IN THE NAME OF LAGUARDIA!

Happy Birthday to me :)

Yet another celeb (Cole Sprouse) foolishly giving away their foot pics for free.

Greetings, pals!

Today is the day of my birth. I’m the big 3-5 which is a little incomprehensible but apparently factual. Fran and I are currently off in pursuit of touching grass and finding an excuse to wear the rainbow sequin dress I purchased to eat dinner with John Waters in the dump last year for the umpteenth time. So, as I warned you, today’s edition is going to be a bit of a shorty. But that said, there are just a handful of photos I desperately need to share with you and I will not be able to truly enjoy the completion of another rotation around this sun until I do.

Photos such as this one.

If you can swing it, please consider giving me the gift of paying a small fee to support this toxic, one-sided penpal-ship. (Especially as I finally finished writing my Death Becomes Her recap for paid subs and will be sending that out next week.) Or, if money is in fact an object, I would also deeply appreciate any sort of public declaration of your love for Mess that you see fit.

And as always, thank you to every single Messkeeteer who reads this. I couldn’t ask for a cooler, funnier audience for all of my terrible opinions. <3

Let’s check it out.

Well, Azealia Banks has done it again. You can read the full series of posts here, and I highly recommend that you do. Because no matter what she does, no matter what you may think of her as a person, there are two universal truths about Azealia: 1. She is a HIT. MAKER. Her music is undeniable. And 2. When she deigns to make an appearance on her Instagram Stories to air out the business of a fellow famous person, she’s going to tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Over the years, her gossip and insights have born out time and time again and we need to start heeding her prescient content. Please recall the dispatches sent from that long weekend she spent trapped in Elon Musk and Grimes’ compound!!! And once again, this week Azealia was generous enough to really spell it out for Nicki Minaj and if Nicki doesn’t follow the above professional playbook to a T, she’s a fool. Azealia is offering a masterclass in fame maneuvering and she should send Nicki a bill for that consulting work. Personally, I’m going to be bumping “New Bottega” all weekend in honor of the fine work she’s done for pop culture today.

And here’s just a little relatable anecdote for you on this beautiful Friday morning. Who amongst us hasn’t gotten lost in that particular set of baby blues. But, of course, the Daily Mail couldn’t just be normal about it and had to chose this absolutely haunted Siberian Husky-ass photo of Cillian.

And somewhere out in Calabasas, Kim is screaming into a fistful of Skims. All of her carefully laid tabloid tall tales for naught. As I previously cautioned, Tom very obviously has a type, and that type is supermodel. But now that Kim is back to square one in her hunt for a new celeb crush, I would love to see her attempt to go after Bradley Cooper next as a form of revenge against Irina for not only swiping Tom but also “dating” Kanye immediately post divorce. I don’t think she’ll succeed in courting Brad either, but I do think it would be fun to watch. And just imagine the post-Oscars double dates they could go on with Kylie and Timmy!

Kim also continues to be way too friendly with Tristan, if you ask me…..as always, I just can’t wrap my mind around being this supportive and friendly with a man who cheated on my (pregnant) sister in an egregious and extraordinarily public fashion (multiple times). Because let’s not forget Kim also recently spent a week court side in the Crypto.com arena serving as Tristan’s personal cheerleader. It’s weird. This seems to me like the Scott Disick school of rebranding 101, a scheme to launder this man back into the family fold and whitewash his past bad behavior so they can use him as a character in future reality show exploits. But at least Scott has charisma, this is just coming off as clownery.

Anyway. Rihanna has been making some pretty forceful declarations against the entire concept of “quiet luxury” this month. And honestly, if we really must suffer the existence of billionaires, I’m obviously going to prefer the ones who are as playfully ostentatious with their grotesque wealth as possible. Which in Rihanna’s case has meant dressing her baby in custom Chrome Hearts, Fendi, and million-dollar jewels, wearing an 8-carat diamond tethered to her pinky toe, and, most recently, draping herself in some seriously sumptuous Benjamins. Whenever this type of peak one-percenter behavior arises, whether it’s Kim’s recent Troll doll belly diamond, Taylor Swift topping that PJ pollution list, or, lest we forget, Kendall blowing out her birthday candles into a waiter’s face mid-pandemic, it always makes me curious where exactly the public’s “Let them eat cake” tripwire is and how much longer it will be until celebs accidentally trigger it in their pursuit of even more extreme luxury.

I’m thrilled to see Megan Fox’s grand return to the pages of Mess for the second week in a row with another backyard Instagram editorial for us all to marvel over. This time, transforming from wood nymph to “cliodhna, queen of the banshees” in a sheer dress with a full torso cutout that’s got a kind of open heart surgery prep vibe to it. And after last week’s liberated nipple, I find this particular deployment of pasties to be very odd. Not to mention just way too shiny. In fact, all of the underpinnings going on here are deeply unflattering as she paired these glossy nipple covers with a pair of ribcage-height nude Spanx.

If that’s not confusing enough, Megan then went on Instagram where she sarcastically wrote in caption for this outfit, “before you start angrily typing- those are not my nipples, calm down. they are safely and completely hidden under nipple covers so no worries, we will all live another day without a rip in the space-time continuum.” As though this decision to pivot to covered up areolas is being inflicted upon her by the prudish public. And yet, in the paparazzi photos of this outfit, she is very clearly uncomfortable with the fact that her tits are out like this as she’s walking around with one arm firmly planted across them. So which is it? And why do I feel like MGK and his ‘Father Figure” t-shirt are actually to blame for all of this?

Winnie Harlow just took a bold first step towards the red carpet’s fully nude destiny in this Shein version of Kim K’s 2019 Met Gala Mugler look. She’s not actually naked, but she’s definitely playing up the illusion that she is with this choice in very small, very skin-tone G-string. A fun step forward out of the sea of black ones we’ve been stuck in lately. I said I wanted authentic, plastic-mounded Barbiecore, and that is exactly what I have received. I was so focused on the merkin as the solution to escalate this trend to fresh outrage levels that it never occurred to me the immense possibilities inherent in some sort of sexless latex Marilyn Manson at the 1998 Grammys situation.

And in yet another sign of the impending vag-pocalypse, I think the D-listers are also starting to realize that they’re going to have to pull out some full frontal nudity in order to attract the level of attention they’ve become accustomed to from an audience now completely desensitized to middle-aged bikini content and VPL. Lisa Rinna is of course leading the way on this Full Monty movement as it’s not exactly her first time at the birthday suit thirst trap rodeo. Although, I think her past attempts were much more successful than this. But clearly, it’s catching on as just the other day, I saw Jenny Mollen (the wife of Jason Biggs) take on this very nude strategy as well. I still think everyone’s backing themselves into a bit of an OnlyFans corner here, leaving not much wiggle room for ways to shock and scandalize moving forward. But I was also thinking how interesting it is that all the other celebrities have finally grokked the simple strategy the Kardashians have been benefiting from for years now. Because is our modern celebrity landscape not the promise of Kim’s censor bar selfie finally realized?

Meanwhile Kim has circled all the way back around to completely generic and nondescript. Sometimes her outfits feel to me like a test of just how boring she can dress and still get headlines written about it. That said, just like with the million dollar belly chain last week, I think she once again missed a golden opportunity to really flaunt this choice in dumb accessory because this Chanel micro fanny pack is truly camp. Like where is our Instagram Story of her removing a single TicTac from the depths of this comically tiny Barbiecore bag. And on that topic, after two solid years of exclusively wearing hot pink Balenciaga nonsense, now suddenly we’re getting nothing to celebrate the film’s release? Not even a hot pink pump from America’s real-life Barbie??? Are we sure Kim even has a PR team anymore.

And finally, this week, I wrote an article for People about this burgeoning look, but long story short, it seems my promise the other week that Gigi’s skintight denim capris aren’t happening wasn’t completely factual as short-lengths do seem to be dipping down around the kneecaps out there. I’m still holding out on an official declaration that this trend is happening as so far it still hasn’t trickled down past the fashion edge lord bracket, but I remain vigilant. Also, I feel it’s important to note that our beloved D-list Diva Iris Law (right) has been rocking a warm weather bloomer for a minute now. Longtime readers might recall that last summer I declared her the foremost promoter of amish girl apparel as she was regularly breaking out her finest lace-trimmed pantaloons and bonnets for the season. We also got another fully unbuttoned waistband from Kourtney, this time via a pair of Barbie-inspired satin cargo jorts. Rihanna jumped on the open pant bandwagon this week as well and, I’m just saying, there’s something to it!

Ok, that’s all I’ve got for you today. Time for a cold one. Cheers!

Well, what do you know. Despite the literary Temple of Doom I’ve laid out before you, much like Indiana Jones, you’ve penetrated this newsletter’s inner sanctum while skillfully avoiding all of my artfully booby-trapped passages. Since you’ve proven yourself worthy of being named America’s foremost archeologist of atrocious attire, I have to presume you’ve met some fellow good fashion haters in your travels. So why not spread the poorly kept secret that is Mess by signing them up for a free subscription already. And then go on and pick up a paid subscription for yourself to celebrate once again narrowly escaping death and living to see another day. Or you can just cut right through the bullshit and become a member of the ~ MESS DISCORD ~ today where 650 Messketeers are currently raging against the machine. And please don’t forget to shod yourself from head-to-toe in Mess Merch.

As always, if you can’t afford to pay for more Mess, just ask me about getting a comped subscription. I promise, it’s no big deal. I do it all the time. And if you send over a screenshot of your donation to any abortion or bail fund, your next month of Mess is on me.

Another year older and none the wiser!

Everybody knows Marie Osmond isn’t Marie Osmond without her Dorito Hot Mustards.