitch having been moved out for May’s carry-on, a handful of locals denied a trip to Tesco because the roads are closed, and some excitable Japanese tourists, cheer and wave flags, good luck to them. But Eugenie has ideas above her station, which in her case is Kensington High Street. Why are we stumping up for a third-rate royal marrying  a bloke who flogs booze for a living? Why is the public purse disgorging £2m because Andrew shouts Open Sesame, although police stations are closing and the number of officers is being cut and you can be mugged and no-one will turn up for days, if at all? Who gives a stuff about Andrew or Fergie or the Princesses or Tequila Ambassadors? If the public cannot eat the wedding cake, let their Royal Highnesses pay for their own bloody wedding.

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All our clothing crap this week come from the Video Music Awards. We kick off with Madonna, wearing traditional Berber dress.

Clock the metallic pointy headgear, like knuckledusters for the temples. You could do someone a power of no good if you got too close.

Madonna was born in Michigan and lives in Portugal on a very substantial income, so why she is wandering around dressed like a tribeswoman in search of a lost goat, WTF cannot say. 

Next up, we have singer Bryce Vine.

All is good until we get to about four inches north of the ankles, at which point it all goes horribly wrong. Those trousers are not so much cropped as aborted and the gilded snakeskin slippers are plain daft.

Then there was singer Nicki Minaj. wearing Off-White.

Sigh. Sheer is not over, but we are all really over sheer.

So we have side boob, and arse cheeks, and hair last seen on a Friesian horse, and a frilly shower curtain, not to mention Off-White, rather than filing for Chapter 11 and then melting into obscurity, making sure we know who designed this excrescence. Talking of Friesian horses, one can but hope that Nicky does not strangle herself on her throat-latch.

Meet actor and singer Algee Smith, wearing Moschino.

Algie looks like the eponymous hero in a hip-hop production of The Nutcracker Suite. Red trainers? Really? 

 This is singer Morgan Saint, wearing Peter Do.

Morgan’s white malignant pixie ensemble costs $2,000, combining a tit-baring ‘apron’ shirt and see-through trousers, worn, inexplicably, with black panties, stockings and suspenders. Morgan is more sinner than saint and make that Peter Doh…

Here is actress Tiffany Haddish, wearing Naeem Khan.

She is wearing a minge shield. And what appear to be blue knee pads. 

And now, singer Teyana Taylor, wearing Namilia.

Fantastic abs. But those panty-trousers are the absolute pits. WTF is reminded of former Arsenal flop Niklas Bendtner struggling out of Boujis Night Club in London several years ago, pissed as a fart with his jeans round his knees.

Actress Dascha Polanco wearing Layana Aguilar.

Dascha looks like a mouldy cabbage that has gone several rounds with Tyson Fury. And lost.

Celebritee Amber Rose, with very pointy tits.

The VMA venue was more dangerous that a bad night in Basra, what with Madonna and her metal points, and Amber wearing the same lethally pointy tits that Madonna wore about 20 years ago. The two of them are like an armada of death, bearing down on a badly-dressed collection of models, luvvies and artistes, but an air kiss away from inflicting grievous bodily harm on anyone who comes close.

Bobby Lytes, star of Love and Hip Hop: Miami wearing That Trendy Guy.

Yurgle. The back of this outfit said ‘Make America Gay Again’. That makes a lot more sense than the front, a lattice-work tracksuit like a blueberry pie, worn with matching sunglasses.

Another newcomer, actress Jakeita ‘Sky’ Days wearing Her Little Secret Boutique.

To paraphrase the wondrous Peter Cook and Dudley Moore sketch about the one-legged man auditioning for the role of Tarzan, WTF has nothing against the suit. The trouble is, neither does Sky.

And finally, actor Nico Tortorella wearing a ragbag of old rubbish.

WTF does not even know what this is. Are a string vest, pyjama bottoms, bovver boots and a beret like Michael Crawford in ‘Some Mothers Do Have ‘Em’  an actual outfit? And then there is the little matter of the back.

There are several questions to be asked here. First, what the fuck is he talking about? Second, before he goes around giving civics lessons, should he perhaps not learn to spell? He needs to take one of the ‘m’s in ‘ammendment’ and transfer it to ‘flammable’. And then go and have a cuddle with Amber and Madonna.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

In 2013, Jeremy Corbyn, then a back bencher with no thought of higher office, made a speech in support of the representative of the Palestinian Authority whose words had been recorded at an earlier meeting by ‘the thankfully silent Zionists who were in the audience and then came up and berated him afterwards for what he’s said’. Apparently, the aforementioned Zionists had misunderstood what had been said. So, said Corbyn to this particular meeting, attended, by the way, by a vicar who thinks that the Israelis were behind 9/11,

‘Two problems. One is they don’t want to study history, and secondly, having lived in this country for a very long time, probably all their lives, they don’t understand English irony either.’

Let us put aside the fact that Corbyn has the sense of humour of a dormant potato. Let me, as a Jew, the daughter of a refugee mother who first came here in 1947 and a father born here to parents who arrived here in 1907 to escape the pogroms, explain exactly what is so offensive about what Corbyn said.

First, ‘Zionists’ here means ‘Jews’. Of course there are Zionists who are not Jews just as there are Jews who are not Zionists. But it is as clear as day that Corbyn was not talking about non-Jews because, if he had been, he would not have referred to their purported inability to understand ‘English irony’ despite ‘having lived in this country for a very long time’.  It means that ‘they’ are outsiders who are not part of this country.  ‘They’ do not belong here. ‘They’ do not get it. ‘They’ are not like us. Even Baroness Chakrabati’s infamous ‘investigation’ into Labour Anti-Semitism accepted that she had  “heard testimony and heard for myself first hand the way in which the word ‘Zionist’ has been used personally, abusively or as a euphemism for “Jew”‘. But of course Corbyn did not mean ‘Jew’ here. He never does.

Second, do you suppose for one minute that Corbyn would have used that language about someone whose heritage was African or Pakistani or Irish? Despite ‘having lived in this country for a very long time…they don’t understand English irony either’. And had the aforementioned ethnic minority persons then objected to his use of language and the sentiments behind it, would they have had their arguments rejected as ‘smears’ and ‘conspiracies’ ? You know damn well that they would not.

Third, this seems to be happening just a little too often to be a coincidence, don’t you think? One may be regarded as a misfortune. Twice looks like carelessness. Time and time again looks like either an inability to understand or downright hostility.

And fourth, when you have the enthusiastic support of David Duke, former Grand Leader of the Ku Klux Klan (also a big supporter of Donald Trump), and Nick Griffin (former head of the BNP) for your comments about Jews, you have probably got it  wrong. Look at his other supporters. Look at the guy who tweeted this week ‘Joined the Labour Party today. Why? When an honest, decent, compassionate man like JC is villified by an unholy alliance of the right-wing press, the jewish lobby and backstabbers like Berger, Umunna and Watson, time for people to make their voice heard’. The Jewish lobby. You know, those Jewish, Globalist, Blairite, bankers with no sense of British irony. So that’s it, Readers. Corbyn and I are done. 

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We start our non-English ironic review of the week’s sartorial sluice, with model Hailey Baldwin and her fiancé, singer Justin Bieber.

Hailey and Justin are soon to become one in the eyes of God, and it seems that they already have, adopting identical blond buns like his’n’hers continental breakfasts.

As these two go through life together, let us hope that their relationship is closer than the one Justin’s shorts have with his waist. How hard is it to keep your shorts up? 

To the Venice Film Festival and model Izabel Goulart, wearing Philisophy di Lorenzo Serafini.

This is mostly the usual yawn-making sheer stuff, but in this case unaccountably topped off with a puritan ruff as if Rembrandt had been transported into the tawdry world of the 21st century nonsense that is the fashion industry.

This is actress and celebrity daughter, Rumer Willis, wearing August Getty Atelier.

Is she sleepwalking, like a boudoir-clad Lady Macbeth? She must have been asleep when she bought or borrowed this ensemble because it is silly and it does not to fit her anywhere – the sleeves are too long, the trousers are too tight, the sandals are too big and the bralet is too small. Mathematics are not WTF’s strong suit, but you would think that, just on the law of averages, Rumer would have got one of them right.

To the iHeart Radio MMVA Awards in Toronto and singer Meghan Trainor, wearing The Blonds.

Meghan is wearing the sort of bra Rigby & Peller reserve for formidably upholstered dowagers, whilst her jacket looks like something Robinson Crusoe wore after a couple of years cast ashore on the desert island.

Singer Bebe Rexha, was in Toronto as well,  also wearing The Blonds.

Bebe is dressed as a trapeze artist doing a waitressing shift in the circus café. If it is cold enough for boots, then it is surely not warm enough for a bejewelled leotard with a bodice as ill-suited to its task as Theresa May is to African dancing.

To the BET Black Girls Rock! Awards in New Jersey and singer Janet Jackson, wearing Christian Siriano.

The dress is lovely, despite the studded harness, but why does she have a giant turd on her head? 

Next we have actor Bazaar Royale and his wife, former model and founder of the event, Beverly Bond.

Here is another happy couple mirroring each other (in this case literally) as they strive to preserve a lifetime of connubial bliss. Beverly’s décolletage is less a tit window and more the whole shop frontage of Saks Fifth Avenue. As for her spouse, he reminds WTF of the late perennial election candidate, Screaming Lord Sutch, whilst his shoes are inspired by Coco the Clown.

Finally, here is singer Mary J Blige in Roberto Cavalli.

It is of course supremely vulgar because Cavalli is the quintessence of vulgarity, including the inevitable threat of an imminent minge moment, as per bloody usual. The top is adorned by a tit tiger-lily and the polo neck top makes Mary’s head appear to have been plonked on from someone else’s body.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers, 

A few weeks ago, British Airways dismissed Sid Ouared, 26, after only two weeks in his job because he had a man bun. Sid, who is young enough to get away with a mun, was told that ‘he looked like a girl’ and was given the choice of wearing a turban (he is not Sikh), wearing his hair in dreadlocks (he is not Rastafarian), or getting the sack. He opted for the third and is now unemployed, doubtless consulting M’Learned Friends about an action for sex discrimination.

BA was very concerned that a male staff member might look like a girl. It should be more concerned about its CEO looking like an overpaid pillock, although, to be frank, hairy-faced Alex Crux would have to improve about 10,000 per cent just to aspire to pillock. Ever since he took over ‘The World’s Favourite Airline’ in 2016, having previously run the cut-price, crap, Spanish airline called Vueling, it has been one cock-up after another. Last year, the computer packed up on the second May Bank Holiday weekend. One thousand flights were cancelled and passengers were left stranded around the world, sleeping on the floor in departure lounges for several days, their luggage AWOL, or forced to abandon their sunny holidays and trudge back home to watch the umpteenth repeat of The Sound of Music on the telly. This year, the website was hacked (it took a whole fortnight before anyone noticed) and the data of 380,000 passengers (WTF’s included) was appropriated, including such insignificant matters as our names, addresses, credit card information (including the pin numbers) and bank account details. As it did last year, BA apologised profusely but has failed to accept any actual blame whilst Cruz remains in his preposterously well-paid job (he pocketed £1.36m in 2017) and will carry on wrecking BA with all the enthusiasm of a wrecking ball on steroids. Already under his tenure, he has abolished free food on flights in Economy lasting less five hours, instead flogging overpriced Marks & Spencer sandwiches and charging £3 50 for a paper cup of pre-brewed coffee, smelling of old socks. He has narrowed the legroom between seats in short-haul Economy to twenty-nine inches, less than on Ryanair, and has also removed reclining seats in short-haul Economy, presumably for the same reason. Customers are treated with open contempt by ground crew and cabin crew. You would have a more luxurious ride on the 253 bus to Tottenham Court Road. But hey! Who cares? Cruz certainly doesn’t. Shave a few quid off here, cut a corner there. So what if customers’ knees are embedded in the seat-back like a Tom and Jerry cartoon? So what if they can’t move their elbows without committing an act of grievous bodily harm on their neighbouring customers? So what if they are in London and their luggage is in Lagos? So what if someone is busily dipping into our bank account because BA could not keep its website safe? So what if customers have spent the last three days sitting on a phone line trying to get through to BA or to our Banks or our Credit Card issuers; at least it is not on the premium phone line BA set up last year after the May Bank holiday fiasco. And you know what, Readers? BA is going to get a massive fine for breaching its data protection obligations, and will have to pay millions more in compensation to those affected, and will probably lose a lot of customers who will switch to other airlines. But do you think Cruz will forgo his massive pay cheque and bonuses? Of course not. Do you think he is ashamed of his rubbish airline, his awful service, his uncomfortable seats and his ill-functioning  IT? Cruz does not do shame. Shame is so last century….

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We start our sartorial review with Tony award-winning actress Cynthia Erivo at the Toronto Film Festival, wearing Stella Macartney.

This is one ugly dress, sort of Caspar the Friendly Ghost takes clerical orders, and is yet further evidence, not that evidence were necessary, that Stella is taking the piss – bigly.

And here we are at the Creative Arts Emmys and Jonathan van Ness from Queer Eye, wearing Margiela.

Jonathan tweeted ‘We absolutely came to slay this lewk & fuck a gender norm, biggest congrats to the @queereye family on our wins!’, WTF is not bothered by gender norms, but she is bothered by a see-through top, a black shawl last seen on the King of Spain’s granny, but here worn as a skirt, and that ridiculous pose made infamous by Amgelina Jolie – and it looked stupid on her as well. 

And now nonsense of the highest level at New York Fashion Week, starting with actress Gwendoline Christie (aka Brienne of Tarth in Game of Thrones), wearing Calvin Klein.

We have seen a few chaps in pyjamas recently, like the ridiculous Julian Schnabel on the Red Carpet in Venice last week. Now we have Gwendoline with hair like a poodle in her jim-jams, and her feet forced into extremely unfortunate sandals showcasing some strange-looking toes and no pedicure.

Next, we have pregnant model Slick Woods wearing Nina Ricci.

Slick is wearing a feather duster with matching mules. Does she rub herself up against the furniture to get it nice and shiny? 

Actor Ansel Elgort wearing Prada Linea Rossa.

Ansel’s outfit is clearly inspired by The Golden Girls, the TV sitcom where four, ahem, mature ladies retire to Miami. He looks mortified, and he is not wrong.

This is  a person called GloeNYC who manufactures the ‘the only bra and leg harness”, $200. The blinkers could be yours for only $80.

Why? That is the question. WHY? Why is a woman going about in a Swarovski -studded bra and leg harness? Fugaichi Pegasus was the world’s most expensive racehorse ever and even he didn’t have a Swarovski harness – or BOSS blinkers.

The Marc Jacobs show featured Nicki Minaj wearing one of his creations.

If Little Bo Peep went to a fancy dress party as pair of curtains with tits, this is what she would look like.

We call into the Harper’s Icons party hosted by Carine Roitfeld, where well known women looked really stupid. First up is singer Christina Aguilera, wearing Andreas Kronthaler for Vivienne Westwood.

This is Christina looking like a white Silkie chicken with red lippie and matching pumps (Christina, not the chicken).

And this is actress Victoria Justice wearing Paolo Sebastian.

This is the quintessence of Tacky McTacky from Tackyville. Paolo Sebastien should be tarred and feathered, whilst Victoria has been glued and fringed like a sleazy showgirl. The groin garland is greatly to be deplored. And she’s moulting…

Finally, here is model Bella Hadid wearing Mugler.

Whatever this is, it isn’t clothes, it is a flesh-coloured Minge Moment. She looks like a dance student who has forgotten her tutu and those tits are making the most determined bid for freedom since Clint Eastwood escaped from Alcatraz.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

 Hallo  Readers,

The whole process of appointing the slimy, evasive, God-bothering, Brett Kavanaugh to the US Supreme Court has been a complete farce. He may deny it, but everyone knows that he has been chosen to roll back Roe v Wade, the landmark decision which held that women had a right to an abortion. He was put on a shortlist by a right-wing think tank which then handed the list to the White House. And what made Kavanaugh stand out on that list was not just that he was anti-abortion, anti-gay marriage, and anti-liberal; not just that he been legal adviser to George W Bush and an enthusiastic participant in prosecuting Bill Clinton for perjury. What made him stand out for Trump was that he, uniquely amongst the other conservatives on that list, would likely rule that Presidents could not be pursued for criminal or civil claims for acts committed whilst President. Which, seeing the way that things are going, what with Trump’s former associates singing more loudly than a Metropolitan Opera production of Wagner’s Ring Cycle, could come in very useful. So Trump wants him and the sycophants and fixers on the Senate Judiciary Committee are determined to railroad through the appointment, regardless of the candidate’s dodgy demeanour and predisposition to tell porkies, including about whether he told porkies the last time he went through the process, then for appointment as a Federal Judge.

Faced with accusations by university professor Christine Blasey Ford that Kavanaugh sexually assaulted her when they were teenagers three decades ago, neanderthal Senator Chuck Grassley, 85, first tried to brush them off. When he saw he could not do that, he proposed talking to her and to Kavanaugh by phone and then pressing on with the vote. After it became clear that this would also be unacceptable, he fixed a date for next Monday without bothering to ask Ford if it was convenient for her to attend.  Grassley thinks it is appropriate to decide this matter by just hearing the two of them, with eleven pale, stale, male, Republicans cross-examining her with the obvious purpose of discrediting her so that they can get on with the confirmation. Several of them have already publicly indicated that they do not believe her. They do not think it appropriate to ask the other person allegedly present during the assault to give evidence under oath. They do not think it appropriate to ask the FBI to investigate the matter, even though the last time a putative Supreme Court Judge was facing similar accusations in 1991, the FBI carried out a full investigation and twenty two witnesses were called to give evidence, both courses supported by a certain Senator Chuck Grassley. They intend to make a decision without exploring whether there is any supporting evidence for Ford’s allegations.  They pooh-pooh Ford’s objections that she wants an investigation first and that she also wants protection when she does attend, given the death threats and harassment she has already received. The majority members of the Senate Judiciary Committee are not interested in fairness but in expediency; because if they cannot get this vote through before November, there is a real chance that the Senate will fall under Democratic control and Kavanaugh’s appointment will be voted down. Tick. Tock.

WTF does not know whether Ford is telling the truth. She has not heard her give her account. It was a long time ago, and her evidence may be unreliable. But the Senate should ask why she is willing to go through this vitriol and danger and public humiliation if it is untrue, or why she raised it with her husband and a therapist eight years ago before Kavanaugh was ever mentioned as a Supreme Court possibility, or whether she would blatantly lie just to take one for the Democratic team, like some political kamikaze pilot. She has not heard Kavanaugh give his account. He might deny it because it never happened or because he was drunk and he cannot remember whether it happened or not. Or he may deny it because he wants to be a Supreme Court Judge and get rid of Roe v Wade. She has not heard the evidence of anyone else who might be able to assist in deciding what might or might not have happened. But she does know that some people still don’t get it when it comes to sexual assault. They still ask: Why didn’t she come forward earlier? What’s in it for her? What about the poor man and his wife and kiddies? This might be the era of #MeToo but the Majority of the Senate Judiciary Committee, eleven men committed to saving Trump’s arse (except perhaps Senator Sasse), the White House, and Republicans various are still living in the good old days when boys could be boys.

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To the fashion foolishness of the week, starting with actor Joel Edgerton wearing Bruno Cuccinelli.

This is bad. Bad. BAD. He looks as if he has been rolling around in pig-shit. Nothing fits, nothing matches. He needs to take a size up. And buy an iron. And a mirror.

Here is Rihanna at the Diamond Ball she hosted, wearing Alexis Mabille.

This has a certain wit, but it has also a white lace Minge Moment. Which can never be good. WTF has also taken against the giant tit-bows like a bra for bunnies’ ears.

To New York Fashion Week and fashionista Anna dello Russo.

She is the lovechild of a squashed Christmas cracker and a mutant granite spiny lizard.

And now to the Emmys, the TV Oscars, where there was a fair amount of shockingness on view, starting with Gwendoline Christine, back again after last week’s debacle. This time she is wearing what appears to be a yellow nightgown by her boyfriend, Giles Deacon.

It’s Lady Macbeth, out for a nighttime stroll. 

Meanwhile, WTF is tired of having to say this. Satin. Creases. Bigly.

This is actor and comedian Chris Sullivan wearing a most ridiculous suit by Mr Turk.

This suit is made out of the brocade wallpaper found in a Victorian knocking-shop. And there is more going on than in a Victorian knocking-shop. The only thing that is not going on, at least on Chris’s feet, is a pair of socks, leaving us to gaze forlornly upon pasty ankles. 

Actress Tracee Ellis Ross wearing Valentino.

Tracee resembles a collapsed rhubarb crumble, (with matching eye makeup). It must be extremely stressful having to walk around all night clutching your embonpoint in one hand and your handbag in the other. What happened when she wants a glass of champagne or a canapé? Or she needs to shake someone’s hand? Was a minion on hand to feed her and proffer a straw? And as WTF observed earlier, Satin. Taffeta.  Creases. Bigly. 

This is model and activist Munroe Bergdorf wearing Gypsysport.

This deconstructed denim nonsense is getting well out of hand. First it was torn denim. Then it was virtually no denim at all, other than a sort of suspender effect. Then it was denim belts worn as bodices. Now the whole outfit is composed of denim belts. WTF is also extremely nervous of the consequences of someone un-popping those poppers

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers, 

So this is where we are. Either US Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh is a good, God-fearing, man who is being persecuted by all or any of the Democrats, Bill and/or Hillary Clinton, lefties, the Fake News and a variety of crazy, mixed up, middle-aged women. Or he is a liar, a gambler, a sleaze-bag, a former drunk and a man who, 30-odd years ago, pinned one girl down on a bed, tried to rip off her clothes and put his hand over her mouth to stop her screaming, all the time laughing uproariously with his best mate. So who is going to decide, and on what basis are they going to decide, which is the real Brett Kavanaugh?

No-one really believed that yesterday’s Judicial Hearing, which heard evidence from the principal accuser, Christine Blasey Ford, and from Kavanaugh, but no witnesses, including the man who allegedly witnessed the assault on her as he was in the room, would affect whether Kavanaugh would be confirmed. Before it began, Senator Hatch, a man so old and decrepit that he is walking around merely to save himself funeral expenses, pronounced that Ford was ‘confused’. Senator Graham, who has gone from Trump critic to Trump butt-plug in a matter of months, declared that he was not going to ruin a man’s life based on something that happened three decades ago. And Trump described the whole thing as a ‘Democratic con-job‘. And so the Republican majority got in a nice, mumsy, lady prosecutor to quiz Ford, who gave plausible, clear, calm, evidence. Kavanaugh came out fighting in the way that  Russell Crowe came out fighting in Gladiator. He shouted. He cried. It was all a conspiracy. He dodged questions, talked over the questioners, snarlingly asked them questions and complained that his life was ruined. He told a nauseating story about his little daughter telling her sister that they should pray for the lady who was saying nasty things about Daddy. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde it would take a heart of stone not to vomit. 

This was not a genuine enquiry into the truth. It was a chimera.  Senators on both sides showboated with one eye on the mid-terms and the other on the TV cameras. Everyone expressed outrage at everyone else’s behaviour. Having listened to Ford in the morning, the Republicans spent the afternoon assuring an angry, out-of-control, lachrymose, liar and probable sex pest, that he had been appallingly treated and that he would make a wonderful Judge. It was a more of a circus than the Circus Maximus in Gladiator – no proper enquiry into the facts, no attempt to compel witnesses to give evidence on oath or to be investigated by the FBI. They don’t care if and what he did to Ford or to anyone else. They don’t care if he’s lying. They want him to roll back social liberalism, they want to keep Trump happy, they need to be seen to win. How very dare these rabid menopausal women cause this wonderful family man with his neat little wife and his cute little daughters all this distress for something that happened so long ago, even though what happened so long ago shows that his temperament, his character and his failure to accept responsibility make him wholly unfit for the lifelong job he is about to be given? Maybe they’ll say she was credible but it was actually someone else who attacked her, although she was 100% sure it was him. Maybe they’ll say they just can’t be sure. But unless several GOP Senators decide to stand up, this will be just one more punch in the face for women.

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Let us start our review of the week’s fashion follies with Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge, at a friend’s wedding in Norfolk last weekend, wearing Catherine Walker and a Juliette Botterill headpiece.

Seriously?  Kate is 36 years old. The late Queen Mother would have sneered at this.  And what on earth is that thing on her head? It looks like one of those swimming caps worn by Florida matrons doing acqua-aerobics in Boca Raton.

Next up we have model Rosie Huntingdon-Whiteley in Milan, wearing Attico.

Rosie is gorgeous but that is no excuse for appearing in public as the subject of a David Attenborough ornithological special.

Here is actor Anthony Ramos wearing something very shiny at the Hollywood premiere of A Star Is Born in which he appears.

Shiny is not the half of it. Who needs a mirror when you have this suit gleaming  like a giant snooker ball? And why is he wearing that terrible shirt, resembling the fuzzy patterns on the TV screen when the aerial fails?

This is our good friend, rapper Nicki Minaj, wearing Fendi.

Dear, dear, dear. Her cups runneth over. Or in this case, under. Underboob AND visible nipple activity (VNA). Dear, dear, dear.

The Abominable Snowman, with tits. There would be an extreme draft in the chest area. This outfit is by Fendi, by the way. In case you had not already noticed.

Former actress, former TV personality, still-a-celebritee-but-why? Kelly Brook with her French fiancé, Jeremy Parisi.

Kelly is wrapped in a particularly revolting bedspread. That is bad enough. But it could not be any more unsuitable for someone with a fuller figure and her embonpoint is more puckered than Brett Kavanaugh’s mouth. First we have the Duchess looking like the Queen Mum. Now we have Kelly, aged 38, resembling Hyacinth Bucket. What is occurring?

WTF favourite celebritee, Lizzie Cundy, wearing Design by Josh.

Design by Josh is Josh Birch-Jones, aged 13. Young Josh is clearly a fan of Harry Potter because he has dressed Lizzie as a sparkly witch with her own Halloween cloak. As he is only 13, it is possible that Josh has not quite got the hang of the concept of fake tits, but clearly Lizzie’s preposterous plastic puppies need more room than afforded by this sheath.

This is reality star David Potts wearing an outfit by OppoSuits (it costs £56).

The suit is terrible and if he has to wear it all, which he didn’t, he needs to take a size up. WTF is however more bothered by the ridiculous pose, the too-short trousers, and the fact he is wearing more makeup than the Superdrug warehouse.

Finally, here is Cheryl, formerly Fernandez-Versini, formerly Cole, née Tweedy, sort-of-singer, wearing Zuhair Murad. TO SOMEONE ELSE’S WEDDING.

This excrescence should not be worn anywhere, ever, unless Cheryl is planning to appear as Gypsy Rose Lee in a remake of Gypsy. But to wear this jewel-bedecked condom with Minge Fringe and yeti pubes at a wedding is simply unacceptable.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

A cake is not homosexual, heterosexual or bisexual – it is a cake, a confectionary, something with no nutritional value that tastes nice, a passing moment of pleasure on the tongue. So how did a £36 50 gâteau end up being litigated in the UK Supreme Court at a cost of gazillions with m’Learned Friends gambolling around Lincoln’s Inn Fields shouting hurrah and breaking open the Krug?

Gareth Lee went into Ashers, a bakery in Belfast, and ordered a cake. He asked for it to be iced with the message ‘Support Gay Marriage’ and a picture of two cartoon characters, Bert and Ernie. Originally the shop took his money, but then it phoned him a few days later to tell him that as Christians, the owners could not fulfil the order because they fundamentally disagreed with same-sex marriage. Years of litigation later, the Supreme Court held that Mr Lee had not been discriminated against as a gay man because anyone, gay or straight, who asked for that message on a cake, would have been refused – it was the message and not the man. Had Mr Lee ordered a cream horn or a lemon drizzle, there would have been no problem. There was a stronger case that he was being penalised for a political belief, but the Court said that the owners’ rights under Articles 9 and 10 of the Human Rights Act meant that they could not be forced to support or participate in putting out a message – any message- with which they disagreed.

Oh the irony! Many of the people applauding the Supreme Court for upholding Ashers’ freedom of expression were probably the same ones who berated their Lordships last November for holding that Article 50 could not go ahead without a prior vote by Parliament. The Daily Mail, which had spat feathers over that decision, and had disgracefully called the judges ‘enemies of the people’, now purred over the judgment. Editors at The Mail, and those who read The Mail, would rather go on a Gay Pride March dressed in a sequinned jockstrap than say anything good about the Human Rights Act, but suddenly they could see the point of it; in their eyes, it allowed Christians to repel the traps set by troublemaking, rabble-rousing, gays who had the temerity  to  order and pay for a cake supporting the right to same-sex marriage. Northern Ireland, still in the grip of religious Neanderthals, is the only part of the UK where gays cannot marry or have a civil partnership.

Be that howsoever it may be, how is baking a cake actually supporting gay marriage? Does Ashers condone palpably unsuited young couples blowing a fortune on a wedding where the planning takes longer that the marriage lasts? No one asked them to ice the cake with ‘Ashers Supports Gay Marriage’. It is not even like printing a teeshirt where your name is on the inside label or publishing a book with your name on the spine. No one asked them to go to the End Homophobia event in Bangor Castle where Mr Lee was bound with his cake. No one made them dress up as members of Village People. Does religion not make you more disposed towards your fellow man? Obviously not…..

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Let us turn our attention to the sartorial scandals off the week, starting with First Lady Melania Trump in Egypt, wearing Ralph Lauren and Chanel pumps.

She looks ridiculous, a throwback to the 1940’s in very unflattering trousers and a necktie. It must have been 90 degrees out by the Pyramids.  Has she modelled herself on Paul Henreid in Casablanca?

Next, the preposterous Kim Kardashian at the Tiffany & Co party in New York, wearing Rick Owens. 

Rick Owens be damned, this is an old bedsheet wound randomly around Kim’s inflated plastic person. She looks as if she is carrying a child in a papoose on her bum. As for her face, you would get more movement in an odalisk.

To the American Music Awards in LA where sartorial horror was in its usual abundance. We start with TV realitee person, Amara la Negra, wearing Valentino Omar Designs.

She is titsy and fluorescent, each trouser leg has got its own train and the shoulder pads would make Joan Collins sigh with nostalgia. But WTF’s chief preoccupation is with Amara’s hair. It looks as if someone or something has sliced a quarter of it off, like dividing up one of Ashers’ cakes.

Singer Dua Lipa, wearing Giambattista Valli Couture.

If a parachute got married, this is what it would look like….

Former model Heidi Klum, wearing Julien Macdonald.

Sorry, but this is a hanging macramé potholder. It is much less mingey than the usual Julien Macdonald creation, but that is the best that can be said for it.

Heidi’s mate and fellow judge on America’s Got Talent, Tyra Banks wearing Gucci.

She is wearing a Christmas decoration as a skirt and the hat worn by Perks the Porter in the Railway Children.

TV presenter Sibley Scholes.

Great body but where’s the dress? It is as if her clothes have been ripped from her in a fight – which she lost. Bigly. And there is a very imminent Minge Moment. Yurgle.

Actress and singer Laura Marano.

WTF had hoped we had got over the sheer panel nonsense but it appears that we have not. So here is lovely Laura in a net curtain promising a fleeting glimpse of arse cheeks. Make. It. Stop.

Actor and musician Evan Ross (son of Diana) and his wife, singer and former reality star, Ashlee Simpson.

Ashlee looks OK apart from the terrible choker thing, like a dog lead, but her husband needs to sort himself out ASAP. The  moustache makes him resemble a cut-price Leonardo di Caprio and he is wearing a suit made out of furnishing fabric with neither shirt nor socks, with his trousers engaged in a Mexican standoff with his ankles.

Makeup guru Patrick Starr.

He looks like a giant mutant dahlia with plump arms and eyebrows.

Singer Poppy.  Who the hell knows what this is?

The outfit stinks, but was it really necessary for Poppy to wear a mask? Or has she caught a cold? She will, wearing only that shocking pink poodle outfit with genitalia curtains threatening a glimpse of her unmentionables (thank goodness for the tights). 

And honestly poppet – go and have a sandwich. The last time WTF saw arms like that, they were on Olive Oyl.

Finally, singer Qveen Herby .

Is she about to dance around a maypole? And it appears that someone has picked some of the flowers on her skirt, leaving her panties on display.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF Aficionado Pete Clarke, who has brought this revolting male grooming product to WTF’s attention, yours for only £5 95.

Instant Clean Balls also comes in ‘Mint’ and ‘Active’. According to the label, ‘when a shower isn’t possible, spray around your BALLS’ (their capitalisation, not mine). WTF says that if your balls are smelly, and a shower isn’t possible, squat over the sink. Don’t spray them with the equivalent of odour-eaters. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Last week you sent in some excellent comments and some tip-top suggestions for It’s Got To Go and WTF was as happy as happy can be. Keep them coming, Let us meet again next Friday. Be good.

 Hallo Readers,

In her 27 January 2017 Inauguration Special, WTF said of Trump, ‘One week in and it is already clear that truth is the first casualty…..he will tell his credulous supporters that he didn’t say this or tweet that and that the Media are the liars, so that eventually they will only get their news direct from his tweets …. And just as they have been told that Mexicans are criminals, that Muslims are terrorists and that bankers and big business (the bosses of which now form his Cabinet) ruined America, they will come to believe that any inconvenient truth is a lie’. Since then, it has got worse.

On Wednesday, packages of pipe bombs were discovered addressed to President Obama, President Clinton, Hillary Clinton, Congresswomen Maxine Waters and Debbie Wasserman Schultz (both Democrats), CNN, and billionaire Democrat donor George Soros. It was like the opening episode of Designated Survivor. Luckily none of them went off, and we watched live as the CNN bomb was transported to the Bronx in a special police vehicle that looks like Bob the Builder’s cement mixer. It did not take long for the usual suspects to speculate that it was all a hoax, (it isn’t) and the bombs weren’t real (they were), and that Democrats had sent the bombs to other Democrats to make Trump and the Republicans look bad, (not that they need any help). The President himself read someone else’s emollient words off the teleprompter about ‘egregious acts of violence’ and ‘we all have to unify’ and then flew off to Wisconsin to one of his mass rallies, where he read someone else’s emollient words off another teleprompter before blaming the media for spreading dissent, a theme he returned to at 7 15 am on Thursday just as the Bob the Builder’s cement mixer drove along the West Side Highway with a bomb newly recovered from actor Robert de Niro’s office, and two more bombs were discovered in Delaware, meant for Vice-President Biden. Trump tweeted ‘A very big part of the Anger we see today in our society is caused by the purposely false and inaccurate reporting of the Mainstream Media that I refer to as Fake News’.  

Of course, none of this anger is to do with Trump. Nothing to do with the endless diet of lies and bullshit he feeds to his followers, which is then disseminated by the White House Press Office, and Fox News, and Twitter. Nothing to do with the hatred and the enmity he has created, calling his opponents ‘evil’, his lies about invading hordes of Hondurans who are, apparently, harbouring Middle Eastern terrorists (of whom there is no tangible evidence whosoever), all of them bankrolled by Soros. Nothing to do with orchestrating chants of ‘Lock Her Up’, his claims that Obama was a Kenyan ineligible to be President, his portraying blacks as dumb and unpatriotic, or his describing Nazis as ‘very fine people’, whilst women protesting against sexual assault are dismissed as ‘a mob’. Trump may mouth someone else’s emollient words about unity and respect, but he respects no-one except himself, has contempt for conciliation, and thrives on division and dissent. Do not expect him to be Presidential. Do not expect leadership from him, let alone moral leadership. Do not expect him to do the right thing, because he doesn’t think that it is the right thing to do. And even if he did think it, he still wouldn’t do it.

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We start the week’s review of rubbish clothing with actress Katie Holmes at the American Ballet Theatre, wearing Prada.

Hans Christian Anderson brought us the ugly duckling that became a swan. Prada has produced the ugly ducking that became a trouser suit.

This is actor William Beck from Casualty at the Inside Soap Awards.

WTF is addicted to Casualty and loves William’s character, mean, moody, on-the-spectrum, Dr  Keogh, but this outfit needs surgery, stat. It was all going so well until six inches above the ankles. WHAT ARE THOSE TROUSERS??????? Did he cycle to the Awards and forget to remove his bicycle clips?

Meet singer Mabel McVey at the Teen Awards in London, wearing an outfit of unknown provenance.

Think of the indentations when you sit down, like perching on a barbecue grill. Ouch.

This is actress Claire Foy at the Rome Film Festival wearing Carolina Herrera. Were you and you marbles to part company, this dress could be yours for only £2,650.

One looks at Claire’s lovely face and you can see that her opinion of this dress is the same as everyone else’s opinion of this dress, i.e. it is a stinker, and creased to boot. The pattern reminds WTF of the leeches crawling all over Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen.

Actress Cailee Spaeny was also at at the Rome Film Festival, wearing Valentino.

Cailee is the lovechild of a sea-elf and the wanky food foam you get in posh restaurants. 

Oh, and WTF hates a pubes pelmet almost above all things.

Our old mate, singer Rita Ora, wearing Marc Jacobs.

It takes a special kind of couturier to make Rita Ora look fat, but Marc has managed it with this Mr Blobby goes colour-blocking ensemble. Yurgle.

Here we are at Buckingham Palace, where we find HRH The Duchess of Cambridge wearing Alexander McQueen at a State Dinner for King Wilhelm Alexander and Queen Maxima.

We seem to have gone back in time to 1988, when Jodie Foster won an Oscar for The Accused. That crushed, ruched, (cruched?) look was fashionable then. Then. Three decades ago. And why the fishtail?

WTF feels compelled to observe that Kate is gorgeous, but she is so thin that you would find more meat on a butcher’s pencil. Eat something, woman! And tone down the blusher. 

Of course Theresa May was also there. Whatever she is wearing, she should not be wearing it.

The dress is too tight and she needs to rethink her undergarments as a matter of urgency. It also seems to have what WTF can best describe as bingo-wing-bandages. This has been combined with ruby red slippers, last seen on Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, and a handbag that has nothing whatsoever to do with the price of fish. 

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Kate from Golders Green who has taken against these trainers from Zara with their perspex panels.

.

Kate says that she is at a loss to think why anyone would want to see someone’s sweaty feet through the panel. WTF agrees. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Last week WordPress screwed up and there were no comments possible. Poor show. Try again this week and  and make WTF smile, and don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good.

Hallo Readers,

WTF has not commented much on Brexit recently, partly because she has been consumed more than ever with events across the Atlantic but also because it is such a car crash. But we are obviously going to do it because we said that we would do it, even though when we said we would do it, well 52% of those who voted yes, we did not know what it meant, where we were headed and we were frankly lied to by all and sundry. Boris promised money for the NHS if we left, Cameron told us we would be at war unless we stayed, politicians various promised us a land of milk and honey with foreigners falling over themselves to snap us deals with us. No one (this side of the Irish Sea) said anything about the inconvenient matter of the Irish border. But hey! We’ve got our country back and a lovely dark blue passport and a crappy new 50 pence coin designed on a free Adobe programme by school kids vying for the chance to go on Breakfast TV and meet Piers Morgan and Susannah whatshername. It is like someone grimly pressing ahead with the wedding, even after realising that her fiancée is a dud, because she cannot face the embarrassment of returning the marble cheese-plate to Auntie Vera.

Meanwhile, it appears that Arron Banks, the country’s most disgusting man, former UKIP piggybank, with the emphasis on pig, is in trouble for alleged financial dodginess in the funding of Leave EU, the organisation at the forefront of the Vote No campaign. By law, no foreign donors could contribute to either side, but a company in the Isle of Man, Rock Holdings Ltd, linked to Banks and his associate Liz Bilney,  seems to have coughed up £8m. At least that is what it seems to say in the company accounts, although the money was supposed to come from Banks personally. The Electoral Commission has concluded that were reasonable grounds to suspect Banks was “not the true source” of the funding to the Leave.EU campaign and has passed the matter to the National Crime Agency. Banks handled the matter with his customary grace, tweeting that ‘the swamp in Westminster really is as bad as Washington’ (Arron is unsurprisingly a huge fan of Donald Trump) and that members of the Commission are all Remainers who are using sleight of hand to get a Second Referendum. His supporters are busily playing the whataboutism game and demanding that similar steps are taken against George Soros, even though he has not broken any law in donating, post 2016, to an organisation seeking another vote. Because of course anything bad in the world, whether it is illegal immigration in the US or financial hardships anywhere must be down to Soros on the grounds that he is (a) foreign (b) rich and (c) Jewish. It is a good job these people do not believe in climate change or he would be blamed for that as well.

The fact that there are reasonable grounds to suspect dodginess in the conduct of the Vote Leave  campaign will presumably have as much effect as the fact that most of the facts fed to the public were either lies or just plain wrong. We may have fucked up but we will go down fighting. That is the British Way. If we were wrong, then let us be gloriously wrong. Auntie Vera is not getting her cheese-plate back. It is the Somme all over again, only with worse planning…..

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We start our review of the week’s sartorial slurry with actress Tilda Swinton wearing Schiaparelli. 

Who knew that the lovely Tilda was playing Aladdin? Those trousers are big enough for the whole cast and will still leave space for the orchestra…

Here is celebritee son, Jaden Smith, wearing his own design, Forces of Nature.

There is a new movie out, First Man, about Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the Moon. Who knew Jaden was also in it?

Now we have actress Michelle Rodriguez at the premiere of London Fields in LA, wearing patterned pantyhose.

These are not clothes. Not even at all. These are patterned pantyhose with a jacket and the grey woollen socks worn by pensioners to keep out the cold, and gold pixie boots like Tinkerbell going clubbing. Dismal.

And talking of dismal, here is aristocrat Lady Victoria Hervey.  Why she was at the premiere, WTF cannot say.

Once again, this is not clothes. Not even close. Lady V, the best justification for social upheaval since a pissed-off Karl Marx picked up his pen, is wearing a deconstructed waste paper bin.

To the Latin American Music Awards in Hollywood where we find a couple of men looking perfectly preposterous. Here is singer Billy Crespo, wearing something quite remarkable.

Billy’s tailor chopped up a kimono and made it into a suit, Maria’s curtains in The Sound of Music now set in Kyoto. And the shoes are very remarkable, like bricks with heels.

And here is singer Yashua at the same event, wearing Stello.

Er…OK. He is en route to commit a bank robbery in a nuclear bunker and has had to protect himself. Or maybe he is just a pillock. WTF is voting for option 2, as would all right-thinking people.

To a bash for BadAss women, where we find actress Tracee Ellis Ross, wearing Marc Jacobs.

Isn’t it a little early for Christmas? We have only just got past Halloween and still have Thanksgiving and Chanukah ahead. And yet here is Tracee looking a little bit like a floral Madonna with the infant Jesus in swaddling clothes…

Here is rapper Cardi B, wearing Heaven knows what .

Cardi is dressed as a straw beach umbrella with tits. Who knows why?

Finally, we have splendid actress Sigourney Weaver at the Rome Film Festival, wearing Off-White.

Sigourney is wearing an Aubusson tapestry, a white shirt and a pair of shoes last seen on George Warleggan in Poldark.

It pains WTF to speak frankly, criticism being alien to her nature, but John Hurt, who co-starred with Sigourney in Alien, looked better when that thing came out of his stomach.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado WTF who reeled at the sight of these absolutely revolting “skin boots”, manufactured (aptly) by Canadian company Matières Fecales, translated as fecal matter. That is being kind. If you want to blow your savings before checking into a mental health facility, these can be yours for only £5,000.

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They look like human skin, but thankfully they are not. They are utterly unspeakable and  without any question whatsoever, They’ve Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. WTF enjoyed receiving comments again after last week’s debacle, when WordPress failed to allow any, so keep them coming and please don’t forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good.

Hallo Readers,

It is a misapprehension amongst people of very small brain that because it is very cold in certain places at the moment, there is no such thing as climate change. Step forward Donald J. Trump, who noted that the US East Coast was experiencing the coldest Thanksgiving since, like, forever. (Donald himself was at his luxury golf resort in sunny Florida on the taxpayers’ dime, revelling in his preferred decor of gilded splendour like Louis XIV’s biggest and best wet dream. When asked what he was most grateful for this thanksgiving, he replied – for himself). ‘Whatever happened to global warming?’ he crowed. To which most people replied, ‘Whatever happened to the time when the US President had either a brain or advisers with a brain – or both?’ Trump gave us more insight into his unique blend of ignorance and fantasy when he visited the site of the devastating Camp Fire in Northern California, which has killed 86 people with hundreds more missing.  (The Kardashians apparently hired their own fire service to protect their home. Most people might find that a little expensive). According to Trump, the fires had nothing to do with the drought that has afflicted the state, leaving everything so dry that the place was a natural hazard. No, it was because the forests were not properly maintained (side note – the forests in California fall under Federal management. i.e. him. And he’s cut the budget). He had been speaking to the President of Finland the previous week, who had told him that Finland had no problem with fires because they “raked the forest floors”. Never mind that there is a slight difference between the climate of Finland and California. The former is in the Arctic Circle, where winter temperatures can fall to minus 30C and where summer temperatures rarely rise about 18C. Never mind that the President of Finland denies ever telling Trump this. Never mind that the current drought is the worst in 1200 years. Just get out your rake. Rake America Great Again. 

Global warming is only one aspect of climate change, but the Trumps, the Nigel Lawsons, the climate change deniers, seize upon every cold spell to assert that the whole thing is a left wing conspiracy designed to destroy capitalism (you can bet they see George Soros as its architect). And that is why they don’t want to believe it, why they studiously ignore the opinion of every reputable scientist, the fact that the Polar Icecap is melting, the succession of hurricanes and cyclones that have lashed the Caribbean and Southern states of America. Because it interferes with the God of Free Trade. Because it means introducing steps which cost money and cut profits, which also alienate the big businesses that give you money. It means aligning yourself with perceived liberals and how can you admit that a liberal is right about anything? So instead you deny, you mock and you talk bollocks about raking and chilly blasts whilst we face dangers far more lethal that the perceived threats from immigrants and Kim Jong Un…… 

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We start our review of the week’s fashion follies with actress Gretchen Mol wearing Batsheva.

Gretchen is really pretty but here she just looks shiny and weird, like a cross between Alice in Wonderland and the bride of Chucky.

Next up, we meet American entertainer Billy Porter wearing Rinat Brodach.

Look, WTF likes a laugh as much as the next person but this is just ridiculous. The hat is good, but not the matchy-matchy maternity top and the gossamer pink coat, as slippery as a used condom.

 To the Latin Grammys in California and singer Rosalia wearing YolanCris.

The Sugar Plum Fairy goes clubbing….

Also present at the Awards was singer Pedro Capó  wearing a most remarkable suit.

Pedro’s work is unknown to WTF but that is one hell of a suit, in essence a backgammon board with too short trousers worn with brogues and no socks – which, as regular Readers will know, WTF hates almost above all things.

To Shanghai and actress Amber Heard at some event or other, wearing Celine.

That is not so much as a tit window as a tit atrium. And WTF does not even want to think about what happens when she sits down……

Meet actor Marcus Scribner at the 100th episode party of Black-ish, wearing who can even say what?

Apparently this was worn as a homage to Prince, run up by Marcus’ mum from a pair of old curtains. Didn’t poor Prince suffer enough without having this heinous horror perpetrated in his name?

And here is actor Laurence Fisburne at the same event, wearing something scandalously bad.

Laurence was mesmerisingly sexy in his prime, but he seems to have let himself go. I mean, what is going on here? The trousers are out of some Sharjah souk and are paired, quite inexplicably, with a tallit (the Jewish prayer shawl). Is Laurence trying to bridge the gap between Judaism and Islam? Or was WTF aficionado Philippa Charles right when she asked “are those trousers on L Fishburne or did he have to do some crafty work with a tablecloth after an unfortunate spillage/splittage???“

To the Soul Train awards in Santa Monica and singer Justine Skye.

For the busy working woman. this is the perfect compromise – a couture pantsuit with built in dusters so that you just brush up against things and get your housework done as you walk. Genius!

Finally, fashionista and singer Erykah Badu wearing Rick Owens.

No, you are not seeing things. The coat is constructed from scaffolding nicked from a building site and WTF confesses to confusion about what is occurring around the nether regions where the shiny black corset, like a cockroach’s carapace, ends in a minge triangle. And then there seem to be boots and random drapes and all sorts. Meanwhile the face jewellery is the lovechild of an old fashioned telephone headset and a ball gag as seen on Marcellus in Pulp Fiction.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado WTF who has had enough of Cheryl‘s attempts to convince us that she can sing. Because she can’t. Not even at all. This week, she popped up on X Factor, the show on which she used to be a judge, yowling like a scalded cat, licking her hand, and generally making a show of herself, causing viewers to hide behind their own sofas with their hands over their ears.

Cheryl gave an interview in The Guardian (why??????) and said that should her latest comeback be met with negativity, she would walk away. Cheryl, those boots are made for walking. You’ve Got to Go. 

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. It has been a bit of a shit-show this week, but bear with me, normal service will be resumed next Friday. In the meantime, send in your comments and your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Remember 2016 when Michael Gove told us not to believe experts? That worked out well, didn’t it? The determination to ignore experts persists to this day, even after the ordure has hit the air conditioning and Brexit has gone from a glowing opportunity to lets-make-the-best-of-it-for-Gawd’s-sake. So just as Donald Trump has decided to ignore 300 scientists and thirteen of his own federal agencies about climate change (‘One of the problems that a lot of people like myself — we have very high levels of intelligence, but we’re not necessarily such believers’), that other towering intellect, Jacob Rees-Mogg MP, airily waved away stark predictions from the Governor of the Bank of England, Mark Carney, about the consequences of no deal on 29 March 2019. ‘Mark Carney is a second tier Canadian politician who failed to get on in Canadian politics and then got a job in the UK. I don’t think he’s greatly respected’. Unlike, presumably, Rees-Mogg, a man whose reputation has been built solely upon his plummy accent, his having been to Eton and Oxford, his three piece suits and his air of having wandered off the set of Poirot. He is a pillock masquerading as a political thinker, another posh boy who thinks he has some divine right to pontificate to the serfs.

Why little Moggy felt it necessary to denigrate Canadians, WTF cannot say, but it is another trait that Brexiteers share with Trump. Until recently, Canada was the quintessence of nice. Think of Canada and you picture maple syrup, mounties, the better side of Niagara Falls, Donald Sutherland, Richard Dreyfus, Ryan Gosling, William Shatner and Neil Young. It is true that Canada also gave us Justin Bieber and Celine Dion, but you cannot hold that against the whole nation. Suddenly, however, Canadians have gone evil. Trudeau has annoyed Trump and now Carney has incurred the wrath of the Brexiteers for pointing out that much of the UK is not ready for a no-deal Brexit, which could bring crashes and business closures and all manner of doom and gloom, whereupon there was an outcry about Project Hysteria. It is of course not possibile that Carney might be right. How can he be? He is not even British! He is a colonial who has taken a job from one of us and is now spreading fear and discord because…..er…..he’s a Globalist! He wants us to join the EUSR! He probably hob-nobs with George Soros! Meanwhile, little Moggy, who is a fund manager, has been quietly advising his clients to move their money abroad….

But fear not, fellow Brits. We might have a treat awaiting us in the form of a TV debate between Theresa May and Jeremy Corbyn about Brexit. Since they both seem to advocate Brexit, it is rather hard to know what they will talk about, and anyway they cannot presently agree upon the channel and the time. May wants to go on the BBC on Sunday 9 December (two days before the vote in the Commons on her crappy Brexit deal) but Corbyn is worried that it will clash with the final of I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here.  WTF humbly suggests that May, Corbyn, Vince Cable, Arlene Foster, and little Moggy are all flown out to Australia to appear in the final, where the one that can keep down a kangaroo’s testicle and a couple of cockroaches  gets to be Prime Minister and the Brexit outcome of their choice. And you know what Readers? It is as good a way of settling the debate as anything anyone else has come up with.

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We start the week’s survey of sartorial shockingness with Strictly presenter Claudia Winkleman wearing River Island, seen here with co-presenter Tess Daly wearing Victoria Beckham.

Claudia is the highest paid woman in the BBC at around £500K, whereas Tess, the woman who makes a bowl of lentil soup look sparky, scrapes by on £240K. Tess looks fine here but Claudia is her usual over-sprayed, messy, self with the heavy eyes of a pugilist who had taken a bad beating from Riddick Bowe, and clad in a shaggy dress reminiscent of Dougal in The Magic Roundabout.

This is actress and model Adwoa Aboah, wearing Ashley Williams. 

Tit tassels!!!! She is wearing tit tassels!!!!!

Next to the White House and Melania Trump at some ridiculous ceremony where President Trump was pardoning a turkey, presumably getting in some practice for when he has to do it to human turkeys like Don Jr. and Paul Manafort. 

Melania was clearly feeling the cold and wrapped herself in a £9K Dior coat made out of a designer horse blanket.

We are now in London at the Beauty Awards where we encounter glamour model Demi Rose, wearing a ‘blazer-dress’ by Annie’s.

Well, I say ‘wearing’, but there are some massive mammaries on display and the skirt is so short as to put worried onlookers in fear of an imminent minge moment.

To the premiere of Aquaman and two of its stars, Jason Mamoa and Amber Heard. Amber is wearing Valentino.

Note that Jason has come along in his usual day attire, whereas Amber, appearing in this blog for the second week running, is wearing an embossed gown with matching swimming cap, which is perhaps taking things a touch too literally, while the peekaboo cutouts showcase a torso with more inscriptions than the Elgin Marbles.

To one of WTFs favourite annual tackfests, the Aria Awards in Sydney. This is singer Montaigne wearing Marda Journey. In case you are wondering, she has written STOP ADANI on her cheeks in protest against proposed mining activity in Queensland.

If a giant pink poodle went to a fancy dress party as Miss Haversham, this is what it would look like. 

Next up we have socialite and model  Christian (The Prince) Wilkins wearing Akira Isogawa and his boyfriend Andrew Kelly, wearing who can possibly know what?

This isn’t a gay thing. This is a taste thing. Andrew looks like Charles II in floral bloomers with pink paint on his head, and Christian looks like a Victorian tart touting for business along the Embankment. They should both go away and rethink their looks from scratch.

Finally, here is former model and current celebritee Imogen Anthony, wearing Discount Universe.

WTF likes to think that even Madonna would have been embarrassed to wear this arse-bearing collection of rude ticker tape and string….. Just go away.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Philippa Charles, who brought this item from a US yuletide gift catalogue to WTF’s attention. It is, Heaven help us, an annual subscription to the Avocado of the Month Club where your friend can receive a different seasonal avocado every month upon your outlay of $135.

Philippa remarks ‘Now look. This may be the most millennial thing I have ever seen’ and she seems to have a point. WTF likes an avocado as much as the next person but it is becoming the new pink peppercorn or the excrescence that is the sun dried tomato (which tasted like dried snot). Avocado is now everywhere, especially upon toast which is slithery and revolting. Food pretentiousness has reached new heights and It’s So Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Do not neglect to send in your splendid comments and your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

This week brought a number of revelations, all of them surprising. Revelation number one. The German word for ‘shitstorm’ is ‘shitstorm’. It appears that our main contribution to the EU will be the word ‘shitstorm’. What a legacy. As Christina Rossetti almost said,

Remember me when I am gone away 

Gone far away into the silent land

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay….

Yet if You should forget me for a while, and afterwards remember….

Remember I gave you the word shitstorm.

Not of course that we are going very far away, should May’s deal go through. Revelation number two – her proposal has us stuck temporarily in the EU, part in, part out, without a say in anything but still paying through the nose for the privilege of Great Britain staying in the customs union and Northern Ireland remaining in the single market, with the border floating about somewhere in the ether, until we can negotiate a better deal and finally leave. Except that we now know that the Attorney General advised the Government that we may never be able to leave because the Transition Agreement may not allow it, even were the negotiations to fail – or never start at all. We will be in limbo, flailing about like a character in a Greek myth, trapped forever by our own hubris. Which brings us to revelation number three. A Government can be held in Contempt of Parliament. It happened this week after May refused to hand over the aforesaid legal advice in full because she said it was privileged (despite having waived the privilege by talking about it). And no wonder she did not want us to see it, as  it showed that her plan was more stark-bollock-naked than the Emperor in Hans Christian Anderson’s fairy tale. Revelation number four. When the deal is rejected in Parliament next Tuesday, as it will be, the idea of a second referendum, once reviled as the stupidest idea since David Cameron promised us a referendum to shut up the UKIP-inclined contingent in the Tory party, may not be as unlikely as everyone once thought because the alternative is even worse, to leave without a deal and be out of everything with no guarantee of anything and the likely dissolution of the Union to boot. Oh and revelation number five, hot off the press. There will be no Brexit Deal showdown between May and Corbyn on ITV or BBC as no one can agree on its timing or format. WTF’s idea to merge the debate with the final of I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here came to nothing, Like everything else about this debacle.

There are times when WTF wonders whether May has been playing a blinder, making Brexit so hopeless that everyone would say ‘oh to hell to it, let’s stay in after all’.  She probably hasn’t. But it would be lovely to think that she has been a leopard-skin-shod Trojan horse all along, making fools out of Johnson and Gove and Davies and Fox and little Moggy. Not that they needed any help….

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We start our review of the week’s clothing crapulousness with actress Mandy Moore at the Hollywood Reporter Power 100 Women in Entertainment party, wearing Gabriela Hurst.

Readers, over the years you and I have become used to a tit window, but this is an appalling new phenomenon, a tit window with curtains. and not just that, but a hearse tit window with half curtains. 

This is rapper ASAP Rocky wearing Dior Homme.

Rocky, the new face of Dior Man, is trying his best to look good in a lacy see-through shirt, silver foil trewsies and overpriced trainers. But it is a task beyond anyone, even a cool dude like him.

To the British Independent Film Awards in London where we encounter the new Dr Who, actress Jodie Whittaker, wearing Aphid London and Louboutin bootees.

If a time machine could whisk Jodie back to the moment before she put on this frillfest and hideous booties like a Regency doxy, WTF would bet a penny to a pinch of shit that she would hop right on board. 

Actor Christopher Meloni at the Netfliux premiere of Roma, wearing a load of old tat.

Christopher used to play mean, moody and manly Detective Eliot Stabler, partnering the lovely, touchy-feely, Detective Olivia Benson on Law & Order – Special Victims’ Unit. Then he stomped out in a huff because of a dispute over money and since then he has been largely anonymous, occasionally pitching up wearing shocking outfits like this one. No one should wear a back-to-front baseball cap, and particularly not a man in his late 50s, because it makes everyone look like a prat.

To Melbourne where we meet the designer duo behind the Australian label Romance Was Born, Luke Sales and Anna Plunkett.

He looks like Luciano Pavarotti singing Rudolfo in La Bohème. Anna resembles the Australian galah bird in fuchsia bootees.

And now a couple of total shockers from the Versace Front Row in New York. First actress Tracee Ellis Ross.

The dress is a gorgeous colour but the tits are more adrift than a couple of castaways and for reasons which are far from clear, she has curtain ties hanging from the hem and ears. Yurgle.

And here we have actor Norman Reedus and his beloved, actress Diane Kruger.

Diane used to go out with lovely Joshua Jackson, but then switched her attention to Norman, who looks like a cut price Sean Bean with bad hair. He is in the sort of a foul checked suit worn by a bookie’s runner. WTF does not even know what Diane is supposed to be wearing but, like Tracee, it is not doing the job in the tits department, or indeed, in any department, not even at all.

Finally, brace yourselves, because here is über-ghastly health guru Gillian McKeith. One hopes that she is not making another bid for the coveted WTF Christmas Turkey this year because it is going to be an all-male affair…..

Gillian sprang to fame on TV examining people’s poo. Now she has taken to wearing it. 

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Sue from London, who has taken against Melania Trump’s Christmas decorations for the White House featuring these blood-red trees.

There is festive, there is folly and there is Hammer House of Horror. This is not so much Christmas as Nightmare on Pennsylvania Avenue. The present incumbents of number 1600 are quite frightening enough with adding this bloodbath into the mix. One expects Freddy Kruger to pop out from behind the foliage at any minute. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Do not neglect to send your splendid comments and your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

It is almost Christmas and so WTF thought she would end the year with a fairytale for you. Next week will bring you the fabled WTF Christmas Turkey 2018, and then there will be a break until 11 January 2019 while WTF suns herself on the other side of the world and drinks a lot of Riesling and Pinot Noir.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

Once upon a time, a girl called Theresa lived in a big, tall house in the middle of a city. Theresa was the city’s leader and was obliged to do the people’s bidding. And the people had asked for two pink flying elephants circling above the main square singing ‘Happy’. Now Theresa knew that this request was impossible, but she was a dutiful girl and she tried her hardest to make this happen. She travelled to the Land of the Elephants and had many meeting with Herr Tusk, the Chief Elephant Master, but, as she knew she would, she failed. And so she was obliged to return to the city and tell the people that there were no pink flying elephants, not even of any kind, but that she was holding an option on two grey elephants, who could neither fly nor sing. All they could do was to walk round and round making loud trumpeting sounds and blowing watery snot at onlookers. Oh – and there was a lengthy minimum hire period for the elephants, and a possibility that the lease could go on for years.

The people were furious. The ones who had wanted pink, flying, elephants singing ‘Happy’ refused to accept grey, perambulating, elephants who could not sing and who blew watery snot at them. Those who had always thought that it was cruel to put elephants on show at all were also scornful. Everyone demanded that Theresa return to Herr Tusk to get a better deal, and, if she couldn’t, then she should step down and let the evil pygmies, Mophead and Moggy, carry out the negotiations instead. Mophead and Moggy had promised the people that they would get tough with Herr Tusk and would demand pink, flying, elephants that not only sang ‘Happy’ but also ‘Three Lions on the Shirt’. And if Herr Tusk still failed to oblige, they would buy elephants from somewhere else, spray them pink and fly them around the square on wires, and to hell with the health and safety regulations, which were probably imposed by Herr Tusk in the first place.

The people were not given a vote on whether to go with Theresa or with Mophead and Moggy. Instead, the burghers of the city  had a secret vote and chose Theresa, sending Mophead and Moggy and their pygmy followers scampering back into the shadows. Theresa had won! She was so happy. Except that she now had to go back to Herr Tusk and ask him for pastel-coloured, flying, elephants that sang  ‘Happy’  or at least ask whether she could take the grey, non-singing, elephants on approval. But Herr Tusk held firm. It was the grey, non-singing, elephants on a long lease or nothing at all.

And the thing is, boys and girls, there was no magic wand to turn grey into pink, or perambulating into flying, or watery snot-blowing into singing. There would be no happy ending for Theresa, Mophead, Moggy, the pygmies, or the people. Because there is no such thing as a pink, flying, elephant. An elephant cannot sing Happy. And the moral of the story is not to ask for things you cannot get………

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We start our review of the week’s fashion flatulence at the British Fashion Awards in London and singer Olly Murs, wearing River Island Man.

WTF went off wearing brown after the 1970’s, when she had a very fetching brown Afghan coat with orange embroidery, and a pair of brown platform boots which could only be closed by lying on the bed with one’s leg up at a right angle and a metal coat hook pulling at the zip. Olly’s brown suit makes him look like a draylon teddy bear with black facings and slip-on sneakers.

Next up, we have model and actress Suki Waterhouse, wearing Mulberry.

One can only conclude that Suki spilt something on her skirt or trousers. There is short. And there is a scalloped snatch-sighting. And this is in danger of becoming the latter any moment.

This is model Doutzen Kroes, wearing David Koma.

If a woman with bad liver spots went hula hooping, this is what she would look like.

Finally from this event, we have actress Kristen Scott-Thomas, wearing Valentino.

There is enough fabric here for a small marquee and she appears to have lost an arm in some dreadful accident.

We now move to Los Angeles and the premiere of the movie Aquaman, starring actress Amber Heard, who is becoming something of a fixture in this blog, wearing Minge Maestro, Julien Macdonald.

If there is a body part to be flashed, Julien is your man and this is very typical of his oeuvre. He has dressed Amber as a scaly sea-creature with a minge panel and no feet.

Next we go to an event for designers Herring & Herring, where we encounter actress Olivia Munn,wearing Yanina Couture.

Olivia is wearing a sheer dress patterned with little Regency-period ladies and gentlemen, including one gentleman who appears to be hovering unnervingly close to her lady parts. One should not be expected to put up with scenes of gross indecency on someone’s skirt. WTF has spoken.

This is actress and singer Tessa Thompson wearing Marc Jacobs.

Tessa’s outfit is the lovechild of Aladdin and one of the Duchess of Cornwall’s wedding hats, and she also has a turd on her head.

We haven’t seen actor Jared Leto for a while, but we always knew that he would return – and he has.

Jared is giving us a mashup of Game of Thrones and American Pie, and it is to be deplored.

We are now in London at the Capital FM Jungle bell Ball where we meet singer Marina Diamandis, wearing who can even say what this is?

Wearing a croptop shorts suit decorated with scrunched-up doilies over a pair of net curtains fashioned into trousers is a new one to WTF, and it is an experience that she could happily have lived without, and hopes fervently to be able to do so in the future.

Also there was singer Ellie Goulding, wearing something extremely bad.

WTF is sorry to see Ellie in white incontinence pants and matching bralet over a white shroud, which is not so much ethereal as excruciating.

And last, bringing up the rear, literally, at the Women in Music festival, we have singer Janelle Monáe wearing a deeply preposterous ensemble by Gareth Pugh.

Cowboys wear chaps, yes, but over jeans. They do not have their crotches on display, and with good reason, because when the wind comes whistling through Wyoming, you do not want your nether regions exposed to the elements. These are pinstriped nappy-chaps, and they are manifestly not up to the job. 

The problem with pinstriped nappy-chaps is they do not cover your arse. It might do for Brokeback Mountain but they are ill-advised for ordinary wear. And the length of the trousers is a health hazard.

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OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. We had a bumper fashion fiasco section this week and so It’s Got To Go became It’s Had To Go. But keep sending in your comments and your splendid suggestions for future editions of It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers

Yes, it is that time of the year again. I mean, the time to vote for the WTF Christmas Turkey 2018 (it went quickly, didn’t it?). This year, after six years of men and women vying for the much-coveted prize, this is an all-male line-up, such is the shockingness of their apparel this year. Men’s fashion has gone totally batshit crazy. Their trousers are not on speaking terms with their ankles. Their jackets are not covering their bums. Their jackets are sometimes worn without shirts or teeshirts, not even of any kind. Their brogues are sans socks. Here are twenty examples of male madness for you to choose from. Remember that you can vote for as many people as you like, and as often as you like – none of that single transferable vote stuff here, just good old fashion ticks in the appropriate box or boxes. The guys here appear in first name alphabetical order which absolutely denotes no preference on WTF’s part.

It remains to wish you all a very Happy Christmas, a Happy New Year, and Happy Holidays generally. WTF will be back, tanned and rested, on 11 January 2019.

So – to business. Here is your selection of twenty fashion faux-pas. Off you go!

1.  ASAP Rocky, rapper.

Rocky is usually very dapper, and is the face of Dior Homme. But here he is in Gucci, looking like a cross between HRH Princess Margaret and Noël Coward. Extra minus points for the ridiculous fur-lined slippers.

2. Billy Porter, entertainer.

Several months have passed since Billy appeared in the weekly blog, a prat in a hat, but WTF’s opinion has not changed. Billy is wearing a used condom as a coat. And strangely, that is not even the worst part of it, because that top is truly unforgivable.

3. David Potts, celebritee.

The suit is heinous, and he needs to take several sizes up and lose the tie. Or keep the tie and lose the suit. Or, preferably, both. The same goes for the pose which makes him look like a little boy at his first ballet class.

4. Gareth Gates, singer, (seen here with fiancée Faye Brookes).

Is crushed velvet a thing again? And even if it is, this is the colour of a sick person’s poo, and is a perfect example of a too-short jacket and too-short trousers, and is also very tight over the unmentionables.

5. Harry Styles, singer.

Like crushed velvet, flares seem to be back, but these trousers are not so much flares as a couple of inverted Laura Ashley lampshades.

6. Jalen Mills, American footballer.

Just because he has a tattooed chest does not mean that it can be worn in substitution for a shirt. The watch and the neck chain must weigh about the same as a whole room in Fort Knox, and there is no excuse for having a frog perched on your head.

7. Jared Leto, actor.

Ah Jared! Bless him! As WTF remarked at the time, this is Game of Thrones meets American Pie.

8. JaVale McGee, basketball player.

WTF cannot improve on the tweet from a JaVale fan at the time, observing, ‘I get that it’s Gucci or whatever, but do you really gotta put that shit on your waist ‘n all, u could’ve just left it in the car or some shit. That’s why they got Pockets for that stuff.’  Indeed.

9. Jonathan van Ness, TV fashion guru.

It isn’t that he is wearing a skirt. It is actually rather a nice skirt. It is the sheer top, the visible shorts, and the Angelina Jolie Oscars pose. Yurgle.

10. Julian Schnabel, artist and film director.

Yes, he is a famous artist and film director, but facts are facts, and it is a fact that he is wearing his pyjamas on the Cannes Red Carpet. He may have a blazer over it with toning buttons, but they are still pyjamas. End of.

11. Kanye West, rapper, seen with wife Kim Kardashian.

It takes a lot of effort to look worse than Kim, but Kanye manages it effortlessly.  The suit may be Vuitton, but he seems to have slept in it, there is chest instead of shirt, and he is wearing slides from his label Yeezy WITH GREY SOCKS.

12. Laurence Fishburne, actor.

WTF aficionado  Philippa Charles asked “are those trousers on L Fishburne or did he have to do some crafty work with a tablecloth after an unfortunate spillage/splittage???“ And frankly, there can be no other explanation.

13. Lewis Hamilton, racing driver.

Lewis specialises in looking like a pillock, and this is pillock plus. Having dissed his little nephew for wearing a skirt, and being covered in obloquy as a result, (including bolting out of nowhere to win last year’s WTF Christmas Turkey), Lewis thought he would make amends by appearing in this Tommy Hilfiger-designed kilt. The question is, what is he going to wear next year to make amends to the Scots for this year?

14. Nick Cannon, singer and TV talent-show judge.

On the plus side, it is very colourful. On the minus side, it is seriously terrible, and that includes the headscarf and sunglasses.

15. Nico Tortorella, actor.

Since when did fashion consist of a string vest, pyjama bottoms, a kimono with writing on it, and a hat last seen on Michael Crawford in Some Mothers Do ‘Ave Them? Oooooh, Betty.

16. Patrick Starr, makeup artist.

If a giant orange Gerbera Daisy went to a fancy dress party as Carmen Miranda, this is what it would look like.

17.  Pedro Capó  singer.

This suit, like a cloth backgammon board, is capable of causing severe retinal damage and constitutes a veritable health hazard. And he isn’t wearing socks.

18. Robert Pattinson, actor.

It is all going so well until the kneecaps and then it all goes horribly wrong, an overgrown schoolboy with skinny little legs and a farouche expression.

19. Thom Yorke, singer.

The suit is like the dark blue section of the Dulux colour chart and is made much, much, worse by those slides. Gentlemen – please remember that if you show your toes, you need to get a pedicure first. Thank you.

20. Tommy Dorfman, actor.

This is designed by Thom Browne, the man who gave us the shorts suit. Ironically, this is the time when a pair of shorts would have been very welcome, as the whole thing is very Britney Spears singing ‘Whoops, I Did It Again’.

OK readers, get voting!!!! See you on 11 January. Love and kisses to you all.

Happy New Year, Readers,
 
But is it?
 
In any sane country, Chris Grayling, Secretary of State, would long since have been consigned to a home for the terminally useless, where he would present even the most skilled physicians with their greatest challenge to date. This King Midas is not so much in reverse as hurtling backwards over a cliff at full speed, showering citizens with ordure as he crashes down to earth. But this is not a sane country, far from it, and so Grayling is in charge of Transport, and in particular, transport in the event of a no-deal Brexshit. Brexshit is already a mess. Add Grayling to the mix, making the mess messier, and you have the perfect storm. Continuing his practice of making a cock-up of everything he touches, he has awarded a £14m contract to run cross-Channel ferries to Seaborne Ferries, a company with no ferries, which has never traded and some of whose directors have a colourful business history. The theory is that we will need extra freight arrangements in order to ease the backlog once we are out of the Customs Union, at which point the the M20 will become a parking lot, Danish insulin will be held up at Calais for days and Dutch tulips will wilt in a 50km queue at Ostend. Even the rehearsal for this scenario was an unmitigated disaster, with £60,000 gurgling down the plughole on an exercise where an insufficient number of trucks volunteered, even at £550 a time, to cause a traffic jam. Matters took a yet more comical turn when the company’s standard terms and conditions turned out to be copied from a home food delivery business, prompting much merriment and cries of “Mine’s a pepperoni pizza with extra mozzarella”. Grayling is, as ever, unrepentant, safe in the knowledge that May cannot sack him as she is a bit short of candidates. Once upon a time, Ministers resigned when they screwed up. Now they  hand out millions to a company where one director’s previous company sank without trace, owing a fortune to Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, and another director was once banged up for unlawful possession of a shotgun, and then they pop up on TV and radio, boasting of their pride in supporting a “start-up business”. With our money.
 
Meanwhile, shaven-headed yobs with the IQ of a root vegetable are bravely protecting our democracy by harassing and intimidating Remain MPs, most notably Anna Soubry, calling them Nazis and Fascists, and issuing threats against police officers, declaring them to be “fair game”. One hero was caught on camera telling a black copper “and you’re not even fucking British, Mate”. Perish the thought that these protesters could ever be described as “racists”. They just want the Will Of The People to prevail, even though many of The People did not understand the consequences of what they were voting for, and were spoon-fed lies by the ladleful. But the People Have Spoken and so here we are, less than three months from B Day, adrift on a friendless sea, our Grayling-commissioned vessel fatally holed below the waterline, and the crew frantically steering it onto the rocks while we bail out the water with jam jars. There are life boats, or the options of changing course or delaying the journey, but Admiral May is determined not to use any of them. As Dido sang, “I will go down with this ship”….

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Our first dip of 2019 into the week’s clothing cloaca is at the Golden Globes in Hollywood, the first of the annual Awards for thespian types. We begin with musician and singer Joanna Newsom, wife of presenter Andy Samberg, wearing Rodarte.

Wearing your heart on your sleeve is one thing. Wearing your heart on your tits is quite another, especially when it is not anatomically accurate and it is also transparent, showcasing visible nipple activity (VNA).

Next up, we have actor Billy Porter, wearing Randi Rahm.

Billy is like a verdant meadow in velvet pumps and white socks. But WTF does admire the shocking pink silk lining, like the dress Marilyn Monroe wore in “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend”.

Next up, we have Killing Eve actress Jodie Comer, wearing Ralph & Russo.

For some reason, Jodie has come dressed as David Copperfield’s aunt, Miss Betsey Trotwood.

Next up, we have actress Indya Moore, wearing Louis Vuitton.

Indya is modelling the newest prototype for Donald Trump’s Big Beautiful Wall. This one really fits the bill, as it is see-through and is apparently made of steel. Sadly, recent tests have demonstrated that you can cut right through Trumpy’s wall. One can but pray that Indya has come prepared….

This is young actor Timothée Chalamet, wearing also Louis Vuitton.

Timothée is a dedicated follower of fashion, and so he has permitted Vuitton to dress him in a sparkling kiddie harness and some very snug-fitting trewsies.

Actress Julianne Moore wearing Givenchy.

Oh Julianne! White is so not your colour, but even worse, you look as if you are in a neck sling. And considering that the outfit is custom made, it doesn’t fit.  

Here is actor Bradley Cooper wearing Gucci with partner, model Irina Shayk, wearing Versace. Irina looks lovely. Bradley does not.

Bradley is wearing a truly terrible suit, like a louche steward on a cruise liner, with elephant vagina crotch and a comedy bow tie.

Actress Kate Beckinsale popped into one of the after parties, wearing Aardnevik.

This appears to be an elongated white Christmas tree that has fallen into the hands of a crazed topiarist, complete with minge fringe.

This is actress Debra Messing wearing Pamela Roland.

At first, WTF thought that a bear had escaped from one of the National Parks, what with the rangers being furloughed for the duration of the US Government shutdown, but then she realised that it was just Debra in a ludicrous frock.

This is Australian actor Cody Fern,wearing head-to-toe Maison Martin Margiela.

Er…OK. It is different, certainly, and very well made, but it is also on the far end of the WEIRD spectrum, with a double helping of extra weird. Margiela’s unforgivable devil’s hoof Tabi boots have previously featured in It’s Got To Go, and rightly so because to call them dog ugly would be a gross insult to canines.

And finally, we have actress Anne Hathaway wearing Elie Saab.

A Boudicca metal breastplate (what happens if the sun shines directly on it, your tits must cook like a couple of chicken fillets) and a skirt for which several animals seem to have died in vain. Why has the World Wildlife Fund not protested? It’s hideous.

And for those who missed the announcement, the winner of the WTF Christmas Turkey 2019 was….drumroll……ASAP ROCKY!!

WTF described this as at the time as Princess Margaret meets Noël Coward and many of you agreed. He was clearly in the lead from the off and stayed there with around 14% of the vote.

This weeks It’s Got To Go is from Claire from Boston, Mass. who has taken great issue with the use of nouns as verbs, particularly the word “gifting”, which she maintains does not exist, not even at all. Recently even The Daily Telegraph used the word in respect of our own Glorious Majesty, who “​gifted” tiaras to Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle. The Daily Telegraph!! Is this the end of civilisation as we know it?  Because it certainly seems like it. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Do not neglect to send your splendid comments and your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

This week Parliament finally got to vote on Mrs Maybe’s Brexshit deal. To the surprise of absolutely no one, Parliament rejected it. To the surprise of quite a few, it did not just reject it, it jumped up and down on it, kicked it in the goolies, cocked its collective leg over it and then dumped the putrid, mutilated, corpse into a skip. The losing margin of 230 was the largest Parliamentary defeat ever in the history of ever. But on a Vote of Confidence in the self-same Government that had just had its deal rejected, all the Tory MPs who had voted against it, including all the MPs who had voted against the Prime Minister only a few weeks ago, and the DUP, which had been screaming bloody murder all week, trooped merrily through the lobbies to support the woman whose bill they had so comprehensively trashed twenty-four hours earlier. Why? Because half of them did not want an election where the Will of the People could be tested, even though the Will of the People was what they were supposedly fighting for. And the other half of them did not want an election where the Will of the People could be tested, even though the Will of the People was what they were supposedly fighting against, because they want a second referendum instead, or simply just to scrap the whole thing. Meanwhile the Opposition, which did want to test the Will of the People, was actually offering the same option, i.e. Brexshit, as the Government it was seeking to topple, even though this is not party policy. Now the UK has 70 days to come up with something, anything, before the trapdoor opens, and Parliament will not vote for a No-Deal departure either. Instead, Mrs Maybe, who has repeatedly insisted upon upholding the Will of the People and delivering Brexshit, will probably have to postpone our departure currently scheduled for 29 March, or call the whole thing off. Or come up with a better deal, which she can’t. Not to mention that she kept telling us that no other deal could be obtained.

Here’s the thing, Readers. Everyone is making a terrible fool of themselves, and we have become an international laughing stock. What is the point of it? This is not so much flogging a dead horse as attempting to ride it in the Grand National – it is a non starter. It is disqualified before it even gets to the starting gate, let alone the finishing line. Everyone knows it isn’t going to be happen. So why are we investing all this time and effort and expense in stabling it, grooming it, feeding it and advertising its next race? Why aren’t we taking it to the knackers’ yard and at least getting a few quid for the corpse?

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This week, our review of the week’s sartorial slurry comes from the Critics Choice Awards where a variety of horror awaited our appalled gaze. We begin with Roseanne actress and producer Sara Gilbert and her wife, singer Linda Perry.

Sara has forgotten to brush her hair but otherwise passes muster but sadly the same cannot be said of her spouse, whose outfit can best be described as Sir Francis Bacon in platform boots and a flasher mac. And what’s with the mouth, like a giant cold sore?

Director and comedian Bo Burnham wearing Thom Browne.

Bo seems to have been sliced in half and put into two different suits and socks before re-assembly; the only things the two halves have in common are that the jackets are too short and the trousers have had a catastrophic fall out with Bo’s ankles.

Actress Lucy Boynton wearing Gucci.

This is just a bad nightie with very frilly tittage. 

Lucy should have got together with his director, Boots Riley, and his lady friend.

She is dressed as an extra from Oklahoma! Boots (né Raymond) is wearing a dressing gown. For some reason, he took great exception to newspapers pointing out that he was wearing a dressing gown. WTF can clear this matter up. Newspapers pointed this out because Boots was wearing a dressing gown. He might as well have complained that they said he was wearing glasses.

Actress Dina Shihabi, wearing Sandra Mansour.

This dress is like a (rightly) discarded costume for a budget pantomime production of Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves. The whole thing is just terribly, terribly, terrible, but that glowing green inter-galatic thing around her hips looks positively radio-active.

Actor Stephan James wearing Thom Browne.

Thom Browne does it again. Stephan must have spent the night with people asking him to bring them another Chablis or more cashews. And why is he wearing combat boots?

Actress Judith Light wearing Christian Siriano.

Cruella de Vil lives.

He’s back again, and WTF suspects we will be seeing him right through Awards season. Here is Cody Fern wearing vintage Yohji Yamamoto and foul Maison Martin Margiela Tabi boots.

Seeing as the suit is vintage, WTF did wonder whether the moths had got at it, but has since concluded that it was indeed designed like that so as to allow emergency access to the wearer’s pancreas. As for the Tabi Boots, WTF is sick of seeing them.

TV host Carrie Keagan wearing Victor Lopez.

Which is the more offensive? Is it the Minge Moment, or those tassels dangling from her shoulders like the entrance to a Kuala Lumpur knocking shop?

Finally, actor Billy Porter wearing Rinat Brodach.

Sartorially speaking, Billy is the gift that keeps on giving and here he has gift-wrapped himself in brown silk more wrinkled that a Shar Pei’s bum and a bow big enough to encase the Statue of Liberty.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF aficionado and stalwart Leslie from Lisson Grove, who has taken great issue with this male legwear and with very good reason. Are you ready? You won’t be….meet the concept of Mantyhose manufactured by e-MANcipate. I mean, the names themselves merit a slap before you even get to the horror of the picture.

Why would anyone, male or female, want to wear something that makes them appear to have ulcerative colitis?. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Do not neglect to send your splendid comments and your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Normally employment works like this. The employee does stuff at the employer’s request. Then at whatever period is stipulated in the contract, the employer pays the employee for the stuff he or she has done. But in America, if the Government shuts down because Congress has not passed a budget, Government employees still have to come to work if told to do so, or they may be ‘furloughed’, which means they stay at home until instructed otherwise. But either way, they do not get paid. Nothing. Nada. Zero. When the Government re-opens, they get their pay backdated, (although contractors do not), but in the meantime, they have to draw on their savings. Unless, of course, they have no savings, in which case, they must make interesting choices, such as do they feed their kids or pay the mortgage? Do they put fuel in the car to get to work or pay for the heating bill? Friday 25 January will be Day 35 of the shutdown and people are getting desperate. And furious.

This is happening because President Donald Trump wants his wall.  The one Mexico was going to pay for. That wall. Only Mexico is not going to pay for the Wall, and was never going to pay for the Wall, which means either that there is no Wall or Americans have to pay for it with public money approved by the House and the Senate and signed off by the President. And neither Chamber will give Trump $5.7 billion to pay for the Wall. Trump is refusing to sign off on the original budget, which made no provision for any Wall but gave him $1.3 billion for border security – having said he would sign it, he reneged after right-wing nutters got antsy, and so 800,000 people are currently without pay.

Not that they are getting much sympathy from Trump acolytes. Secretary of Commerce Wilbur Ross, an 81-year-old multi-millionaire who looks like he died in the night, expressed surprise that people had to go to food banks, and anyway, he said, 800,000 employees’ pay was only a third of 1% of GDP. Trump’s daughter-in-law, Lara Trump, said, ‘Listen, it’s not fair to you, and we all get this, but this is so much bigger than any one person. It’s a little bit of pain, but it’s going to be for the future of our country.” No, love. It’s a little bit of pain when you wake up in the morning and realise you married Eric Trump, the son with a face like a boiled potato and a brain to match. It is a much bigger pain when you worry whether that you can keep a roof over your head.

And so it drags on. Trump pretends there is a ‘humanitarian crisis’ at the Southern Border, talks about ‘invasions’ (although crossings there are at a twenty year low), claims Democrats favour open borders, drug smuggling and uncontrolled crime and maintains that many unpaid workers are firmly behind him. This is what is known as bullshit. Sadly for him, the new Speaker of the House, mother-of-five Nancy Pelosi, is well used to dealing with toddlers’ tantrums, and is more than happy to get into a septuagenarian scrap. This week, she postponed his State of the Union address and Trump has now backtracked on $5.7 billion immediately and is offering to re-open the Government for three weeks in exchange for a ‘pro-rated down-payment’ on the Wall. On Tuesday, he whimpered that Pelosi ditched his State of the Union because she ‘didn’t want to hear the truth’. On the contrary, Mr President. As Jack Nicholson’s Colonel Jessup said, ‘You can’t handle the truth!’ During the campaign, you told a massive lie you cannot make good on, people are now getting hurt, and 70% of your fellow Americans disapprove of the way you are handling this fiasco. Madam Speaker has your little orange balls in a vice and she intends to keep on squeezing until you stop this nonsense and act like a grown-up. 

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We begin’s the week’s sartorial survey with actress Naomi Watts, wearing Nina Ricci.

The colour of this dress makes her look like a melted puddle of strawberry ice-cream. Furthermore, although criticism is alien to WTF’s nature, she feels compelled to remark that the seams are as puckered as Donald Trump’s horrible little mouth.

Next up, we have WTF regular, singer Rita Ora, wearing Dion Lee.

This is the Full Monty with peek-a-boo tits like a Klu Klux Klansman’s hood, mis-matched shades of white, and a skirt made out of that stuff greengrocers put over fruit to stop it bruising, with more than a flash of arse cheek. 

To Newcastle, where we find the “star” of Geordie Shore, Chloe Ferry, wearing Oh Polly, seen here with her boyfriend Sam.

This is not so much under-boob as thunder-boob, and it gets much, much worse, namely the dreaded nip slip. This is what happens when you venture out with your top half wrapped only in a tiny fuchsia bandage.

As for Chloe’s face, there has been major interference with the workings of nature, including a trout pout like something out of Finding Nemo. Here is what she looked like in 2014 before she became a celebritee….

To London, and actress Michelle Keegan at the National TV Awards wearing Dafna May.

One day Dafna may design a dress that doesn’t make the wearer look like a creosoted Sugar Plum Fairy. 

Here is actress Bella Thorne, née Annabella Thorne, and her boyfriend, singer Mod Sun, né Derek Smith.

Bella is showing an awful lot of chest and could well catch a chill. If it is cold enough to wear a coat, it is too cold to flash your embonpoint. As for her beau, he is also showing far more chest than anyone wants to see, including more artwork than Michelangelo’s sketchbook, and he has substituted what look like wind-chimes for a shirt. And as WTF aficionado Belinda rightly observed, no one should be allowed out in public with a mouth open that wide.

Here is rapper Cardi B, wearing Dolce & Gabbana. 

It is best to leave it to Cardi B to explain what is occurring. ‘… these pants is too mother–king tight. S–t was giving my p—y a wedgie. I hate having p—y wedgies, bro. My p—y be screaming at me like, ‘Bitch! You got me f–ked up! You want a yeast infection, bitch? You want a f–king yeast infection?'” WTF would advise either taking a size up or, better still, leaving this foul outfit on the hanger,

Finally, here we are at Paris Menswear Week where we encounter actor Robert Pattinson wearing Dior Homme.

At first WTF assumed that aficionado Kathryn had sent her a picture of a tramp on the Champs Elysées, but she then realised that it was Robert in designer togs, unkempt hair and a pallor last seen on someone exhumed by order of the Coroner. Why Dior Homme has found inspiration in Bill Sykes from Oliver!, WTF cannot say….

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF aficionado Sue Peters who was rightly horrified that magazine Marie-Claire had advised women to kick-start their period by inserting parsley into their vaginas. Health professionals reacted with sorrel, with one gynaecologist remarking ‘there are only a few things that should go into your vagina and parsley is not one of them’. This is sage advice that women should fennel if they want to stay in mint condition.

Clearly Marie-Claire got caraway with this nonsense, and the article has since been withdrawn. Why would any female want to turn their lady garden into a herb garden? It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Last Friday, WTF wrote about the US Government Shutdown, initiated by President Trump because he couldn’t get it up. The Wall at the Southern Border, that is. Trump spent 35 days vowing he would not cave without Congressional funding for the Wall and then at 7 pm on Friday, he caved and agreed to re-open for three weeks pending negotiations. WTF was put in mind of Byron’s Don Juan describing the eponymous hero’s seduction of Donna Julia. ‘A little still she strove and much repented, and whispering ‘I will ne’er consent…consented’.

Nobody understands what Trump is doing, but according to Sarah Sanders, his Press Secretary, God intended Donald Trump to be President.  She said ‘I think God calls all of us to fill different roles at different times and I think that He wanted Donald Trump to become president. ..That’s why he’s there and I think he has done a tremendous job in supporting a lot of the things that people of faith really care about.’ And because St Donald the Pure has appointed pro-Life judges and attacked birth control organisations, people of faith (Christians) are willing to overlook  his faults. But what’s in it for God? 

We know the Lord is forgiving, but He seems to be content for Trump to flout his Handbook altogether. Trump is an adulterer, (Hebrews 13:4 ‘Marriage is to be held in honor among all, and the marriage bed is to be undefiled.’.) Adultery goes with lust ( Galatians 5: 16 ‘..you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.’) He claims to weigh 236 lbs (but that’s just his head), although he is obese, existing on a dirt of congealed fats (Ezekiel 16:49 – ‘Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy’). He hates spending his own money (Hebrews 13.3 “Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have’). He spends hours watching TV rather than working (Proverbs 6:6 “Go to the ant, you sluggard! Consider her ways and be wise.”). He constantly loses his temper and hits back at people (Romans 12:19 “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God.’).  He envies others (genuinely) richer than him (Proverbs 14:30, ‘..envy is rottenness to the bones.’). He believes that he is smarter than everyone (Jeremiah 9:23-24, “…Let not the mighty man boast of his might…but let him who boasts boast of this, that he understands and knows Me…”) And of course, he is a compulsive liar (Proverbs 21:22 ‘The LORD detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy’.)

If the Good Lord did decide that Donald was His man, He must have either have a very warped sense of humour or He was feeling particularly pissed off with humanity. To be frank, WTF would rather He had rained down a few plagues, even the frogs and the locust, rather than visit Trumpy upon us, but, as we are regularly reminded, the Good Lord moves in mysterious ways. And none more mysterious than this…..

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We start our review of the week’s sartorial cesspit at the Screen Actor’s Guild Awards (the SAGs) in Hollywood and actor Michael B. Jordan, wearing Louis Vuitton.

The suit fits him like a glove, but the leather floral kiddie-harness is preposterous. Timothee Chalamet wore a black sparkly one, and now this. Should you wish to reproduce this at home, remove the straps from a floral backpack, discard the backpack, wear the straps across your chest and save yourself a fortune. But you will still look like a prat.

WTF has never seen GLOW,  a show about lady wrestlers, but its quartet of its leading ladies wore some dreadful clothes on the Red Carpet.  First up, we have Kate Nash, wearing Manish Arora.

Mary Poppins does bondage. 

Second is Alison Brie, wearing Miu Miu.

WTF is wrestling with this for a number of reasons. Alison looks like the lovechild of a cockroach and the Angel of Death, while those wings take up lots of room. Unless Alison was sitting in aisle seat, two people had to spend the whole ceremony getting poked in the eye every time she moved. Stand by for legal action….

Third, we have Kimmy Gatewood wearing Nathaniel Paul.

Nathaniel is taking the piss. A bodice goes under a blouse, not over it. And save for the flashes of white and the red lippy, Kimmy’s hair, face and dress are all the same colour, making her resemble a perambulating peach.

And finally, we have Marianna Palka wearing Madame Adassa, this time at an After Party.

Sadly, Marianna is putting the sag into SAG and has substituted a flowery minge mask for a pair of panties. These felonies are compounded by pink bedroom mules, blue-bandaged arms, and an orange spray tan of which Donald Trump would be proud.

Casey Thomas Brown from The Kominsky Method.

This Harry Potter-inspired getup looks like it came straight from the school drama cupboard, but WTF’s chief disapprobation is reserved for the wonky bow tie, something she hates almost above all things, and what appear to be a pair of walking boots.

The lovely Lupita Nyong’o, wearing Vera Wang.

Lupita! What on earth did you say to your stylist to piss him or her off? This is essentially a corset with coat-sleeves and some leftover Christmas lights worn as a skirt. You had better apologise PDQ or Heaven knows what he or she she will pick out for your Oscar outfit.

Angela Bassett wearing Georges Chakra.

Angela has come dressed as a titsy tea cosy.

Anthony Ramos wearing David Hart.

This is a truly terrible suit, like those luminous planets you put on kiddies’ bedroom ceilings which glow in the dark. WTF’s adored great nephew has some, but he is two. The aforesaid suit also has enormous lapels and too short trousers, and poor Anthony is also wearing brown shoes and the world’s biggest bow tie, like a pair of foxes’ ears worn as a hunting trophy.

Away from the SGAs, we have Bollywood star Ranveer Singh wearing something quite mind boggling.

Ranveer is a very cool dude but no one, not even him, can carry off head to ankle leopardskin and golden bootees.

And finally, we find ourselves at Paris Fashion Week where we encounter singer Celine Dion, wearing Alexandre Vauthier.

Donald Trump could take those shoulders and use them for his Wall, or barrier, or whatever he wants to call it this week, but the real horror is the sheer tit bandage displaying a great deal of distressingly bony chest.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF of Islington who has got the dead raving needle about lack of gym etiquette, to be summarised as follows.

* Tossers sitting at machines, not huffing and puffing as per the supposed programme, but reading or sending emails and texts.

*Tossers speaking loudly on the phone whilst exercising, especially on a bluetooth or, even worse, with the loudspeaker on.

*Tossers with headphones singing along loudly but tunelessly in unexpected and unnerving bursts, like Ozzie Osbourne with croup.

*Tossers emitting loud grunting noises like a hippo giving birth, just to show everyone else how hard they are working.

*Tossers in the pool doing backstroke at 1 mph and causing a mini tsunami.

It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers, 

Of all the things that enrage WTF about Brexit, which is pretty much everything, is the new era of do-it-yourselfery, where anyone with barely two brain cells to rub together can pontificate without bothering to learn more about the issues than listening to Nigel Farage on LBC and perusing @ravingmad on Twitter. Everybody now has an opinion. The problem is that an opinion which is not based on fact is not an opinion at all, it is simply verbal flatulence.

Be that howsoever it may be, you would expect rather better of a Government Minister. A Minister should be on top of his brief. In particular, the Minister dealing with Brexit should have some understanding of the issues. And one of the biggest issues around Brexit is the Irish Border. Before peace broke out in long-suffering Northern Ireland, the border was manned by armed British soldiers. Then came the Good Friday Agreement in April 1998. One of the main features of that agreement was a normalising of relations between North and South, with the consequence that citizens of both countries could cross the border freely without having a revved-up squaddie pointing a machine gun at them. And for twenty years, people have crossed the border every day without hindrance. But once we Brexit, that border becomes the only land border between Britain and and the EU, so if we are not in the Customs Union, how is that to be managed? May’s deal, which hit the buffers so spectacularly last month, was for a backstop, which meant that we could never leave, even after the transitional period ending in 2022, unless the thorny problem of the border had been resolved. So if you are in charge of Brexit, the Good Friday Agreement is required reading. A bit like the Bible if you are a priest. Or the script if you are an actor.

The former Secretary of State for Buggering Off, Dominic Raab, occupied the role from July 2018 to November 2018 and then flounced off in protest against the draft deal he himself had negotiated. This week Raab appeared in front of the Parliamentary Northern Ireland Affairs Committee, and was asked whether he had read the Good Friday Agreement. Raab replied ‘Um, I haven’t sat down and started at the beginning and gone through it.. But of course at various points of the negotiations when issues have been raised, it has been an important opportunity to delve into the different aspects very carefully’. In other words, no, he hadn’t. Raab has law degrees from Cambridge and Oxford. He must have read hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pages every week during the course of his studies and then in practice as a lawyer. But with the fate of the nation in his hands, he couldn’t be arsed to read thirty-five pages. The Committee members looked as if they had been slapped in the face with a fish. Raab added ‘It’s not like a novel, you sit down and say ‘do you know what, over the holidays, this is a cracking read’. Yeah, you’re right, Dom. Maybe they should have asked Dan Brown or John Grisham to have a go at drafting it. Then you might have got to the end during your tenure and you might have had a clue what you were talking about. Abject.

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We start our review of the week’s obnoxious outfits with celebritee Kim Kardashian at the amFAR Gala in New York wearing vintage Versace.

Yurgle. Her embonpoint must enter the room five seconds before the rest of her. Ridiculous. And talking of ridiculous, she is not barefoot, she is shod in invisible shoes by Gianvito Rossi.

Ridiculous.

Last week was the Superbowl in Atlanta, and two days beforehand, NFL stars gathered for the annual NFL Honors. This is one of WTF’s favourite events because you always get a lot of men looking very silly. Like Alvin Kamara of the New Orleans Saints, wearing Gentlemen’s Playbook.

There is silky. And there is shiny. And then there is this. He looks like an illuminated, lavender, Christmas tree bauble.

And here is another NFL player, Deshaun Watson of the Houston Texans. wearing a RichFest jacket. You can’t see the Gucci black trousers and OffWhite x Nike trainers. But trust me – they are there.

There is a lot going on here, and none of it good, not least the red collar like the Head Porter at a ritzy hotel in Biarritz. 

Next, we have singer Dua Lipa,wearing Armani Privé.

We are all waiting for the sheer trend to go away and we are still waiting and it looks as if we may be waiting for some time. Armani designed this with the skirt prettily lined, but Dua removed it for the express purpose of flashing her arse, which, in WTF’s view, is not a good enough reason.

Here is actress Jennifer Connelly at the premiere of Alita – Battle Angel wearing Louis Vuitton. As usual.

In effect, this is like a comedy suit of armour made out of an old shopping bag and displaying Jennifer’s somewhat spindly legs.

To London and Scottish singer and celebritee Tallia Storm, wearing who can even say what this is, at the premiere of Lego Movie 2.

Here is a WTF Rule. If it is cold enough for a fur jacket, it is too cold to flash your tummy. Especially in a PVC bralet and matching trewsies. And if the PVC trewsies were not bad enough (and they are, they really are), these also have instant minge access with one zip running around the groin and another running from bellybutton to crotch.

Say hallo to actress Rosamund Pike at the premiere of A Private War, wearing Hermès.

This is a bizarre blend of Annie Get Your Gun and Sonny Corleone in his vest and braces (suspenders to our US friends). WTF was unaware that boob tubes were still a thing, but if they still are, they shouldn’t be.

Rosamund should call the other Hermes, the one without the e-grave, and order them to deliver this load of tat back to the Hermès with the e-grave, and for that Hermès to stick it where the sun don’t shine.

Here we are at the Vanity Fair BAFTA party and British designer Joshua Kane,  wearing himself.

Quite apart from Joshua’s ridiculous appearance, like a bespectacled Cavalier (the ones from the 1600’s, not the doggie breed), it is most unnerving to see a man with ladies and gentlemen wandering across his bits.

And finally this is actress and WWE announcer Charly Arnolt wearing something that looks like she isn’t wearing anything at all.

If Donald Trump ever took to cross-dressing and wanted to walk around giving the impression that he was naked, this would be the perfect outfit. Carly’s spherical tittage is as improbable as Donald’s staff giving off-the-record briefings to reporters that he does not use a tanning machine and his tan is down to  ‘good genes’. As if. The only thing that is genetically orange is an orange. 

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF stalwart Andrew Purcell from Texas who has brought this utterly revolting thing to WTF’s attention – the fake camel toe panties. Yes really.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! IT IS BAD!!!!!!!

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

 

Andrew writes ‘Let me provide you with a brief respite from The Brexit Bunch. This has “Its Got To Go” written all over it.  In a universe that allows Donald Trump to be President, I guess there’s room for… “Fake Camel Toe Underwear”‘. No Andrew, there isn’t. There really isn’t. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x