Hallo Readers,

Imagine your mates, a fund manager, an architect and a journalist, advise you that your right leg has to be removed. Yes, it would be radical, but they are very enthusiastic in recommending amputation. The advantages would be tremendous. The new leg would be so much better than the old one. You would be running marathons within months of the operation. Cut it off! Honestly – would we lie to you? We’re your mates. You’ll be fine! On the other hand, your GP and your consultant are sceptical. Yes, there are problems with your right leg, but they can be fixed without chopping the bloody thing off. But your mates have told you not to trust experts, as they are all part of a globalist conspiracy. So after some soul-searching, you agree to the operation and set the date.

The trouble is that as the date for the operation approaches, you start to doubt your chosen course of action. The awful consequences of your decision become clearer. For example, there is not a hope in hell that you will be running a 5 kilometre park run, let alone 26.2 miles. The cost of the operation is revealed as enormous, far higher than you were told. And your pals, the ones who said they would never lie to you, have been lying through their teeth. So why the hell would you go through with it? Switzerland’s Supreme Court just quashed a referendum result because it was achieved through misinformation. Why can’t we do that?

On Wednesday night, WTF was squirming with mortification and embarrassment as Mrs Maybe was sent off to eat a solitary supper whilst the EU Grandees debated whether to allow her more time to go through with the operation.  How the hell had we got ourselves into this position? How had we made such a utter ballsup of it all?  How did we allow a collection of shysters, charlatans, toffs and idiots to lead us into the emergency ward? And why are they still insistent on cutting off their leg to spite their face? The ones who know they’ve been sold a pup, but are committed to it anyway. The ones who insist they have got what they voted for, even though they did not foresee this or knew that were being lied to and voted anyway. The ones who say gamely that yes, they will never walk properly again, and it will agonising and painful, and this is not what they signed up for, but it is better than keeping the leg, because no leg is better than a bad leg. Our only hope is that this will continue to drag on until, in true British fashion, we get fed up with the whole thing and ditch it out of sheer boredom. Thank Heaven for Julian Assange giving us something else to talk about in the weeks to come…..

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We turn to our review of the week’s Red Carpet rubbish, starting with actress Scarlett Johansson at the photo call for her new movie The Avengers: Endgame, wearing Tom Ford.

Love, wear a jacket or don’t wear a jacket, but if you do wear a jacket, wear one with two sleeves  and a proper front, rather than just a tit topper. As Lady Bracknell remarked, this shilly-shallying is absurd. And unsightly with it.

Here is singer Cardi B, wearing Ralph & Russo.

Jennifer Lopez goes to Ascot in mint green. Except that they would not let her into the Royal Enclosure dressed like that. And her shoes are two sizes too big.

Meet the newly-weds, model-turned-candlemaker (yes, honestly) Char Defrancesco and designer Marc Jacobs, both wearing suits by Huntsman. Marc’s tie and footwear are by Gucci.

Many congratulations to the happy couple, but oh, the irony. One of the world’s leading designers gets married in a pair of comedy trousers, like a bottle green Charlie Chaplin. At least they cover up the butter-pat bootees.

This is actress Shay Mitchell at a makeup launch event, wearing Nedo.

Like a fluffy pink bird in a bustier, a medieval silk diamanté doublet and no hose. Horrid.

To CinemaCon in Las Vegas, where we encounter actress MacKenzie Davis, wearing Paco Rabanne.

This is the lovechild of a lumberjack and a Rosie for Autograph Marks and Spencer nightie. With white Ali Baba slippers. It is very strange, and the sleepwear appears to have gone down with smallpox.

Also present was actor Henry Golding, wearing Valentino.

It does not matter how handsome you are. No one, not even Henry, can get away looking like a blood-soaked warehouseman.

Still in Las Vegas, we call in at the Academy of Country Music Awards, always a cornucopia of clothing horror, beginning with singer Carrie Underwood wearing Nicholas Jebran. She had a baby only three months ago.

As noted above, WTF dislikes one sleeve on a two-armed woman, but she could have lived with the dress had it not been for the sparkling crotch carpet runner.

Next up, singer Jake Owen ,wearing a Nudie suit and Boot Star gold boots.

The suit is like a verdant meadow at midnight, but hell, it is a country music thang, so Jake might have got away with it had it not been for those pointy gold things on his feet. A man in gold shoes? Never, unless he is C-3PO.

Here is singer Cassadee Pope, wearing Vitor Zerbinato.

Good abs, bad dress. And the side view is even worse.

This is a bed sheet worn as a shroud, and Cassadee is threatening an imminent Minge Moment, not to mention an imminent rectal revelation.

And last from the Awards, Maren Morris, wearing Christian Siriano.

Maren’s heels are so high that she is tilted forward in order to stay upright; the same thing happened last year at the CMT Awards. She is also wearing a pleated table napkin with matching tablecloth-train, like the drapery for Char’s and Marc’s wedding breakfast.

Finally, to the CanneSeries Festival in, er, Cannes, and the photoshoot for the new series of the Rook  starring Olivia Munn, wearing Schiaparelli.

Elsa Schiaparelli was the designer whose signature colour was shocking pink, the colour of the backdrop against which Olivia is posing. Elsa also had a perfume called Shocking by Schiaparelli. This apparel is just plain shocking, reminiscent of polluted water, while those hanging things suggest that the lovely Olivia is suffering from incontinence.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado and stalwart de luxe Andrew Purcell from Texas who has discovered these absolutely foul “Goth Crocs”, yours for only £190.

Crocs are ugly. These ones are ugly and downright dangerous. Imagine one of those in close proximity to your footsies when travelling to work in rush hour. Ouch. 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

It is true that any conclusion in the Mueller Report short of condemning Trump to spend the rest of his life in Sing-Sing, preferably suspended by his testicles, would have been a profound disappointment to many, WTF included. So initially, she experienced feelings of deep dissatisfaction when Attorney-General Bill Barr, a man wedged so far up Trump’s arse that he is applying for permanent residence, ‘summarised’  the report into collusion and obstruction by Trump and his election campaign, a report two years in the making. According to Barr, you would have thought that Trump was Mother Teresa and St Francis of Assisi rolled into one portly orange parcel. No collusion! No obstruction! Witch-hunt! Presidential Harassment! 

Unsurprisingly, the actual report, albeit redacted by Barr with his trusty colour-coded  sharpies, turned out to be rather more critical than we had been led to expect. Yes, there was no conspiracy between the campaign and the Russians so as to justify criminal charges, but Trump knew he would benefit from Russian interference on his behalf, and encouraged it, and that his written answers to questions posed to him, and the evidence of some of the witnesses, were somewhat unsatisfactory. Equally, despite Barr’s earlier assurances that Mueller had been unable to conclude that there was no evidence of obstruction, Mueller found that Trump did his best to obstruct the investigation, (he gives eleven instances), including encouraging people not to co-operate, and urging White House Counsel Don McGhan to get the Deputy Attorney-General to sack Mueller (and then instructing him to deny that he had told him). His attempts at orchestrating obstruction were largely  thwarted because his subordinates ignored his instructions. everyone, including Trump and his Press Secretary, told blatant lies. The policy of the Justice Department was not to prosecute a sitting President, which puts a different complexion on Mueller’s task. Mueller says in terms that had there been evidence exonerating the President the report would have adduced it. But there was no such evidence. That is not total and complete exoneration – it is the opposite.

So here’s the thing. The Attorney-General, a man whose sworn duty is to protect the Constitution of the United States, lied about the report’s conclusions a fortnight ago and lied again yesterday morning, conveniently holding a press conference before the report was actually published. He sees it as his duty to shore up the pile of putrid corruption that is the sitting President, rather than to enforce justice.  The Republican Party is intent upon shoring up the pile of putrid corruption that is the sitting President, rather than to enforce justice. Fox News sees it as its duty to shore up the pile of putrid corruption that is the sitting President, period. And so it is that a liar, a cheat, a fraud, a man devoid of morality, decency, or shame, continues in office and may well win a second term. In just over two short years, Trump and his enablers have succeeded in perverting and undermining truth so that it has ceased to have any relevance to a large number of his fellow citizens and to the party which he heads. Winning is all that matters. Stopping abortion, cutting taxes, attacking immigrants, preserving gun laws, keeping  control of the Senate – who cares how it is achieved? It is enough to make you turn your face to the wall and weep.

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We begin our review of the week’s fashion flotsam with ghastly First Daughter Ivanka Trump, wearing Alex Perry on a state visit to Abidjan. Senators Chris Coons (D) and Arselicker-Supreme Lindsey Graham (R) are on either side of her ridiculous cape.

Bloody hell. Apart from the fact that it is hugely inappropriate for a State Dinner, there is the small matter of Ivanka resembling Superman in something tight and titsy in a most unpleasant shade of vaginal pink. Kudos to WTF aficionado Trevor from Truro who pointed out that Ivanka was a dead ringer for the Girl in the White House from Tim Burton’s Mars Attack.

Next, we have actress Lucy Boynton wearing Marc Jacobs.

Lucy looks very fluffy and flouncy, like a Christmas Tree Fairy in a nightgown and matching choirboy’s ruff. 

Next to a reception in the Whitney Museum in Manhattan and actress Diane Kruger, wearing Michael Kors.

Diane has legs to die for, but this outfit is just silly, tiny shorts under a jacket last worn by the Big Bad Wolf in a dramatisation of The Three Little Pigs and a shirt with a collar the size of a pair of garden shears.

We are in Paris at the première of Gloria Bell with Julianne Moore, wearing Valentino.

Julianne is wearing a mattress topper. With bare legs and bootees. It is just terribly, terribly terrible and white is SO not her colour.

And now are at Coachella, the wanky poseurs’ music festival in Indio, California, where celebrities pose wankily in wanky clothing. Like singer Billie Eilish here wearing Vuitton, looking wanky.

Indio is in the desert and IT IS HOT. So why is Billie wearing furry trousers like Grover from Sesame Street and a heavy LV jerkin?

Next up actress Amandla Stenberg wearing Levi’s.

She looks like she is having a good time, but then she doesn’t have to gaze at a column of denim off-cuts masquerading as a top. We do.

And finally from Coachella, the husband and wife combo of actor Evan Ross and singer Ashlee Simpson.  Ashlee is wearing Zimmerman.

Ashlee looks fine, which is more than be said for her spouse, who is wearing some preposterous long-jacket-and-cropped-trousers-thingy, showcasing spindly shins and huge trainers. He looks like Magwitch from Great Expectations.

To London and the premiere of the movie Once Upon a Time in London where we encounter The Voice singer Kalon Rae. Who knows what he is wearing?

Kalon has come dressed as Boy George dressed as Mother Goose. Every item of clothing is hideous, made more hideous  at being worn together.

Brace yourselves! Real horror lurks in the horrible form of TV nutritionist Gillian McKeith and her daughter, Afton McKeith.

The Crowns are an argment for regicide. Acton is only 19 so perhaps she could hide behind her mother’s skirts on this one. The problem is that her mother is not wearing a skirt, not even of any kind, and is instead flashing her thighs under a fishing net tied around her waist with a minimum of effective coverage. And what the fuck are those boots, like a couple of fat purple ferrets?

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from Tim Brannigan, via WTF aficionado Yvonne from Jedburgh, who highlighted this ridiculous new concept – the shirt-stay from a firm called Sharp & Dapper. Should you be raving mad, you can buy it for £20.

Kill me now. No one is suggesting that men should wear the body brought to you decades ago by Donna Karan to avoid shirt-spilth, but who would want to go to these lengths just to avoid it? And imagine stripping off for a moment of passion and revealing yourself to be trussed up like an Easter turkey?  No, sorry. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Have a wonderful Easter and/orPassover and/or break. WTF is going to do the same in sunny Cornwall because there are short pickings over the holiday period, but she will be back on 26 April. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again in a fortnight. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

You may recall that Donald J Trump paid a brief (but not brief enough) visit to the UK in July 2018, intent on insulting as many people as possible within a four day period, and rebounding around the parameters of decency like a pinball played by a tipsy teenager. Ding! He told Theresa May that she had done Brexit all wrong and should have listened to him (it turned out his strategy had been to sue the EU). Ding! He praised Boris Johnson and said he would make a great Prime Minister. Ding! He was late for tea with Her Majesty, keeping the nonagenarian standing in the hot sun for about 20 minutes, and whilst purporting to inspect the troops, jaywalked in front of her like a pedestrian with Alzheimer’s. The blimp in a nappy with a mobile phone that flew, oh so briefly, over Parliament Square had a better grasp of diplomacy and international politics. Now he is coming back for a proper State Visit, where we roll out the Red Carpet and do that ceremonial stuff we Brits do so well. Her Majesty will schlep down to the airport to greet him and they will ride back in a procession together. He will get a White Tie State Dinner, where the menu is written in French (he can ask Melania to translate – she understands about half a dozen different languages and can say ‘yes’ and ‘chain migration’ in all of them). However, this visit will be different to the usual State Visit. Usually, the State Visitor also gets bed and breakfast at Buckingham Palace, but there is no room because the East Wing is being repaired. Usually the State Visitor addresses both House of Parliament, but that probably won’t happen either, as in the eyes of our Speaker, he is less welcome than a turd in a punchbowl. President Trump is also known to be wary of spending any time with Prince Charles, fearing that HRH will lecture him about climate change and organic lettuce. And he will not get to ride in the Golden State Coach, which, being wooden and very old, cannot be rendered  bulletproof and is probably too weak to withstand Trumpy’s ever increasing girth. In fact he and the coach are probably the same shape, which could confuse everyone no end. Especially him.

On Tuesday, Foreign Secretary Jeremy Hunt announced the impending visit with a flourish. You would think Jesus Christ was coming to call. Hunt gushed ‘The transatlantic relationship has been the foundation of global peace and prosperity for many years – and great things are yet to come!’ Really? Within 24 hours, Trump was regurgitating an allegation first made two years ago,  accusing President Obama of getting UK Intelligence Services to tap his phone and to ‘spy on him’. In 2017, GCHQ had demanded an apology and even Fox News retracted the claim and suspended the pundit who had advanced it. Now, even as the chefs gather to decide between Canard à l’orange and Hamberder aux frites avec sauce de tomates style Heinz, and whilst Mrs May combs the shops for another appalling and ill-fitting sack to wear for the dazzling occasion, the putative guest was lobbing insults at us and pissing all over the ‘special relationship’ Hunt has been bigging up only hours earlier. Instead of telling him to stick his State Visit where the sun don’t shine, the craven Hunt has been complaining about denying the orange moron-in-chief the stage to spread his racist, sexist, embarrassing, ignorance in our Houses of Parliament.

So here’s the thing Readers. We keep being warned that there will be food shortages after Brexit. Let us start those shortages early. Stockpile your eggs! Horde your soft fruit! Let us start getting everything nicely smelly and squidgy for June and show this terrible man what a real British welcome looks like.

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We start our review of the week’s awful apparel with singer Ashanti at the premiere of her movie ‘Stuck’ wearing Honyada. 

Ashanti is wrapped in a shiny cheap garbage bag displaying a gargantuan amount of tit and a large amount of leg, and is on the verge on giving us an imminent Minge Moment. Again. Ashanti should take this garment, put it in a real garbage bag and dispose of it – for good.

Next we go to  the premiere of Avengers: Endgame  where we find alleged ‘actor’ Vin Diesel, wearing what appears to be a tree bark.

Wearing camouflage to look like a tree is one thing. Actually wearing a bloody tree is quite another thing. WTF was put in mind of Macbeth where the witches warned him that he ‘shall never vanquished be until Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill shall come against him’. It looks like Great Birnam Wood is on the march.

Also there was the insufferable Gwyneth Paltrow, wearing G Label. 

Look, Gwynnie has a great pair of legs but that is no excuse to forget to wear some sort of bottom half to your outfit. She looks as if she has had her trousers removed as a jolly jape, the fate facing the unfortunate Paul Pennyfeather in Evelyn Waugh’s Decline and Fall.

To the Time 100 Gala and actor Dwayne Johnson wearing Ralph Lauren.

Everyone else came in evening wear. Dwayne came dressed as an old Dralon armchair.

It gets worse. Here is actress Julianne Moore wearing Chanel at a Chanel do.

WTF does not know what has passed between Julianne and her stylist recently, but the two of them need to make it up, and soon.  If Dwayne is the sofa, Julianne is the cushion cover. And the valance.  And the ventilation system. As for the boots, they fall into the category of downright mystifying, like the Bermuda Triangle and the decision to broadcast Mrs Brown’s Boys.

It grieves WTF to have to do this, but now we must consider the case of former First Lady Michelle Obama, seen here with actress Sarah Jessica Parker, wearing thousands of pounds of horrible Balenciaga, including quite revolting thigh boots which cost $3,900.

Michelle has rarely put a foot wrong, but here both feet and the long legs appended thereto should be charged with causing severe retinal damage and unauthorised possession of a hologram. Those are as foul a pair of boots as WTF ever did see in her life. Michelle could have saved herself thousands of dollars by buying herself a couple of  gold shiny wine gift bags and standing in them.

As for the golden chartreuse sheet, it is a shocker.

Finally, here is Kourtney Kardashian at her fortieth birthday party in LA wearing vintage Versace.

Kourtney’s cake was in the form of a naked Kourtney in the bath, so that guests, including her own family and her kids, could literally eat her ladyparts. And if that isn’t revolting, WTF doesn’t know what is. But not nearly as revolting as Kourtney having to avoid a Minge Moment by fastening her dress to her stomach with a bit of visible tit tape like a blob of masticated chewing gum.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Shonda from West London who brought this excrescence to WTF’s attention – a beanbag onesie. Yes really. People would genuinely be happy to look like they have an arse bigger than Kim Kardashian’s in 3D closeup just so they can have a sit down when the mood takes them without bothering to find, you know, a chair.

Frankly, WTF would rather remain standing between now and the rest of her life than have any part of this madness. 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,

This week, Julian Assange was sentenced to 50 weeks’ imprisonment in the UK for jumping bail. In 2012, he walked out of a London Magistrates’ Court having been granted bail on an extradition hearing to Sweden, where he was to have faced allegations of rape and sexual assault. Assange and his adoring supporters argued that the women had been put up to making these complaints in order to lure him back to Sweden so that he could be extradited on to the US, there to be charged with all manner of things as a result of publishing secret documents on his website, Wikileaks. Despite the fact that Sweden’s extradition treaty with the US prohibits extradition on the basis of  “a political offence” or “an offence connected with a political offence.” Having got bail on the basis of gullible sureties forking out a fortune, he promptly sought refuge in the Ecuadorian Embassy, and remained holed up there, flushing his friends’ bail money down the drain in the process, getting on his hosts’ nerves, and acting as if he were the lovechild of Nelson Mandela and the Man in the Iron Mask. Eventually, his hosts grew so tired of him that they opened the front door and begged members of the constabulary to come in and take the bugger away. And so it was that Assange found himself in the dock seven years after he first skedaddled, The taxpayers wasted £16 million over seven years in posting coppers to keep an eye on the front door to prevent Assange doing a runner, money that could have been usefully deployed elsewhere.

Throughout this sorry episode, Assange has always behaved as if he were the victim. What infuriated many people, WTF included, was the total contempt he and his supporters showed for the women making the complaints, including the one who alleges that she awoke to find him having sex with her without a condom when she had previously made it clear that she would not have sex without his wearing one. In Sweden, those facts, if proved, constitute a rape; and on any view, a woman cannot give consent to sex if she is asleep. The other complainant thought that he was practising safe sex, when he was not. The second woman’s complaint is now time barred, but a rape charge can still be brought until 2020. However, the two women have been denigrated and sneered at as “honey pots” who have been put up to it to destroy Wikileaks. They were identified and hounded. Because Heaven forfend that a woman should dare to complain of rape or sexual molestation against a Hero of the Left.

Now that Assange is out of the Embassy and languishing in a real prison, the US now want his extradition on a deliberately light charge of computer fraud, doubtless to avoid objections that he might face the death penalty on a more serious charge, which might scupper the chances of getting him over there. Sweden also wishes to renew extradition on the rape allegations. As to this, WTF is quite clear. The original Swedish charges were dropped only when prosecutors there felt that it was pointless to pursue them as long as Assange was still in the Embassy; if revived, its request should be given precedence and acted upon. If he is guilty of rape, let the Swedes prove it. On the other hand, the UK courts should refuse the US request. The present US Attorney General is not to be trusted, and no sane person would believe a word that President Trump says, (except perhaps when he said “I love Wikileaks” about 200 times during the 2016 Election Campaign, although he now claims he to know nothing about it.) The irony is that had Assange gone back to Sweden in the first place, he would have had a better chance of avoiding that trans-Atlantic trip. Which serves him right.

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We begin our survey of the week’s fashion flops with singer Adam Lambert, wearing Libertine Plus.

Adam is wearing a collection of chinoiserie fabrics resembling the interior of an Asian flophouse, and he has also seriously overdone it on the eyeshadow.

Next to the Tribeca Film Festival and actress Nana Ghana wearing Aliona Konova.

Nana looks as if she has been gift-wrapped. The fishnet tights are OK but not with red fluffy pantouffles.

Also at Tribeca was young actor Charlie Plummer, wearing Loewe.

WTF is at something of a loss to describe what is occurring here, and is unsure whether that is a shirt hanging down to Charlie’s knees or is part of the suit, but the whole thing is very schizophrenic-merchant-banker-goes-cottaging, and not in a  good way. 

This is blogger Margie Plus wearing ASOS.

Look, this is not a fat thing. This is a looking-like-shit thing. There needs to be more shirt – a whole lot more. Like a metre more. Margie also needs to learn about suntan lotion, factor 50, and slather it on because she is more flushed than a public toilet.

This is actress Chloe Sevigny wearing Chanel at a Chanel party thrown by Chanel.

WTF has no knowledge of Chloe’s financial circumstances, and she can only speculate that either she is saving money by buying clothes in the kiddies’ section ,and hoping no one notices, or that Chanel is seriously taking the piss. Or both. This is a Minge Moment waiting to happen, unalleviated by the presence of a small white frill around the hem as found adorning lamb chops in fancy restaurants. We now call in at the NFL Draft, where we encounter player Devin Bush Jr. wearing who can even say what?

This adult harness thing has got to stop. Soon. If not sooner. If adults want to get trussed up in their bedrooms, that is fine. But Devin is not in his bedroom, he is on the public stage, and looking like he is going on to the bondage parlour.

And two more guests, Vince Wilfork (left) and De Angelo Williams (right).

Vince is dressed  like a Keralan fisherman with a sense of humour, whilst De Angelo resembles an extra from Strictly Ballroom.

To the Billboard Awards 2019 in Las Vegas and singer Taylor Swift wearing Raisa & Vanessa.

The colour is pretty but it’s so ruffly, as if an Andrex puppy has run amok with a roll of toilet paper.

Next up, young actress Kiernan Shipka, wearing Dior.

You cannot see any VNA (Visible Nipple Activity). But the fact that you think you can is bad enough, not to mention downright unnerving. There is also VBA (Visible Bellybutton Activity). And the dress is also hideous.

And finally, welcome to makeup artist Patrick Starr, wearing I don’t even know what.

If a Ferrero Rocher went to a fancy dress party as Patrick Starr, this is what it would look like.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Jan from Melbourne, who is extremely indignant at the appalling behaviour of tourists taking photos of artworks on their phone in museums and galleries. Things have got worse than ever, as Jan points out that people now hold their phones aloft to take some sort of snap, thereby blocking the view of someone like Jan, who (a) is a short-arse and (b) is boringly old fashioned enough to want to look at the fucking picture. Why can’t these people buy a bloody postcard and stop clogging up access to magnificent works of art? 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,

What can be more British than the birth of a Royal Baby? The whole thing is steeped in years of tradition. For example, hours after pushing out something the size of a football, the Royal Mother is supposed to appear on the steps of the Lindo Wing of St Mary’s Hospital Paddington, perfectly coiffed and made up in a fetching frock, Royal father by her side, and cradling the new infant before a swooning crowd of  journalists shouting inane questions. Saddoes from the shires sleep out for several days awaiting The Moment, and then cavort in front of the cameras swigging Prosecco and making a tit of themselves. Said baby, who looks like every other baby, only richer and in a more expensive blanket, has a ridiculous title conferred on him or her by the Monarch and is thenceforth known as Prince X or Princess Y or the Earl of Snodsbury. Moronic Sky News presenter Kay Burley runs around screaming ‘It’s a Boy’ or ‘It’s a Girl’, depending on whether it’s a boy or a girl. A collection of Royal Experts, posh women called Araminta and craggy chaps in Barbour jackets, pontificate on Royal etiquette, talking bollocks for hours at a time. And the arrival of the said baby is posted on an easel in the grounds of Buckingham Palace, even though everyone already knows about it because it is all they have heard about for the last 24 hours on TV, radio, newspapers and social media. This is what puts the Great into Great Britain. Allegedly.

This time, things took a slightly different turn. Meghan Markle and Prince Harry, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, had a baby boy, but the place of birth was not made public. The proud parents did not appear in front of the cameras for two days, and when they did, the father carried the baby for a brief photocall inside Windsor Castle, whilst the mother wore her hair loose and looked pretty but tired. The baby is not going to have a title and is to be known as Archie Windsor. He looks like a baby. Only richer and in a more expensive blanket and a knitted hat. More to the point, one thing is decidedly different about young Archie. He is mixed race. What everyone really wanted to know was how dark was he? (Answer – it’s hard to tell). Because for all the celebration about Modern Britain and mixed marriage, the fact that the bride is (a) mixed race (b) American (c) an actress (d) divorced and (e) a feminist, means that she has been given a decidedly rough ride. She’s difficult, she’s demanding, she’s independent, SHE WON’T WEAR PANTYHOSE! Well she isn’t one of us, is she? She isn’t an English rose. She isn’t even rose-coloured. So prejudice creeps out. BBC broadcaster Danny Baker decided to tweet a ‘joke’ picture of two posh people accompanying a baby chimpanzee, with the tag ‘Royal Baby leaves hospital’. He later deleted it, tweeting ‘Once again. Sincere apologies for the stupid unthinking gag pic earlier. Was supposed to be joke about Royals vs circus animals in posh clothes but interpreted as about monkeys & race, so rightly deleted. Royal watching not my forte. Also, guessing it was my turn in the barrel.’  The apology, not that it was an apology, did not prevent his dismissal, and quite right too. Comparing a mixed race child to a monkey is a racist gag, and the National Broadcaster should not employ someone who thinks, even for one nanosecond, that it is funny. It is the same mindset that prompted football fans to throw bananas at black footballers during the 1980’s, a trend that is sadly making a comeback. And this is why for all the cooing and the gurgling and the public Prosecco, little Archie will never be regarded in the same way as his cousins, William and Kate’s children. Many parts of this country are not relaxed about a mixed race royal, whether mother or baby, because we are still a small-minded, petty, prejudiced, island people and Brexit is making it much, much, worse. Enjoy your son, Harry and Meghan. And enjoy your P45, Danny Baker. You earned it.

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This week’s sartorial survey sees us off to the Met Gala in New York. The theme this year was ‘camp’, as if this would distinguish 2019 from any other year. As we Jews ask on Passover ‘why is this night different from any other night?’ This Gala brought us a feast of utter nonsense, some of it awesome but insane, starting with WTF favourite,  actor Billy Porter, wearing The Blonds.

Do not adjust your eyeballs. This could not be any camper if Village People reformed and did a gig at New York Gay Pride. If only those wings really worked and he would fly far, far, away……

Girls actresses Jemima Kirke and Lena Dunham, both wearing Christopher Kane.

WTF admits to a sneaking admiration for Jemima’s outfit, like a bouncy black PVC beetle in a swim cap, but is a lot less keen on Lena’s ensemble, which gives the impression that she is being groped by a pervert in washing up gloves.

Beyoncé’s sister, singer Solange Knowles, wearing Ferragamo.

Solangé, as WTF likes to call her, is wearing a python nappy-jacket with a disturbing trompe l’oeil effect in the groin department, and hideous matching thigh boots. Many snakes have died in vain. Where is the RSPCA when you need them?

Actor and singer Jared Leto, wearing Gucci.

Cardinal Richelieu loses his head. And gains a new one.

Model Caroline Trentini, wearing Viktor & Rolf.

This is not camp, it is macabre. Viktor & Rolf seem to have been inspired by Walt Disney’s 1929 short, Silly Symphonies – Skeleton Dance.

Model and actress Emily Ratajkowski, wearing Peter Dundas.

Emily is wrapped in a silver cobweb loincloth with an imminent nip-slip. 

Singer Harry Styles and Gucci designer Alessandro Michele, both wearing Gucci.

Harry has borrowed his mum’s blouse and teamed it with some comedy trousers. As for Alessandro, if Jesus went to a fancy dress party as a Christmas cracker, this is what He would look like.

Model Gigi Hadid, wearing Michael Kors.

To mark the final series of Game of Thrones, Gigi turned up dressed as a White Walker.

Aspiring lawyer Kim Kardashian, wearing Mugler.

As WTF aficionado Ruth remarked, ‘she doesn’t even look human, she’s like a mannequin’. Either that or a giant caramel with tits just emerged from the shower….

Actor Cody Fern, wearing Maison Margiela.

Er….OK. This can best be described as man in tan suit (do you remember the trouble President Obama got into for wearing a tan suit?) and sky blue cowboy boots goes bank-robbing.

Diva Celine Dion, wearing Oscar de la Renta.

WTF could have lived with this yeti-meets-Las-Vegas-showgirl schtick had it not been so mingey…. what lurks beneath those tassels? And why do we even have to ask?

Vogue Editor-at-Large Hamish Bowles, wearing Maison Margiela.

Gonzo goes grand…..

Singer Katy Perry, wearing Moschino

There is lighting up a room and there is looking like a prat. Katy left looking like a prat behind some five miles back and is currently floating around in the stupid stratosphere.

And finally, actor Michael Urie wearing Christian Siriano.

If this doesn’t give you nightmares, nothing will. Michael has come as Ken AND Barbie.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Sarah from Southend-on-Sea,  who is indignant at the marketing of moisturiser for the post-menopausal minge. Over to you, Sarah…..

‘Watching crap TV last night, I nearly choked on an olive when confronted by an ad for menopausal moisturiser for one’s nether regions. Initially, I wondered why the viewers of ‘Wheeler Dealers’ would be interested in this (my excuse was that I had lost control of the remote when I went to get more wine). I then wondered why the know-it-all-but-perfectly-moisturised woman in the ad was about 30. Yes, 30. I know that can happen but it is hardly the core demographic. We want older ladies in vests with a cardigan looking very pissed off’.

WTF is in full agreement. It’s Got to Go.

 

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, which have been in somewhat short supply of late. Keep them coming or WTF gets into a panic that you don’t love her any more. And don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Alabama, the land that time forgot, has just passed a law which, in effect, bans abortion. It was voted for by twenty-five white male senators and signed into law by hatchet-faced Governor Kay Ivey, clad appropriately for the occasion in crimson, the colour worn by women in the now-not-so-mythical land of Gilead in Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. It is the most draconian state anti-abortion law in the United States, admitting of no exception for pregnancies resulting from incest or rape, although mothers whose lives are at “serious risk” posed by the pregnancy can be exempted. The bill was steered through by Senator Clyde Chambliss, 50, a civil engineer with three daughters, whose grasp of the workings of the womb appears to be somewhat vague. According to Sen. Chambliss, a woman can still take steps to end a pregnancy as long as she doesn’t know that she is pregnant. “..anything that’s available today is still available up until that woman knows she’s pregnant. So there is a window of time, some say seven days, some say ten. There is a window of time that every option that’s on the table now is still available. So she has to take a pregnancy test, she has to do something to know whether she is pregnant or not. You can’t know that immediately. It takes some time for all those chromosomes and all that that you mentioned. It doesn’t happen immediately.’ In other words, as long as you can get rid of your baby before you know that you are expecting a baby, you are fine. But once you know that you are pregnant, you have to go through with the pregnancy. And the doctor who would perform an abortion could end up serving a maximum of ninety-nine years in prison. Meanwhile, if you are a victim of incest, your assailant can get a maximum of ten years. Ten years for incest and ninenty-nine years for trying to help the victim of incest. Sen. Chambliss explained “When God creates the miracle of life inside a woman’s womb, it is not our place as human beings to extinguish that life.” 

Other states are going down the same path, including Georgia, which bans abortion on detection of a foetal heartbeat (this can be after only six weeks), Kentucky, Mississippi, Ohio and Indiana. The reason is clear. Their ultra-conservative, neanderthal Republican politicians know that the measures are in conflict with the landmark decision of Roe v Wade, the 1973 decision in which the Supreme Court held that abortion was a woman’s constitutional right. But now the neanderthals are in the ascendancy, having struck a devil’s bargain with Donald Trump before the 2016 election. They would support this venal, adulterous, mendacious, crooked, irreligious, sack of shit and he, in turn, would deliver Supreme Court judges who would strike down Roe v Wade. Trump openly promised them as much and has since appointed two Supreme Court justices for that express purpose – Neil Gorsuch and the bloated, lachrymose, hysterical, liar and alleged sexual assailant, Brett Kavanaugh. And now Roe v Wade  will end up in the Supreme Court very soon. Perhaps the Alabama law is a little too extreme even for the majority of Catholics on the Court, but other states will produce something a little tighter, a little less brazen, and women will be forced to go abortion shopping in other places to avoid bearing children they do not want, cannot afford or who have been placed inside their bodies by acts of criminality and violence. Because apparently God wants it that way. Indeed Fox News buffoon and Trump sycophant Tucker Carlson said last night that forcing a woman to go through a pregnancy caused by rape was “honourable”. 

And so it is that a minority of the population ensures that the US can be turned into a Taliban state with such ease and political venality. WTF’s principal anger is reserved not for Trump – this is one of the rare occasion where he actually told the truth – but for the idiot Republican Senator Susan Collins of Maine, who claimed to be a champion of a woman’s right to choose,  but who was persuaded to vote for Kavanaugh on his assurance that he would not overturn Roe v Wade, thus facilitating his appointment. Collins is the female version of the late King Hussein of Jordan – given a 50/50 choice, she will inevitably fuck it up. This is on you Senator. You were conned – again. A woman colluding with the removal of women’s rights. Congratulations.

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We start our review of the week’s fashion flotsam at the Cannes Film Festival and actress Julianne Moore, wearing Louis Vuitton.

She is wearing a bathroom set. A bathroom set. Why, WTF cannot say. 

Here is Austrian model Nadine Leopold, wearing Nicholas Oakwell Couture.

Look, WYF likes a laugh as well as the next person, but the word “couture” here is just taking the piss. A corset and a pair of cami-knickers, paired with a sheet like a member of the KKK in his scanties, is not couture. Not even at all.

Another model, Brazilian Alessandra Ambrosio, wearing minge maestro Julien  Macdonald.

This is very typical of Julien’s oeuvre, i.e. there is not enough of it and there is always the imminent danger of a sighting of a body part that is not supposed to be on show.

There is a new movie about Sir Elton John, Rocketman, in which he is played by actor  Taron Egerton. Elton is wearing Gucci, including the uber-sparkiy sun- specs, whilst Taron is wearing Etro.

 Taron’s suit is reminiscent of William Morris wallpaper.

Elton’s suit is a lovely colour but something very horrible is happening around the crotch department, another distressing example of the dreaded elephant vagina syndrome.

Next up, actress Li Yuchun, wearing Balmain.

The lovely Li is clad as an ostrich in a strait jacket. And she is looking very pissed off as a result.

Away from Cannes, we go to Hollywood Model and actress Carla Howe at the Fashion Nova x Cardi B Collection Launch.

This is like a nightmare scene at some animal slaughterhouse where dead animals abound – bits of tiger, python boots (are those the same Ferragamo boots Solange wore last week to the Met Ball?) and a large side helping of tits?

Also present was the ghastly Perez Hilton, also wearing Cardi B collection.  

This is a man who runs a worst dressed of the week column. Physician heal thyself… Forget the purple Poseidon look and the bum bag, the generous gonadaget is making WTF shudder. Yurgle.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Ruth-Anne Beckett. Just when you think that denim-abuse can get no worse, it does. And then some. Have a large sick bucket issue handy whilst inspecting the jean speedo sold by online retailer Shinesty known as the “jeado”, also known as the Daytona Dong Sarong. Easy now…..

These crimes against the eyeballs, not to  mention the goolies, are a blend of denim and spandex and cost $39 95. They are shocking. Shocking. And will no doubt cause a beastie yeastie. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments,  and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Game of Thrones came to an end this week but there is no need for fretting and withdrawal symptoms! Welcome to a thrilling new story, Shame of Thrones, a tale of political machinations set in the mythical kingdom of Westminsteros. In SoT, Theresas used to command the loyalty of her troops, the Sullied and the Stupid, who supported her sworn mission to break the wheel and to free Westminsteros from the yoke of slavery imposed by the rulers of Euros, the evil twins Ser Claude and Ser Guy, who have kept Westminsteros under their thumbs for decades. But Theresas has proved to be a disappointment and Westminsteros still labours under Euros’ rule, as a result of which, yokels and yobboes various have become increasingly frustrated at her hapless failures and broken promises. Theresas’ claim to the Iron Throne has become more and more hopeless, and rebellion is in the air; she has already been forced to do a walk of shame down Whitehall, naked as the day she was born, whilst pelted with milkshakes and rotten eggs, and has also had to beg Ser Guy and Ser Donald for more time to make proposals for Westminsteros’ independence, and to come up with the readies to buy its departure. Her dragons, Andrea and Esther, have now deserted her and are breathing fire all over her HQ, torching thousands of innocent citizens and stirring up apathy and anger in equal measure, and evil dwarf Sajid and the King of the Long-Gone Past, Jacob, hatch a scheme to defenestrate her. At which point, Theresas realises that the game is all over and agrees to go in June on terms which are yet to be announced at the time of writing. And the scramble for the Shame of Thrones begins anew…..

And you know what Readers? This is not fiction. If you pitched it to HBO, you would be shown the door PDQ. Hordes of GoT fans spent this week bitching that the ending wasn’t good enough, and that they had wasted hours of their life for nothing (as if they would otherwise have been occupied finding a cure for cancer, or writing a symphony, or something), but had you served them up this scenario, they would be out burning Westminsteros to the ground. Almost three years after the Referendum, we are the joke keeping Euros, sorry, Europe laughing. WTF is reminded of the scene from the original Trainspotting, when Renton, the Ewan McGregor character, rants that “It’s Shite Being Scottish. We’re the lowest of the low”. Try being a Brit today, Renton. At least you could escape occasionally with an armful of heroin. We, on the other hand, have to watch helplessly as the Westminsteros politicians continue to bitch, backstab, and make a total ballsup of the whole Brexit exercise. As a result, the European Elections, which took place in the UK yesterday, will probably be a cakewalk for Nigel Farage and his vile Brexit party, and quite a success for the Lib Dems, both of whom at least have actual, clear-cut, positions. What the hell Labour and the Tories believe, or want to do, or how they propose going about it, no one knows, and, sadly, fewer now care. And why Theresas wants to stay on for even another half an hour is a mystery. She is now despised on all sides, apart from her loyal husband Ser Philip of May and Larry the Downing Street Cat, and even Larry’s position is under review. If she were to leave sooner rather than later, at least she can avoid having to spend any time hobnobbing with Donald Trump, who arrives, with his whole disgusting family, for a proper State visit in the first week of June. And if that isn’t an incentive to call Pickfords and start packing up the china, WTF does not know what is.

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We start our review of the week’s fashion farragoes with Georgian-Greek singer Tamta, representing Cyprus in the Eurovision Song “Contest”, wearing a most extraordinary ensemble.

Here we have the carapace of a black beetle wrapped around a Minge Chandelier. Appalling. As was the whole evening. The UK would not even win it if no one else entered. It is time for a boycott on the grounds of political prejudice and rigged voting, never mind anything else.

To the Royal Wedding last Saturday of Lady Gabriella Windsor (what do you mean, who?) and some toff. Bizarrely, Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York, scraped onto the guest list, wearing something whose designer is unknown. Good call.

Without the Mark of Zorro capelet, the dress would not be too bad, but honesty compels WTF to note that Fergie needs to take a size up. At least one size, and maybe two.

Here is actor Cody Fern in Australia at the premiere of America Horror Story: Apocalypse, wearing Maison Margiela.

This is a French Horror Story. WTF hates VNA (Visible Nipple Activity) almost above all things, whether they are male nipples or female nipples. WTF does not want to see Cody’s nipples, and she is willing to bet a few quid that many others share that view. And he is wearing those foul Margiela Tabi boots. Enough already with the camel-toe boots.

To the continuing nonsense of the Cannes Film Festival and actress Deepika Padukone, wearing Giambattista Valli Haute Couture.

It may be Giambattista Valli Haute Couture, but it is essentially a giant lime green shower puff worn with a swimming cap. Good sandals though.

More bath-time fluffiness with Ukrainian model Alina Baikova, wearing Zuhair Murad Couture.

This is even worse than Deepika’s green dress, because it has a ridiculous bodice and a mullet skirt. She looks like a over-coiffed, blue-rinsed poodle.

Next up, we have distinguished French actress Isabelle Adjani, wearing Alexandre Vauthier and a stupid straw hat.

If a village idiot went to a fancy dress party as Jane Austen, this is what he would look like.

Here is French singer Kiddy Smile, wearing Nicholas Lecourt Mansion.

Kiddy, né Pierre Edouard Hanffou, is wearing an unforgivable floral dress with fluted shoulders and a large triangular tit window, and he has dyed his head orange to match. There is not enough brain bleach in the world to disperse this image.

Still at Cannes, but off the Red Carpet, we have American actress Eva Longoria wearing Atelier Zuhra. She was there in her capacity as a L’Oréal Ambassador. Whatever that may be.

Eva looks like the love child of an Art Nouveau lamp and an Iguana.

Finally, we have Orange Is The New Black actress Dascha Polanco wearing Philipp Plein. This one is going straight into the nominations for the WTF Summer Stinker 2019, together with Monsieur Kiddy.

This is a circus clown outfit worn with a Flamenco frock. All that is missing is a red nose and bow tie that squirts water in your eye.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado The Justified Sinner, who has taken great exception to the amount of silly high street fashion on offer, including this preposterous crop top sold by ASOS.

This is basically a child’s vest worn by an adult with good abs. Just imagine if it catches on and flabby flotsam start walking around Luton Airport like this? It doesn’t bear thinking about and It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers, 

Theresa May did resign last week, as predicted, but she did not take WTF’s advice, which was to get out of Dodge before Monday, when the flatulent orange fantasist that is Donald Trump lands here on his State Visit. Instead, she will resign officially on Friday 7 June after the Donald and his offensive offspring have gone home. Even then, she will stay in Number 10 until her successor is chosen, which will be around the middle of July.

All political careers end in failure but in Mrs Maybe’s case, the word failure is far too kind. Something else is required, like farce. And what a legacy she has left us.  A gaggle of ghastliness now jostles to succeed her. If you were looking to cast a remake of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, you need go no further than the Gang of Twelve, although by the time you read this, some other bumptious nonentity will probably have thrown his or her cap into the ring (WTF had to change the number from eleven even while writing this). Boris Johnson is the bookies’ favourite but he is currently facing a private prosecution for misfeasance in public office (that infamous bus banner lying about the £350 million that would go to the NHS if we Brexited), and might find running the country  from inside a cell a trifle tricky. Then there is the man who stabbed him in the back, last time round, fish-faced Michael Gove, and Andrea Loathsome, who was to face May in the run-off in 2016 until she threw it all away by pointing out that Theresa had no children and therefore lacked the commitment to make the future better. Or there is Jeremy Hunt, the man who ran the NHS into the ground and is now Foreign Secretary, Dominic Raab, the man who champions female equality but is not a feminist, the rebarbative professional Scouser Esther McVey, who is never happier than when depriving people of their benefits, and charming and ever-so-posh ex-Army officer Rory Stewart, who appears to be the only one who is even fairly sensible, and therefore is automatically ruled out. The others are all so insignificant that WTF cannot even be bothered to insult them.

If it was embarrassing to be British last week, it is even worse this week. Huge swathes of the UK voted for Nigel Farage’s Brexit party (basically UKIP with different nutters). Huge swathes voted for those parties who wanted to stay. The Tories crashed and burned. Labour crashed and burned. Neither had a clear and discernible Brexit policy or any obvious means of putting any policy into practice, even if they had one, which they don’t. Labour chucked out a leading light, Alastair Campbell, for voting Liberal Democrat (so did WTF, but her membership has lapsed and had not been renewed), because that party promised a referendum, which Labour did not. Corbyn then announced that the Party would now support a second referendum, which it would not have done had so many people not voted for the Liberal Democrats to start with. Oh, and they might let Campbell back in. And they wonder why people are disenchanted with politics.

So this is where we are. Half our Members of the European Parliament are there to ensure we leave ASAP. Our probable new Prime Minister is a unprincipled liar, whose opportunism got us into this mess in the first place, but who is facing a private prosecution for being a liar. And we are still an international joke. Welcome to post-May Britain.

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We start our review of the week’s clothing cloaca with celebritee and cosmetics billionaire Kylie Jenner, wearing Minge Maestro Julien Macdonald.

Julien has wrapped Kylie in £12,000 of sparkly orange peel. Yes really. Kylie has compounded the offence with stupid plastic shoes and lots of bad fake tan, whilst appalled onlookers are in fear of an imminent Minge Moment. In other words, it is business as usual for both of them.

Here is actress Sharon Stone at a charity gala for the Museum of Contemporary Art in LA, wearing who knows what.

WTF at first thought that Sharon had dyed her hair, but it is in fact a scarf matching her box clutch, as she is trying to distract us from the fact that she is wearing a macramé hanging basket holder.

And now to Cannes where we digest the last of the preposterous Festival for 2019, and the associated nonsensical events where people go to preen. It is all very bad. Like Australian model Shanina Shaikh, wearing Georges Hobeika at a Chopard event.

WTF can but conclude that Shanina was taking part in an couture re-enactment of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. All she needs is an apple.

Also there were singer and actress Li Yuchun and Giambattista Valli, who designed her ensemble.

The dress is part of Valli’s one-off range for H&M, and it is fine if you want to look like a mullet Barbie. As for Giambattista, there is no excuse for wearing white socks unless you are playing tennis and his trousers look like a floppy concertina.

On the proper Red Carpet now, where we meet model Meredith Mickelson at the premiere of Rambo: Here We Fucking Go Again, wearing Rami Kadi.

The good news is that she is wearing some sort of titsy swimsuit. The bad news is that she is wearing it under a plastic ground sheet. Great sandals though.

And the star of the show, actor Sylvester Stallone, looking a bit crap.

Look, no one looks like they used to look. Sly is 74. However, his face is fuller of plastic that the LA landfill site. As for the outfit, there was probably a very good reason why he is wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie with the sort of white slacks usually seen on cruise directors. It is just that WTF does not know what it is.

And finally, lovely French actress Marion Cotillard wearing Balmain.

This is officially a pity because Marion is gorgeous but this outfit is not. She looks like she has come to the Red Carpet straight from a spin class, and those bootees are just dog ugly.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Leslie Verrinder, who has brought these vile trousers to her attention.

If you think they look like chicken drumsticks, that is because they are meant to. But why would you want to wear something that makes it look as if you have been farting into your trousers for the past week? It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

This week, the President of the US came to call and  did all the things he does best. He lied through his teeth on a variety of topics, including a claim that the streets were thronged with cheering fans, their love for him pulsating through the capital like electric shocks. He pushed his family forward at the taxpayers’ expense.  He insulted his host’s granddaughter-in-law, the Duchess of Sussex, and the Mayor of London, Sadiq Khan, even before his plane had touched down on British soil. He made a total fool of himself, displaying dizzying degrees of arrogance, ignorance and self-absorption. And we learned that he is aiming to get his hands on privatising the NHS, even though he denied it the day after he had said it, and two days after his Ambassador had said it. Business as usual for Trumpy. He then flew to Shannon Airport to hold a joint press conference with a bemused, and frankly pissed off, Leo Varadkar, the Irish Premier, where he embarrassed himself by suggesting that Irish Border issue was the same as America’s Mexican border issue (it isn’t), that Ireland wanted a wall (it didn’t), and that the Republic was somehow part of the United Kingdom (which it hasn’t been since 1937 – the clue being in the name Republic). After which, he went off with his entourage of schnorrrers, noch-schleppers and sycophants to his golf club at Doonbeg, thereby advertising another Trump property at other people’s expense.

Yesterday, he flew off to Normandy for the D Day Commemorations, where he delivered a ballsaching speech in a flat monotone with the look of wonder he has when reading something for the first time off a teleprompter, sniffing loudly for reasons that WTF can only guess at. Maybe he had forgotten his handkerchief. In keeping with the sombre occasion, remembering the bravery of the thousands of young men who stormed Omaha Beach on 6 June 1944, many never even getting as far as the shore, and others shot dead on the sands, Trump then granted an interview to Fox News’ Laura Ingraham, a woman so rabid that were she to so much as touch you, you would be running to the doctor for the antidote (massive injections in your stomach). Pictured against a background of row after row of little white crosses gleaming in the sunshine, Trumpy used the solemnity of the place to slag off Speaker Nancy Pelosi, Vietnam Vet Robert Mueller, Mexico, asylum seekers, and those Republican Senators who do not appreciate his threatened tariffs or his selling arms to his murderous Saudi mates by Executive Order. Because nowhere is inappropriate to kick your political enemies, even a graveyard for the fallen heroes you have crossed the Atlantic to extol, and the few surviving nonagenarians you have come to praise. Then it was back to Ireland for more free publicity for his club and a few rounds of golf.

The other lowlight of the trip was his ‘interview’ with Arselicker-in-Chief, Piers Morgan. WTF had always foolishly imagined that an interview was when you are asked a question and are held to account for the inconsistencies and evasions in your answer. That, however, is not the Piers Morgan way, which is to smirk whilst your Presidential pal makes stuff up on the spot. And so it was that Trumpy was presented as unable to fight in Vietnam because of his bone spurs (bought by Daddy Trump from one of his tenants), allowed to claim that he was ‘not a fan’ of the war because it was ‘far away and no one had heard of it’, unchallenged at his inability to distinguish between climate and weather, permitted to assert that transgender personnel should not serve in the military because they need a lot of post-operative drugs, whereas the military does not allow you so much as an aspirin, and got away with claiming that Mueller had to change his testimony even though Mueller never testified and therefore did not correct it (in fact, he was correcting Barr’s dishonest summary of it).  It was a wonder that WTF did not put her foot through the screen.

He has gone home now, there to sell his imaginary triumphs and oafish ignorance to his base of the uneducated, the uncivilised, the cretinous and the gullible. Those corpses at Omaha beach must be turning in their graves.  

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We start our review of the last seven days’ sartorial shit pile at Buckingham Palace and the State Banquet for Donald Trump and First Lady Melania Trump, wearing Dior. Oh, that’s the Queen in the middle, wearing Angela Kelly.

Donald looks like a plump Patagonian penguin in a truss and comedy trousers.

Why can’t he find a suit to fit him? That said, white tie and tails are pretty unforgiving when you are a 350 pound slob with a fat stomach and no class. The white waistcoat is supposed to be level with, or minimally below, the cut of the coat. But that would leave his gut spilling out like cake mix leaking from a loose-bottomed tin. Thus his tailor was obliged to extend the waistcoat almost to crotch level so as to contain the spilth, and make the coat so big that the sleeves are too long. And he isn’t wearing a wing collar.

Meanwhile, why are Melania’s clothes always so snug, hugging her augmented breasts tighter than a boa constrictor in a bad mood?

And why do her gloves have more crinkles than a jumbo pack of crinkle crisps? Has she never heard of the expression ‘fits like a glove?’

Also there, of coure, was entitled Barbie Doll and First Daughter Ivanka Trump, wearing Carolina Herrera. She is seen here with Cabinet Minister Liam Fox.

Ivanka has come straight from performing a matinee performance of Oklahoma!

And this is professional liar Sarah Sanders, Trump’s Press Secretary, with George V lookalikey, Prince Michael of Kent.

Yikes. Has she not heard of Spanx? That dress is so tight you can see her bellybutton. WTF is surprised that it didn’t split half way through the Strawberry Sablé.

And in her last WTF appearance as Prime Minister, Theresa May. accompanied by Prince William. No one has owned up to designing this dress. Good call.

If you have to show your tits and wear slashed shoulders, whether you are Prime Minister or not, you should ensure that you do not burn yourself  in the sun so that you end up with visible tan marks on your chest, shoulders and arms. There is very little less alluring than two-tone tits, especially when the tones are scarlet and milky white. Bare pink legs and red shoes only add to the prevailing sense of dismay.

Away from royalty, here are actress Priyanka Chopra, wearing Gahlia Lalav, and her husband Nick Jonas, wearing Ermenegildo Zegna.

These two have been getting on WTF’s nerves. Ever since they got married in a three-day extravaganza in India, they have been going on about their nuptials non bloody stop. They even pitched up at the Cannes Film Festival in wedding white, requiring WTF to rush urgently towards the nearest receptacle. And she was at it again last weekend, gushing away in The Sunday Times about her spouse and her BFF Meghan Markle. That said, she looks nice here, which is more than can be said of Nick, who is wearing what is best described as an aubergine satin boiler suit, showcasing bare ankles in black suede loafers. Perhaps it was his homage to D Day and the memory of Sir Winston Churchill, only Winnie had less hair and better shoes,

To London and the British Soap Awards where we encounter young actress and singer Tallia Storm, wearing Jetmira Bejtullahu.

We are experiencing a positive deluge of these fluffy shower puffs at the moment. This example is particularly foul, in that it has a tit-flounce, a mesh midriff, and a mullet. It makes Tallia look like Nell Gwyn having tumbled beneath someone’s carriage wheels in Pall Mall.

To a favourite event, the Country Music Awards in Nashville, Tennessee, and singer Meghan Linsey wearing who can even say what?

Meghan seems to have succumbed to a particularly nasty strain of impetigo, and the cameltoe is going to give her a beastie yeastie, requiring Canesten to be delivered to her home by tanker. As for the pink hair, WTF prefers not to speak of it.

To the Costume Designers Fashion Awards  in New York. Here is Queer Eye fashion guru Anton Porowski wearing Sies Marjan.

On first catching sight of this getup, WTF assumed that artisans across the world were donning rainbow overalls in solidarity with Gay Pride for Plumbers or some such, but it turns out to be just another truly ridiculous fashion item. How short are those trousers????? And why?????

Also present was top model Gigi Hadid, wearing Louis Vuitton.

What is that thing across her chest? Is it supposed to be a flying dolphin on a satin machine gun belt, like a silken baby-blue Rambo? There is just too much of everything and not enough of anything to like.

And finally, we have åctress Dania Ramirez at the premiere of the movie Dark Phoenix, wearing Leilu by Alex. Brace yourselves.

Boobage in abundance, her nips covered by X marks The Spot, like target practice at a military training camp. Meanwhile, that is one hell of a minge fringe.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Sue Peters, who brought this horror to her attention. They are by Pretty Little Thing and cost £25.

 Oh FFS! How much more of this nonsense must we put up with? It reminds WTF of the scene in The Full Monty, when Mark Addy wraps himself in cling film to try and lose weight whilst simultaneously consuming a Mars Bar. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

There are 313 Tory MPs in Parliament and yesterday, more than a third of them voted  for Boris Johnson in the first round of the contest to be the next Leader of the Party and the next Prime Minister. 114 people actually believe that this bloviating, bloated, bull-shitting, buffoon is the man to lead the United Kingdom out of the EU to somewhere over the rainbow, where troubles melt like lemon drops, high above the chimney tops, and everyone plays nicely by WTO rules. Jeremy Hunt, who has flip flopped on Brexit, the Single Market and a Second Referendum, who ran the NHS into the ground and who believes that abortions should be banned after twelve weeks, came in second with 43 votes and Michael ‘Yes, I’ve taken cocaine’ Gove, got 37. Dominic Raab, who wants to prorogue Parliament to stop it stopping Brexit, got 27. Next week, unless Johnson gets 157 votes, it goes down to the last two, at which point 160,000members of the Tory party get to choose. But it probably won’t come to that.

This contest has been notable for the appearance on radio and TV of pathetic shills for the main contestants, rather than the candidates themselves. In particular, Johnson has been kept firmly under wraps in order to stop him saying something stupid, dishonest or outrageous, which he does every time he opens his mouth, because, like the scorpion who stung the frog to death, even when was riding on his back across the river as he was unable to swim, it was his nature. And he has more baggage than a Samsonite warehouse – lies, more lies, abandoned spouses, P45s, deceived mistresses, a love child, yet more lies, possible drug use, crap decisions and a well-deserved reputation for being lazy and unprepared. Thanks to his winging it, Nazanin Zaghari-Radcliffe is still languishing in an Iranian prison, her sentence actually doubled. If he were to be interviewed, he would have to answer questions about these matters, so he remains hidden away like a surprise entrant into the Big Brother House. Only this is the House of Commons and a certain degree of accountability should be mandatory. At his Launch, he read from notes, something he never does, dodged six questions from journalists, and then scarpered. There is at least one benefit from his election – Prime Minister’s Questions will be brief.  Or perhaps he will send the appalling Liz Truss to speak for him. On Tuesday, Truss was eviscerated on the Today programme, babbling on about what a brilliant Foreign Secretary Johnson was (he wasn’t), what a great Mayor he was (he wasn’t) and how people were only picking on his alleged character flaws because he was so popular (they aren’t and he isn’t).

Readers, brace yourselves. By next week, Johnson could be your Prime Minister. His promise to negotiate a new deal is a lie, because he knows he cannot. His promise it will all be OK is a lie, because he knows that it won’t be. He says that we will leave on 31 October, but you know he will change his mind if he has to, and then deny that he ever said it. Either those 114 MPs, and the ones who will switch their votes to him next week, know that and don’t care, are so stupid they actually are willing to take him at his word, or want Brexit so badly they don’t care how they get it. Whichever it it, they deserve every obloquy going, because they are patently unfit to do their jobs, or indeed any job.

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We start our review of the week’s clothing cock-ups at the World Premiere of MIB International and actress Tessa Thompson wearing Rodarte.

Admittedly, this is a sci-fi movie sequel, or prequel, or whatever the hell it is, (Tommy Lee Jones is not in it, and so that is the end of it), but that sleeve is extremely silly and makes her look like the Ice Dragon in Game of Thrones.

Next up, we are at a MaxMara Women In Film event in Los Angeles, where we find lovely actress January Jones wearing, er, MaxMara.

Good hair. But the massively-oversized trouser suit suggests that she stayed out overnight and had to borrow the guy’s suit to avoid doing the walk of shame to work, and makes her legs look extremely stumpy.

Now we find ourselves at the Tony Theatre Awards in New York.  The women all looked great, which is more than can be said for the  next three gentlemen. First up is actor Michael Shannon wearing Martial Vivot. He is with his long-term partner Kate Arrington (who looks great).

Michael usually plays the tough guy, which is why it is surprising to find him wearing in this terrible suit with silk facings, like the night porter at a swanky Manhattan hotel.

And this is actor Reeve Carney, wearing who can say what? 

Reeve has come dressed as the Artful Dodger. Only he knows why, but he looks very silly and those silk trousers are downright disturbing.

And here is the third of the duds, comedian, actor and chat show host James Corden wearing Dolce & Gabbana, seen here with his wife Julia Carey, who is wearing J Mendel.

WTF is not a fan of a tummy triangle, but otherwise Julia looks lovely. Unlike her spouse, who has gone full Maria von Trapp with the silken drawing room curtains, not to mention the matching bow tie fashioned from the offcuts. Still, this made WTF laugh a lot more than James usually does.

This is actress Hilary Swank wearing Azzedine Alaïa at the premiere of her new movie, I Am Mother.

WTF’s mother never went about dressed in a low-slung, leather tit-harness, for which, lovely as she was, we can at least be grateful. It must be said that Hilary is a lot trimmer that WTF mère, but she still looks awful. Why are her tits almost down to her waist? Epic fail.

Now we have two more thespians promoting their work, in this case a dismal new movie called Murder Mystery, starring Jennifer Aniston, wearing Céline, and Adam Sandler. 

You see Readers, this is what Hollywood is all about. Jennifer, who is a fine looking woman, is done up to the nines, coiffed, made up, wearing a leather mini-dress and fuck-me sandals, Adam, on the other hand, looks as if he is about to walk the dog around Pacific Palisades.  Why is there one rule for him and another for her? And whilst criticism is alien to WTF’s nature, Jen is suffering from a horrible dose of foot-blotch, so that her feet are about ten shades lighter than the rest of her, like ankle socks.

And finally, we have singer Christina Aguilera in Las Vegas, where she is doing a series of shows, wearing a tracksuit with sparkles.

If Harry Enfield’s famed creation, Waynetta Slob, won the pools, this is what she would look like. And why does Christina have those little turds in a row on her head? #baffled

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Jan from Melbourne, who is still really furious about the incumbent Prime Minister, the moron Scott Morrison, who stormed to a wholly unexpected triumph in the recent Australian General Election.

Jan’s main ire is directed at the pollsters, who had confidently predicted a big win for Bill Shorten’s Labour Party, but who got it horribly, horribly wrong. As they did with Brexit. And with Trump’s 2016 election. You would think that after all those errors, they would hang their heads in shame, shut up shop, change their names by deed poll, and find new jobs as traffic wardens, but no – they are still carrying on. And earning as fortune. They’re crap and They’ve Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers, 

Last week, the malignant virus that is ‘journalist’ Katie Hopkins, tweeted a vicious, Islamophobic, attack on London Mayor Sadiq Khan. No surprise there, of course. Hopkins hates Muslims, claims white people and Christian values are under threat, and would trample over her own granny to earn a spot on Fox News, especially as no media outlet will touch her with a disinfected bargepole over here. The capital city had endured another terrible weekend in which two people were stabbed and another one was shot. The Angel of Death wrote ‘This is Khan’s Londonistan’. As it happens, this ghastly spate of stabbings and murder appears to have no connection at all with Islam – the comment was therefore both spiteful and inapposite. But the Angel of Death is unconcerned with petty details like fact, not when there is a Crusade to undertake. And who retweeted this bilious drivel? None other than Donald J Trump. Never mind that what happens in London is none of his damn business. Never mind that US cities, including Trump’s home town of New York, have a much higher murder rate. Never mind that he is a shill for the National Rifle Association, which champions the right to bear arms, translated into the inalienable right to shoot dead perfect strangers, preferably kiddies, and to stockpile weapons, even though you have every sort of psychiatric problem and should not be able to buy a pea-shooter, let alone an AK47. Trump tweeted that Khan was ‘A national disgrace who is destroying the City of London’. (Note to Trump – the City of London is not the same as London. But then Trump does not know the difference between England and Britain, or Britain and the United Kingdom, or indeed between his ever-burgeoning arse and his elbow).

The tweet provoked outrage. Outrage at Trump retweeting the Angel of Death, and outrage at Trump having yet another go at a Muslim citizen of another country. Just to ensure that everyone was clear that this was an Islamophobic tweet, Hopkins tweeted her thanks to the President for his retweet, referring to London’s ‘Muslim Mayor’. Back home, the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary failed to condemn Trump’s interference or his racism, although politely distancing themselves from the actual language and the input of the horrible Hopkins. Only the Muslim Home Secretary, Sajid Javid, condemned Trump, as he had done on a previous occasion of an Islamophobia tweet, which probably explains why his invitation to the State Banquet on Trump’s visit was lost in the post. Meanwhile, many over here piled in, supporting Trump’s attack and condemning Khan as the worst Mayor ever.

But here’s the thing, Readers. Knife crime have soared since 2014 (two years before Khan was elected) and that is not unique to London – it is countrywide. Since 2010, the knife crime rates in the North East have risen by 33%; in Yorkshire and the Humber, by 77%; and in Wales, by 50%. But it is only Khan that gets the flack. Why do you suppose that is? London now has fewer police officers than it did in 2003 – 20,000 officers down since 2010. Forty youth clubs have closed. The Government has demanded savings in the police budget of £1bn nationally, including £334m in the Metropolitan Police which also has to find another £104m because of pension changes. Police stations have closed. God forbid that you should ever see actual officers on the street. But Theresa May (remember that she was Home Secretary for six years from 2010 to 2016) says there is ‘no direct correlation between certain crimes and police numbers’. Right. It is of course much easier to throw shit at a brown, Muslim, Labour, Mayor. Trump and the Angel of Death are pure scum, of whom nothing is to be expected except more lies, racism and filth. But everyone else should take a long hard look at themselves.

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We start our review of the week’s fashion fiascos with racing driver Lewis Hamilton at the Paris Men’s Fashion Week, wearing Valentino.

What is he wearing now? The words ‘fashion victim’ have insufficient nuance to sum up Lewis’ ridiculous sartorial choices. This time, his top makes him look like the late, lamented, Victoria Wood in Dinner Ladies, the jeans were bought in anticipation of his having a late growth spurt, and the trainers look plain manky.

Now to Los Angeles and the TrevorLive! charity gala, where we find model and actress Cara Delevigne, wearing Balmain.

This is just very silly. From the front, it looks like a sleeveless gilet sewn into an old net curtain, paired with saucy boots. The back, however, is worse.

From the back, it looks like Bridget Jones panties and an old net curtain. It is as if Cara were off to a Halloween party and couldn’t be arsed to make any effort with her costume.

Next up, we have Kate Moss’ little sister, model Lottie Moss, wearing Aadnevik at the Victoria and Albert Summer Party. Why she was there at all, WTF cannot say.

This is not a dress. Not even at all. It is an elongated bustier worn over a pair of panties, and it is foul. Lottie used her Instagram account to air her concern about her weight (seriously?), and obviously thought that wearing this would boost her confidence. She should stop worrying about her girth and start worrying about her taste. Or her stylist. Or both.

And now we go to the MTV Movie and TV Awards in Santa Monica, where an abundance of horror awaited us. We kick off with actor Nico Tortorella, wearing his school uniform and fancy loafers.

WTF takes the view that once a man is past bar mitzvah age, shorts suits should not occupy space in his wardrobe. Particularly when worn with gingham loafers and lashings of blue guy shadow. And he has been drawing on his legs with a magic marker.

Here is singer Spice, who won an award for some reality rubbish called Love and Hip Hop: Atlanta, wearing something frightful.

Only smurfs should have blue hair, and no-one, not even a smurf, should wear a tit-baring bodysuit resembling a trail of neon yellow alyssum.

This is another reality star, Lala Kent, who is in something called Vanderpump Rules. She is wearing affair.fff.

Lala has less VNA (Visible Nipple Activity) on display than Spice, but instead is giving us a major Minge Moment. Meanwhile, WTF is trying to work out whether Lala is wearing her shoes under the lace or over it.

Finally, we have entertainer and (winning) TV Host Nick Cannon, formerly Mr Mariah Carey, wearing Louis Vuitton. This is about as stupid an ensemble as WTF ever did see in her life. Brace yourselves.

What is going on? Why is Louis Vuitton making logo’ed bullet proof vests and gas masks with matching deck shoes? What are those truncated cargo thingies? And why is he wearing them all with a Mayoral chain? Someone at LV has been overdosing on Nicholas Cage as Big Daddy.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado WTF of London, who is aghast at the terrible barstools the five Tory Leadership contenders were made to sit on during the BBC ‘debate’ on Tuesday. As splendid Guardian columnist John Crace noted, “they looked like an ageing boy band. Take Twat”. There was a lot of man spreading as they perched gingerly on their stools like a bunch of old bores at the Garrick  Club Bar. They looked uncomfortable, the whole thing was uncomfortable, and on the basis that one had any faith left in democracy before the debate, it certainly would have gone walkies afterwards. Dismal. Depressing. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Last Friday there was a blazing row between Prime Ministerial candidate Boris Johnson and Carrie Symonds, his current inamorata, at her flat in South London. Upon hearing shouting, screaming, crashing plates, and cries of “get off me” (her), the neighbours summonsed the police, and then called The Guardian to give them chapter and verse – plus a recording of the whole thing which they made on their iPhone. Johnson spent the weekend refusing to answer questions about the fracas, whilst his supporters threw ordure at the neighbours, who were described variously as ‘lefties’, ‘curtain-twitchers’, ‘Guardianistas’, and ‘like the Stasi’. They declared that Johnson had been secretly taped, when you do not have to be to Q out of the James Bond films  to turn on your iPhone and capture shouting so loud you can hear it in your own living room. The Daily Mail also got in the fact, as it always does, that the female half of the couple was Jewish.  Johnson’s private life, declared his supporters, was private, and as long as he delivered Brexit, they were indifferent to what he did or with whom. Indeed, some of them claimed the incident made him ‘more normal’. Johnson himself declared that he never talked about his loved ones. Given that there are two ex wives, a mistress, discarded mistresses various, and at least one love child in addition to the four he has officially, talking about them would take longer than the whole of Wagner’s Ring Cycle. That is, if he could remember which one was which.

On Monday, the Daily Mail, which had excoriated the leftie, curtain-twitching, Guardianista, Stasi-like, Jew and her spouse, published a picture of Johnson and Symonds sitting in a leafy pastoral idyll, and gazing into each other’s eyes like a rom-com poster. Except the picture was obviously not recent, as Johnson’s hair was much longer than it had been on his last public appearance on Saturday. Unless he had donned a wig for the day. Nor was it clear how Daily Mail had come into possession of the snap, unless the couple, or one of them, or some minion, had leaked it to give the impression that all was well again in Paradise. In other words, invading their own private life for PR purposes, having complained of having their private life invaded. Johnson spent Monday in purdah, refusing to give interviews or to debate his rival for the premiership, Jeremy Hunt, on Sky TV. At which point, he was roundly condemned as a coward, whilst the media ran around playing Where’s Wally? On Monday night, he surfaced to splutter, burble, and lie to the BBC’s Laura Kuennsberg, and then did the rounds of radio programmes on Tuesday, refusing to discuss the photograph, or even to confirm when it was taken, or by whom. Smoked out by the scandal, and by the perception that he was too scared to take on Hunt, whom even Mrs Hunt would not call a political giant, or that he was too likely to cock it up, Johnson was forced to emerge from behind the curtain and show himself, like the Wizard Of Oz, to be inept, barely able to construct a sentence, without any discernible grasp of the facts, and very short on detail. He has a plan for making Brexit work, but he cannot tell us what it is, or what is in it. He has a plan for tax cuts but he will not give us the maths. We are definitely leaving on the EU on 31 October, probably. He will go out without a deal, but a no-deal is 1000-1. Like King Lear ‘I will do such things— What they are, yet I know not, but they shall be the terrors of the earth!’  It was soon very clear why his minders thought that the best way for him to win was for him not to speak.

And Readers, the worst thing? His supporters do not care. The MPs that praise him to the skies do not care. They want Brexit. He promised them Brexit. The fact that this man has never kept a promise in his life, and will probably break this one, has not occurred to them. Frankly, they deserve him. But what about the rest of us? 

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We begin our weekly wade into the fetid fashion waters at the Serpentine Summer Party in London with actress and writer Lena Dunham, wearing Christopher Kane.

The hair is good. The dress is truly terrible, an ill-fitting, elongated teeshirt with Shoulder-Shag and Minge Fringe. And the ‘Christ, I’m-dying-for-the-loo’ pose merely serves to demonstrate that her shoes don’t fit her either. Meanwhile the invitation on her chest is, to be blunt, uninviting.

To Paris Fashion Menswear Week, where we find NBA player Russell Westbrook. wearing Louis Vuitton.

There is an awful lot of limb crammed into those red trewsies, which are more than a trifle snug around his unmentionables, and he is baring his chest like Stormy Daniels about to meet Donald Trump for dinner.

Still in Paris, here is Russian model Natalia Vodianova, wearing Beluti.

The top half is very school teacher, but it all goes wrong below the waist with hairy culottes and some weird Native American woodland leggings.

Here we are at the NBA Awards, attended by rapper 2Chainz (né Tauheed Epps) wearing  a remarkable suit and no shirt. Not even of any kind.

How does he hold his neck up under the weight of those chains and the giant Olympic medal for epic sartorial silliness? He looks like an ice cream sundae in brogues.

Now to one of WTF’s favourite events, the Black Entertainment Television (BET) Awards, always a bedrock of bad taste, exemplified here by singer Stefflon Don.

Yurgle. It is cornucopia of craziness – tit portholes, peekaboo, and a black tablecloth wrapped randomly around her person to prevent an imminent Minge Moment. 

Next, we have singer B Simone, wearing For the Stars Fashion House. 

It is all highly offensive, worn without panties and with a heavily encrusted crotch resembling a particularly unpleasant outbreak of pustulent pubes. 

Singer Lil’ Kim never fails to look ridiculous, and this was no exception. Here she is, wearing Naz Couture by Rufat Ismayli and a Chanel bag.

If a scaly anteater went to a fancy dress party as Lil’ Kim, this is what it would look like. And that handbag looks like a wrecking ball in chains.

Meet singer Doja Kat, wearing who can even know what?

Pussycats adore playing with knitting materials, and this one is hiding behind grandma’s half-finished bedspread.

Finally, rapper Cardi B headed out after the ceremony, wearing Nicholas Jebran.

Nice to see fairy tales undergoing gender reversal. In olden days, the beautiful princess kissed the frog, which turned into a handsome prince. Here the prince has kissed the frog, which has turned into Cardi B with a giant leg tattoo, wicked stepmother shoulders and a Minge Waterfall.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Elaine from Manchester, who has taken great exception to these revolting ‘shoes’ from Nike. They have kitten heels and are designed by Romanian designer Ancuta Sarca.

These are basically recycled trainers.  More like regurgitated. They are ugly. Er, that’s it. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Which of you can honestly say that you did not enjoy the footage of squeaky-voiced Ivanka Trump getting iced out at a G20 Reception in Osaka by an imperious, irritated, Christine Lagarde, Head of the International Monetary Fund? Nepotism Barbie had barged into a discussion between Lagarde, Mrs Maybe, President Macron and Prime Minister Trudeau, whereupon she made asinine and irrelevant remarks whilst waving her hands about and smiling in a way winning only to her pervy old dad. It was as if Barron Trump, her 13 year old half-brother, had attempted to interrupt a conversation between Stephen Hawking and Noam Chomsky. With one eye roll, Lagarde made it clear that Barbie’s aperçus were about as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit. And with good reason, because what on earth was she even doing there? 

Barbie is a Special Adviser to the President, aka Daddy. Prior to his election, she displayed no notable interest in politics, and had devoted herself to running her business flogging tat made in Asian sweatshops, and involving herself in various Trump enterprises and charitable foundations that are now attracting the attention of the District Attorney for the Southern District of New York. Now she accompanies Daddy everywhere, a veritable Zelig on every major occasion. G20, she is there. Meeting the Pope, she is there. A State Banquet at Buckingham Palace, she is there. Crossing the DMZ into North Korea, she is there. Popping up on a White House video to talk about trade talks with President Xi, she is there. The woman of whom her father said ‘If she weren’t my daughter, I would be dating her’ and who allegedly asked ‘is it wrong to be more sexually attracted to your own daughter than your wife?’ (answer – yes), is clearly being groomed to be President in 2024. Never mind that she knows nothing about anything. Neither did Daddy, and now he’s in the White House. 

Barbie does not get a salary because that would be contrary to the nepotism laws. But she is getting learn-as-you-don’t-earn experience. And her share of the Trump businesses grows exponentially, particularly the Trump Hotel in DC, where it is now mandatory to book a suite if you want to do business with the US Government. She and her equally dumb, entitled, husband, Jared Kushner, are hardly struggling – last year, they  declared an income of $165 million. Clearly Daddy thinks she could do any job. In his view, she could have run the World Bank because she is ‘good with figures’.  She would have been brilliant as UN Ambassador because ‘she is a natural diplomat’. It is a surprise that she has not been asked to Head up the Pentagon. The only good part of all this is that oleaginous, God-bothering, homophobic, Mike Pence, a man who has spent the last 30 months gazing at Trump with the devotion of a puppy given an extra doggie treat, could be denied his accession to the top job. But even that is scant consolation for the sight of Barbie playing the lovechild of Henry Kissinger and Mother Theresa. This is how far the United States has fallen. For shame.

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We start our review of the week’s fashion flotsam with WTF’s avatar, singer Ashanti, wearing Minge Maestro Michael Costello at the launch of her own collection for Pretty Little Thing.

Beyoncé goes trashy. There is a large helping of tit and, to be frank, that cross-strap  holding them is not up to the job, like a sprat to catch a bucketful of mackerel.

Next up, we have young actor Dacre Montgomery at the Netflix premiere of Stranger Things, wearing his jim jam jacket.

WTF is partial to a pyjama jacket, but even she has her limits, and this has motored way past them on the road to infinity. He looks like a cut-price version of Hugh Hefner.

À propos of not much, in this picture the late lamented HH looks amazingly like Joe E. Brown in Some Like It Hot.

And now we are off to Paris Fashion Week, where nonsense poured forth, starting with singer Zendaya Coleman wearing Dior.

We have not seen trousers over tights since the halcyon days of Princess Diana, and Zendaya’s trewsies look more like jodhpurs. But WTF’s chief disapprobation is reserved for the shrunken evening shirt, which is, on any view, a ridiculous garment, making her look like a perky penguin who did her washing at too high a temperature.

Oh no, it’s them again, Nick Jonas and his spouse, actress Priyanka Chopra, both clad in Dior.

Nick’s brother Joe is competing with him as to which one of them can be the most irritating Jonas Brother, Joe having married GOT’s Sophie Turner a few months ago, and again this week in Paris. So Nick has been forced to up his game and bounced along the boulevard dressed as a floral-bedecked plumber in army boots. His spouse looks elegant in bottle green, albeit with very pointy tits.

Here is actress Riley Keogh, Elvis Presley’s granddaughter, wearing Louis Vuitton.

If anyone knows what this is, and why it is so dog-ugly (sorry, canines), please post the answer in the comments section below.

And now a rare honour, last bestowed many years ago on Rita Ora – a double feature in one blog! Step forward, diva Celine Dion,. First, we find her wearing Off White.

Do not adjust your eyeballs. Celine is wearing a swimsuit, worn with a matching jacket designed for someone bigger and broader. It is as if Peter Dinklage raided Vin Diesel’s wardrobe. And that is not even the worst of it. Why is she not wearing anything over her nether regions?

And here is Celine again, this time wearing Attico, mom jeans and fluffy mules.

If Martha Monster went to a fancy dress party dressed as a creosoted twiglet en route to a Freemasons’ lodge night, this is what she would look like.

Finally, this is just horribly, horribly, horrible. Make sure you have a receptacle handy and the number of a mental health professional on speed dial. Ready? You won’t be. This is Geordie Shore strumpet Chloe Ferry ‘wearing’ a ‘swimsuit’ by Oh Polly. 

WARNING!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

Batle-hardened as she may be, on first seeing this photo WTF emitted a squawk like Polly the Parrot on steroids. Chloe has tits like a couple of cannonballs and more minge on display than a Bangkok sex club. Yurgle.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado WTF from Islington, who is in great indignation at the sudden infestation of London streets by tossers on electric scooters. Do they even know how preposterous they look?

Grown men and women should not be scooting about on scooters, period, and certainly not on public thoroughfares. They’re a hazard and they are really, really, annoying. Ditto silly people on skateboards. Go to the park if you want to ponce about on kiddie transport. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, as they have been sparse of late and you know how WTF frets when she is denied sight of signs of life out there. And don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers, 

Luton’s answer to Nelson Mandela, Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, or, to use his nom de brutalité, Tommy Robinson, is a racist thug with more than a passing acquaintance with the inside of Her Majesty’s Prisons, having been variously banged up for assault, financial and immigration fraud, public order offences and, most recently, contempt of court. His criminal record is longer than the queue for the loos at Wimbledon’s Centre Court, and you could be forgiven for thinking that Robinson’s principal contribution to the justice system was in providing m’Learned Friends with frequent opportunities to top up their bank accounts. But to many, he is now seen as a fighter for freedom of speech and a victim of State oppression. Except of course that he is isn’t.

Last year Robinson was already on a suspended sentence for contempt of court, namely giving details about the ongoing trials of alleged paedophile gangs in defiance of a court reporting order prohibiting identification of the defendants or mention of their offences until the end of the trial, because there were other ongoing trials. And then, whoops, he did it again, this time in Leeds, where a gang of paedophiles from Huddersfield were on trial, again subject to reporting restrictions. Why did Robinson act in this way? Because these were gangs of Asian men of Pakistani heritage, and they were Muslim. The rationale of Robinson’s behaviour was that the British public needed to know that these trials were going on because they had been “hushed up” and the police were failing to act. Despite the fact that the police had indeed arrested the men, the crown Prosecution Service  had put them on trial, the trials being heard inside the very buildings Robinson was cavorting outside in his self-appointed role as a ‘citizen-journalist’.  Even people charged with disgusting crimes are entitled to a fair trial, and indeed they could walk free without one if there was a substantial risk of  justice being seriously prejudiced, thereby stopping the very thing that Robinson claimed he wanted, i.e. justice for the victims.

Robinson went to prison, was freed on appeal because of questions about the fairness of his trial, and was retried last week, whereupon he was again found guilty. Yesterday he did the Long Walk of Non Freedom back to prison for nine months, although he has already served most of that time. At which point the neanderthals who espouse his noble causes of stopping Brexit hating Muslims, and let’s-get-back-to-the-halcyon-(white, Christian)-days-of-1964, ran amok in Parliament Square, demonstrating their commitment to the rule of law and freedom of speech by attacking journalists, causing criminal damage, and breaking up anti-Brexit protests. Because nothing says law and order more than a group of fat, tattooed, yobs smashing things up whilst calling for Robinson’s release. Meanwhile, morons on both sides of the Atlantic claimed that the Luton Mandela had been denied a fair trial (he hadn’t), had been incarcerated while the paedos went free (they didn’t), is the victim of a Government conspiracy to get him killed in prison (he isn’t), had been punished for doing something the mainstream media do every day (they don’t) and had been denied a jury trial (which he had, but only because contempt trials are always tried without juries).

The great irony is that before his current incarceration, our hero had begged Donald Trump to grant him political asylum. That is the same Trump who was sued for raping a 13-year-old-girl (her case was later dropped), who said that if his daughter were not his daughter, he would be dating her, and who, in 2002, praised his billionaire pal Jeffrey Epstein for being a fun guy who loved beautiful women and who liked them young. The same Trump whose Secretary of Labour, Alex Acosta, had cut Epstein a plea deal in Florida in 2008, which allowed him to serve a year in prison but spending twelve hours every day in his office, despite many young girls claiming Epstein had raped and assaulted them. And now Epstein has been charged with more of the same, this time in New York. Are the MAGA morons throwing up their hands, loudly demanding that Acosta be dismissed and that Trump answer for his  previous friendship with Epstein? Of course not. It is only Muslim alleged paedophiles they care about.

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We being our survey of the week’s sartorial slurry singer Halsey wearing an Alyx Studio dress over a Bebe Agiurre bikini.

If an anaemic frog went to a fancy dress party as a Love Island contestant, this is what it would look like.

Next up, we have actor Jason Mamoa with his wife actress Lisa Bonet.

Lisa looks ethereal. As for her spouse, Jason sprang to fame as Khal Drogo in Game of Thrones and his nipple-baring shirt appears to have been inspired by his, er, nipple-baring, non-shirt in that series. 

To Paris Fashion Week and singer Christina Aguilera wearing Viktor and Rolf.

WTF rather admires this in a perverse sort of way as it has a certain insouciance. But it still looks like an old curtain with swearing on it.

And this is actress Araya A Hargate wearing Christian Dior. This one was held over from last week but it bears examination, so here it is.

Everything between the neck and the waist is excellent. But the ‘Allo ‘Allo hat is ridiculous, and as for the skirt, the last time WTF saw something like that it was wrapped around a couple of apples.

Away from Paris, we find former wrestler and now hardman actor Dave Bautista, wearing a most ill-advised ensemble.

Now admittedly Dave is what our Australian friends call a big unit, and so any attire is going to be a challenge, like wrapping a bag of butcher’s brawn in a Saville Row suit. But no one should ever wear a v-necked teeshirt under a suit jacket, especially a double-breasted jacket several sizes too small, and showcasing muscles like  melons.

This is model and actress Sririta Jensen wearing Elie Saab.

If only the skirt were actually a skirt, you know, in the sense that it encompassed her whole lower half, but it isn’t and it doesn’t. One is therefore obliged to worry about what one is seeing in the minge department, and although that shadow is in fact a pair of panties, appalled onlookers should not have been subjected to the stress of worrying about it in the first place.

To the ESPYS and American footballer Odell Beckham Jr wearing Prada.

WTF does not even know what this is. He looks like the lovechild of a postman and a kangaroo’s pouch.

And finally we have model and presenter Heidi Klum in ridiculous Louboutin boots.

Sometimes an item of clothing is just plain silly. And these boots are just plain silly. They look like a couple of maypoles. It is a surprise beribboned country folk are not dancing around her.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF stalwart and aficionado, Leslie from Lisson Grove. Rest your appalled gaze on these pantyhose, handmade by German artist Daniel Struzyna through the Etsy online store Tinkercast.

Leslie has two observations, both pertinent. First, he says the model looks as if she is leaking. And second, he says, Lord alone knows where the rest of the creature resides! Agreed. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, as they have been sparse of late and you know how WTF frets when she is denied sight of signs of life out there. And don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Here’s the thing. If you are going to be a stone-cold racist, at least have the indecency to own up to it. Don’t suggest that people should go back to places they have never been to, or have run away from and have become not just a citizen of your country, but an elected representative, and then pretend you are not a racist. Don’t whip up a crowd of imbeciles with a collective IQ in double digits and smirk happily as they chant your racist views, tweet what a great crowd they are, send your lickspittle out in front of the press to stick up for you, but then, as it dawns upon you that lots of people, including those whose votes you really need to get re-elected (and thus dodge the legal proceedings which might well land you in jail) think you and your imbecilic crowd are really, really, racist, then condemn that same crowd in whose adulation you basked like a hippo in a muddy lake. In short, don’t be Donald Trump.

Trump considers people of colour to be inferior to white people. Many years ago, he and his KKK-loving father refused to rent apartments to blacks and were twice sanctioned for it. He wanted the Central Park Five to be executed, even after they had been proved innocent. He claimed Barrack Obama was not born in the United States and a Muslim. (The evidence, like the proverbial cheque, was always imminent, but never actually produced). Black political candidates were unqualified, even if they went to Harvard or Yale. Black athletes who took the knee were sons of bitches. Black TV presenters were the dumbest men or women on television. And black politicians who criticised him were and are crazy, dangerous and enemies of America. All this we knew about. But this week, he went further. Four radical female newly-elected, Democrats in Congress, all non-white, were told they should go back where they came from, even though three of them were born in the US and the fourth has lived here since she was ten years old and naturalised at seventeen. That apparently was not racist because he was criticising their politics, their hatred of America, their criticism of the country that took them, or their parents, in. And so the GOP and Fox News backed him up because that is what they do. They failed to contradict the lies he was spewing about who the women were, what they wanted, and what they had said. But even the GOP struggled to watch a baying crowd chanting of Rep Ilhan Omar, born in Somalia, ‘send her back’, for fully thirteen seconds whilst Trump paused to emphasise the momentum of that chant. Because it was chilling. It was terrifying. It suggested to every immigrant, to every child of an immigrant, to everyone who was not white, that their place was not in America, whatever the colour of their passport and the wording on their birth or naturalisation certificate. It suggested that they had no right to criticise their country, whatever the First Amendment says. It suggested that if their politics differed from Trump’s, they might either find themselves chained to the armrest on a jet heading overseas or detained charged with treason. And to avoid that fate, they had to be supine. As servile turncoat Senator Lindsay Graham told reporters, it wasn’t that Omar was Somali because ‘I think a Somali refugee embracing Trump would not have been asked to go back’. So buy your MAGA hat, keep quiet and hope for the best. Or else.

You do not have to agree with the four women – The Squad – to deplore what is happening. Both Omar and Rashida Tlaib have made some deeply offensive  antisemitic comments. But you do not deport people for anti-Semitic statements, and certainly not in the name of the flag Trump is so keen to dry-hump at every opportunity. You do not question people’s citizenship and loyalties because their politics are different to your own. You either live in a democracy or you don’t. And a democracy does not threaten political opponents with deportation or suggest that the colour of their skin makes them lesser citizens. This time Trump backed down and sold his supporters down the river. But he will make it up to them. He  will say it again. Because he knows that stoking up their fears and their prejudices is the best way to retain the White House in 2020 – whatever the cost.  God Bless America – and God knows, it needs all the help it can get.

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We start our weekly consideration of curious clothing with pointless youth and professional son, Brooklyn Beckham, wearing Ralph Lauren.

What is Brooklyn Beckham actually for? Anyway here he is somewhere or other looking like a 1970’s history professor at a second-rate university. Hate the hair. Hate the splayed collar. Hate the tie. In short, just go away.

To Centre Court, Wimbledon, and Mirka Federer, wife of losing finalist, the wonderful Roger Federer, wearing Zimmerman.

During the match (which was totally tops), WTF received a communication from aficionado Katie from Golders Green, who was most unhappy with Mirka’s £750 frillfest, which, she said, seemed to have been stolen off a Victorian china doll. And she’s right. All Mirka needs is a bonnet.

Still in London, we are at the ITV Summer Party, graced by the presence of husband-and-wife combo and sometime X Factor Judges Robbie Williams and Ayda Field. She is wearing a dress by The Vampire’s Wife.

Robbie’s eyes are popping, as if something has been wedged up his rear end. WTF is more than happy with the diamanté butterfly brooches on his pinstripe suit, but not with the absence of something underneath the said suit, like a teeshirt. As for Ayda, whatever she is wearing, it looks very slithery and over-ruched, like something run up from granny’s old bedspread.

And now to the European premiere of The Lion King, where A listers and D listers mingled with the Duke and Duchess of Sussex. First we have British singer Raye,wearing Vivienne Westwood.

Dame Viv has good days and bad days. This is a bad day. Not only does the dress look like tinfoil, but it has very ridiculous crimped and crumpled tit covers, closely resembling the way you roast a chicken with a beer bottle in the cavity.

Next up, we have TV presenter, Maya Jama, wearing Rami Kadi.

It was all going so well from shoulder to waist until the explosion of frothiness reminiscent of waves on a heaving sea at sunrise. And there is the inevitable sight of arse cheek or what might be arse cheek. WTF will say it again – arse cheek should not be on show. Or make you think that it might be.

Then there was singer Pharrell Williams, wearing Chanel.

Lovely jacket. Silly shorts. And why is he wearing white socks? Bar mitzvah boy goes bonkers…..

And finally, superstar Beyoncé wearing Vietnamese designer Cong Tre.

Why is this even happening? She is stunning. She does not need to wrap herself up like a Ferrero Rocher with no knickers.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado, Leslie (yes, him again) and from WTF aficionado WTF (yes, her again) and it can be taken very shortly. The Republican Party. See above. Enablers. Cowardly, disgusting fuckers. The GOP deserves every iota of contempt. It’s Got to Go. And hopefully it will go and very soon.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, as they have been sparse of late and you know how WTF frets when she is denied sight of signs of life out there. And don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Usually the annual WTF Summer Stinker Poll is a politics free zone, but it would be impossible to publish anything this Friday without mentioning one of the most ridiculous weeks in British history. We all knew it was coming, but it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive. And this is what we arrived at.

Be still my beating heart. On Tuesday, we learned that this absolute buffoon, this charlatan, this barefaced liar, this adulterous, love-child-spawning, chancer,would shortly be ensconced in 10 Downing Street and poised to lead us to, and then over, the Brexit precipice. And like some two-bit southern Baptist preacher, he will get us there with optimism! And with enthusiasm! Believe and We Will Leave! Click your heels together three times and say ‘There’s no place like home’ and you’ll be there. Only in this case, home is shit creek with a serious paddle shortage.

On Wednesday, Donald Trump, another charlatan, pathological liar and adulterer, praised Johnson and boasted that people were saying (Trump-speak for he just made it up) that he was ‘the Britain Trump’. He is, but only in the ‘buy one, get one free’, sort of way. After a waffling speech better suited to Sports Day at St Trinian’s outside his new residence and before the world’s press, Johnson then assembled the most dismal Cabinet in living memory, a Hammer House of Horror of right-wing fervour, mediocrity, ignorance, mendacity, and sheer incompetence. Say hallo to dim-as-a-dead-lightbulb Priti Patel and to pipsqueak Gavin Williamson, sacked by Mrs Maybe for lying and leaking respectively. Blow a kiss to Esther McVey, who lied blatantly to the House of Commons. Wave to Dominic Raab, the former Brexit Secretary (for about twenty minutes), who never bothered to read the Good Friday agreement, but still felt free to opine on the vexed issue of the Irish border, and who admitted that he had only recently realised the importance of the English Channel. Doff your cap to Jacob Rees-Mogg, the Catsmeat Potter-Purbright of Westminster, who is the new Leader of the House of Commons and who is allowed to attend Cabinet by special Old Etonian dispensation. He talks in Latin and so people think he is ever-so-intellectual. And this dismal collection of numpties, nobodies, and ne’er-do-wells constitute the new Government. Our new Government. Kill me now.

On Thursday, as if signalling his displeasure with what was occurring in Britain, the Almighty (not Trump, Him Upstairs), sent us the hottest July day since records began and our already-suffering citizens sweltered and sweated while train lines melted, tarmac cracked and tempers flared, followed by thunder, lightning, flooding and all sorts. The frogs and locust are probably on their way. Get ready, Britain, for a roller-coaster ride – with no safety certificate.

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And so the main business – the Summer Stinker Poll!!!!!! All you have to do is to vote for the ghastly fashion disasters below, all of them vying for the coveted title of the WTF Summer Stinker 2019. None of that Single Transferable Vote nonsense here – just vote as often as you like, and for as many as you like, and tell all your friends and neighbours to do the same. Are you ready? Here they are, in first name alphabetical order, denoting no preference whatsoever on the part of WTF, the compiler of this shower of sartorial shite.

1. B Simone, rapper.

B pitched up at the BET Awards in a sheer condom with frilled boobage, an encrusted minge, and what looks suspiciously like a folded antimacassar around her neck.

2. Billy Porter, entertainer.

Frankly, anything that Billy has worn on the Red Carpet recently would have been eligible for nomination, but this suit from the Critics’ Choice Awards gets the nod because it is wrinkled like a sharpei’s bum and has a bow large enough to wrap around Broadway – twice.

3. Celine Dion, singer.

The last time WTF saw that many bones, they were in an ossuary. Extra minus points for the ridiculous shoulders, sunglasses worn in the dark, and the black leather cap like a pervy private.

4. Charly Arnolt, actress and WWE announcer.

Not so much a woman, more a fluorescent tangerine with globular tits. Just. Very. Bad.

5. Cynthia Erivo, actress.

Like an exploded candy-floss maker. The good news is that she is wearing panties. The bad news is that you can see them.

6. Gillian McKeith, TV nutritionist (right). Her daughter (left) is not a candidate.

Will this be third time lucky for Gillian?  She has been robbed of the award twice running. A polo-neck body, a fishing net in lieu of a skirt, a pair of foul velvet bootees, a cape made from an old curtain, and a toy crown do not an outfit make. Except for her.

7. Halsey, singer.

Halsey looks like an anaemic frog in a bikini. Great hair, though.

8. Kim Kardashian West, pointless celebrity.

Ouch! It is one thing to have straps over your nipples. It is quite another to have them so tight that there is spilth above and below, leaving Kim with imprimatur for days afterwards.

9.Lewis Hamilton, racing driver.

A distinguished former winner, Lewis is the ultimate fashion victim. Dressed like this, he should consider making an application to the Criminal Injuries Compensation Board.

10. Lil Kim, rapper.

As WTF remarked at the time, if a scaly anteater went to a fancy dress party as Lil’ Kim, this is what it would look like. The Chanel handbag resembles a wrecking ball and is stupid.

11. Linda Cardellini, actress.

A raspberry muppet with a mullet. And a bow, just in case there was the smallest danger of someone thinking that Linda was underdressed.

12. Lyali Hakaraia, designer and stylist (!)

He is wearing a prick-skimmer as a skirt, which is horrific enough, but more offensive still is the abundant man-cleavage. Button that coat, sir!!!! And then go away.

13. Nana Ghana, actress.

Nana is wrapped up like a birthday present, the fabric is cutting into her right boob, and she is wearing her bedroom mules. None of this makes any sense.

14. Nick Cannon, entertainer and TV host.

This is preposterous. Why is Louis Vuitton making bullet proof vests with matching gas mask and deck shoes? On what occasion would you wear them, other than during a civil war in Monte Carlo?

15. Olivia Munn, actress.

The material looks like the scum floating on top of polluted water and she appears to be micturating, courtesy of the minge waterfall.

16. Odell Beckham Jr, American footballer.

Odell is dressed as a Prada postman complete with sewn-in mailbag.

17. Patrick Starr, makeup artist.

Patrick! Bless him! He should be on top of a Christmas tree.

18. Perez Hilton, personality and celebrity blogger.

Look Readers, this man publishes a blog featuring the week’s worst dressed celebrities. As Jesus was wont to remark, Physician, heal thyself.

19. Poppy, singer.

This seems to be a Hell’s Angel’s nightgown with a tit-frill and spiked collar, while Poppy’s head appears to have been photoshopped onto it.

20. Post Malone, rapper.

WTF hates a tattooed face almost above all things, and she is also resoundingly unimpressed by the preponderance of baby pink studded leather WITH MATCHING BOOTS. Even more unpleasant is the fit of the trousers with built-in crotch-snuggle.

21. Shawn Everett, sound technician.

Shawn is another distinguished former winner of this competition, and now seems he is making a bid for a double crown (a feat previously achieved only by Bobby Norris in his assorted cock socks), dressed as an extra from Game of Thrones.

22. Tiffany Young, actress.

This is part pantomime boy, part Minge Moment and the voile boots are very, very, silly.

OK Readers, now it’s your turn. WTF has made the selection. Now you get to select from that selection. You can vote as many times as you like, and as often as you like, and the polling form allows you to leave unpleasant comments to go with your votes – or you can comment in the usual manner below. The results will be published next Friday. See you then. Be good.

Hallo Readers,

The Britain Trump completed the first full week of his hopefully short-lived tenure as Prime Minister and in truth, it did not go that well. In England, the East Midlands and the North West are under water, following torrential rain, as if heralding what was to come in the early hours of Friday mornings, namely the people of Brecon and Radnorshire in Wales telling him where to stick his party, his candidate and his plan for a no-deal Brexit. In truth, it may have had quite a bit to do with fact that the former Tory MP, Chris Davies, had pleaded guilty of fiddling his Parliamentary expenses, prompting his constituents to get up a petition and recall him. This necessitated a by-election and the Conservatives selected……former Tory MP Chris Davies. Good call, chaps.  The voters did not accord a welcome in the hillsides to Davies, and little wonder. If you send back a steak in a restaurant because it is rancid, you do not serve the same steak second time round. As a result, they voted for the Liberal Democrat candidate Jane Dodds, who won by 1,425. She, had done a deal with both the Greens and Plaid Cymru, overturning Davies’ 8,000 majority. It also did not help Johnson that the Brexit Party split the Brexit vote. Be that as it may, his Parliamentary majority is down to 1, and this from an area that voted to leave in 2016. That was probably because they were promised a very favourable deal by….oh yes. Boris Johnson. And his majority could go down to zero shortly, because another Tory MP is thinking of defecting to the Liberal Democrats.

The new PM did a grand tour of the Union this week, albeit  that he, as Leader of the Conservative and Unionist Party, is about to preside over the demise of the Conservatives AND the Union, all in the name of a Brexit he does not really believe in. The EU had already told him where to shove his plan for a renegotiated Brexit. In Scotland, Ruth Davidson, leader of the Scottish Conservatives, told him to where to shove his plan for a no-deal Brexit, and he had to sneak out through Nicola Sturgeon’s back door, having been booed by unfriendly Scots at the front door. In Wales, the Welsh Government told him where to shove his plan for a no-deal Brexit. Johnson left one hundred well wishers standing about in the rain (it rains a lot in  Wales, that is why those valleys are so bloody green) and did not speak to them or the public, although he did cuddle a Welsh chicken, pissing off the press who were huddled into a shed like battery-hens, unlike the fine specimens on show. In Northern Ireland, he played political footsie with the Democratic Unionist Party, whose allegiance had been purchased by Theresa May for a billion quid, but was told where to shove his ‘no-backstop, no-EU negotiations’, demand by both the leader of Sinn Fein and by the Irish Taoiseach, Leo Varadkar. 

Johnson and the First Girlfriend, Carrie Symonds, have commandeered the bigger flat at 11 Downing Street, which has four bedrooms, leaving the nominal occupant of that building, Chancellor Sajid Javid, crammed into the smaller two bedroomed flat at Downing Street – despite the fact that Johnson and Symonds have no children, whereas the Saj and his wife have four. Maybe Johnson needs the space for when his kids by his former wife come to stay, not to mention the love child, and any other ones he may have, but whose existence he refuses to confirm or deny.  Be that as it may, the happy young couple should not rush to pick out new wallpaper and drapery just yet- they may not be there very long.

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We start our review of the sartorial silliness of the last seven days with actor and talk-show host James Corden, out and about wearing Gucci.

Just recently, James has gone mega-poncey in Gucci. Readers may remember his appearance at the Tony Awards in a floral Gucci suit and now he is parading about in a £1,600 striped cardigan looking like a nautical deckchair. By the way, WTF would wager a tenner that James could have bought something similar in H&M for £16.

To the London premiere of Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time in Hollywood  Once Upon A Time in Hollywood where we find actress Lena Dunham wearing Arlington 16.

It is of course always possible that Lena was wearing this for a bet. Because the other possibility is that someone actually told her that she looked good dressed as a Mae West tribute act.

And here we are at the US premiere of the same movie with actor Eli Roth.

Here are three unpleasant items of clothing, made all the more unpleasant by their being worn together. John Travolta would have turned down this outfit for Saturday Night Fever and he was not even a star then.

Here is singer and presenter Kristen Chenoweth wearing something absolutely vile.

Aqua Barbie is alive and well and sporting silver bootees.

Peaky Blinders starts a new series shortly and this is Charlene McKenna at the launch party, wearing Manley Studio.

These are another three revolting individual items of clothing, but the worst is the jacket with its pussy peephole and built-in valance. What possessed her to wear this? She could call upon the nearest exorcist – stat.

Here is actor Michael B. Jordan looking like a right prat.

What fresh hell is this? From the chest down, he looks great. From chest to neck he looks ridiculous. No one, and that is no one, can wear a boat neck sweater over a white shirt. 

And now another trio of terribleness, beginning with actress Jackie Cruz  at the premiere of the final series of Orange Is The new Black, wearing LouLou.

What on earth is going on here? She is like a cappuccino in panties.

Next to Comic-Con and actress Ajiona Alexus in Dany Mizrachi.

Ajiona, who is a young Janet Jackson lookalikey, is dressed as the lovechild of a funky chicken and a swimsuit model and the effect is not pretty. The netting on the bodice is the wrong shade for her skintone and looks like a tan-line.

And the last of the trio, octogenarian Joan Collins.   wearing something whose designer has rightly gone to ground. Scroll down slowly…..

The top is pretty, which is more than can be said for the mullet wig, but that is a full-on minge moment. The encrustations are not up to the job, making her appear to have had a particularly savage waxing. They clearly ran out of wax lower down as the feathers are distinctly patchy.

And finally – the moment you have been waiting for. The winner of the WTF Summer Stinker Poll 2019 is……drumroll! ‘Stylist’  Lyali Hakaraia.

Lyali had a ferocious four-way fight with Perez Hilton, Lewis Hamilton and Gillian McKeith and edged victory by half a percentage point. Yikes! But you will agree that he is worthy winner.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is again from WTF aficionado Leslie from Lisson Grove but wow, what a corker. This might be one of the most revolting things WTF has ever seen, and she has seen a few.  Trust me on this. Are you ready? You won’t be. Here are the Cantaloupe Panties. Easy now.

Leslie says ‘in all fairness Nick Jones really should have the kudos for this humdinger….. Scientists have devoted their lives to creating an internet which shares wisdom, intelligence, information, and generally makes the world a better informed place —— however, occasionally something like this peeps through. I doubt if this will pass your “Hayes” test but honestly, if (in my grindr days) I met someone wearing these babies, I’d head for the hills.’ Agreed. I feel ill. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Put a smile on WTF’s face by keeping those comments rolling in, as well as your splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. WTF is having a break and will be back on 31 August. Be good x

Hallo Readers,

This is always a test of whether you read right down to the end each week. If you did, you’d have known that WTF is taking a break. So I am not around blog-wise until 23 August, when you will be able to read the rant (onTrump probably – the man is a sociopath), and also to take part in the WTF Worst of the Worst Poll, all the winners of the Christmas Turkey and Summer Stinker Polls since December 2012 – 14 truly disgusting specimens of fashion horror.

Just so you don’t get complete withdrawal symptoms, here is Julianne Moore wearing Givenchy. Givenchy! The house that used to dress Audrey Hepburn…..

This is the lovechild of a Playboy bunny and a collapsed parachute. It is very, very bad, as are the bootees. The stylist needs a slap, a P45 and another slap.

Now entertain yourselves for the next two Fridays. See you on 23 August.

Be good x

Hallo Readers,

Imagine that you were to invite someone to your house for the weekend. You steam-clean the carpets, air the spare bed, and get the caterers in for a slap-up dinner. Then he goes on Twitter and announces that he wants to buy your back garden. You, somewhat surprised, reply that your back garden is not for sale, and the idea is absurd. At which point, the guest tweets that the visit is off, and that you have insulted him. And then he calls you ‘nasty’, a word he only ever deploys for women who contradict or criticise him. And then he attacks you for not forking out your share of club dues. All because you did not agree to sell him something that was never for sale, and which he had not previously mentioned he wanted to buy.

Do not adjust your brain. This is not a test. This is the President of the USA in August 2019. He fancied putting in a bid for Greenland, the semi-autonomous state that is part of the Kingdom of Denmark. He did not convey this interest to Denmark, or for that matter to the 56,000 inhabitants of Greenland. He did not mention it when Queen Margrethe II invited him to pop over to Copenhagen for some hygge and a meal at the Palace. The first she, and Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen, knew about it was when they saw it in the papers. The first they knew that the trip was off was when they saw it on Twitter. This is not how international diplomacy is supposed to work.

Trumpy’s non-appearance is unlikely to upset the Royal Household, where they are doubtless running around shouting ‘Fedt!’, which WTF aficionado Anya Palmer assures me is the Danish for ‘great!’ They do not have to smile politely over the Aebleflæsk as he rambles on about how He is the new King of Israel, and how He is the Chosen One, and how surgeons in El Paso came running out of the operating rooms to greet him when he came to ‘console’ the victims of the shooting his vile rhetoric had inspired.  In short, they have had a result. But the USA has not had a result. The World has not had a result. Because this man is unhinged. He and reality are no longer on speaking terms. He is threatening the global economy. He is threatening NATO. He is becoming more and more erratic. It is too late to hope that members of the Republican Party will find a pair of balls between them, which leaves impeachment as the only option. Because this is not funny any more.

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We turn to our first ever Worst of the Worst Poll. The word ‘shocker’ has insufficient nuance to describe what awaits you, namely fourteen ghastly ‘outfits’, some of them so small that they do not even count as outfits. Indeed Bobby Norris, formerly of TOWIE, should probably never have qualified at all. Readers are counselled to exercise extreme caution when accessing pictures of Bobby, the runaway winner of the Summer Stinkers in 2014 and 2015.

Looking at the winners since 2012, the early ones were either very mingetastic or very, er, cocky. It is with relief that one gets to the four recent winners, all of them male (admittedly the 2018 Christmas Turkey was an all-male affair) and to see that however truly preposterous they look, they are at least wearing actual clothes.

OK Readers! You’re off! You can vote for as many of these champions as you like, as often as you like, and leave unpleasant comments to go with your votes. The results will be announced next week. Enjoy your August Bank Holiday and that unusual yellow thing in the sky, beaming out warmth. It is called  “the sun”.

HERE WE GO!!!!!

1. Adrianne Curry, model and celebritee. WTF Christmas Turkey 2012

The first ever winner of any WTF competition, Adrianne Curry, set a standard for others to follow – underboob, no panties, camel toe, and thrush-inducing tinfoil trousers. Yurgle. Take that, 2013 onwards!

2. Nadine Merabi, designer. Summer Stinker 2013

Nadine designs fancy frocks for celebritees and WAGS, and appeared at a footballers’ charity ball in Manchester in this mega-mingetastic creation made from an old pair of tights scattered with iron filings, and displaying the ugliest side- seam ever seen North of the Watford Gap.

3. Lil’ Kim, rapper. WTF Christmas Turkey 2013

Lil’ Kim picked up Adrianne’s camel toe challenge and ran with it all the way to the top of the podium of the 2013 Christmas Turkey. Ouch. And again Ouch. Call for the Canesten.

4. Bobby Norris, TOWIE celebritee. WTF Summer Stinker 2014

CAUTION! AND ANOTHER CAUTION TO GO WITH THE FIRST CAUTION!

I know. I KNOW!!!! Bobby is wearing a cock-sock disappearing up his crack at the back. And he has colour-coordinated his cocktails and his eyebrows are more arched than Joan Crawford. Shocking. And then some. 

5. Bai Ling, actress. WTF Christmas Turkey 2014

Compared to Bobby, Bai Ling is almost overdressed. Just because she was attending the premiere of a film called The Key is no excuse for draping one such over your chest and calling it a top. And there can never be an excuse, not even of any kind, for wearing a minge marigold.

6. Bobby Norris (Again). WTF Summer Stinker 2015

THIRD CAUTION! AND A FOURTH CAUTION TO GO WITH THE THIRD CAUTION!

At this point, WTF decided to ban Bobby from entering any more competitions on the basis that he had stopped wearing clothes altogether. He looks like a tattooed string bean in a willy-warmer.

7. Charlotte Dawson, celebritee. Christmas Turkey 2015

2015 was a very bad year for visible body parts. No wonder she has her hair covering her face. And those hooves are horrible.

8. Shawn Everett, sound technician. WTF Summer Stinker 2016

It was a relief to welcome Shawn into the Summer Stinker Poll 2016 as he turned up at the Grammys that year wearing actual clothes. Horrible clothes. But clothes. Hurrah!

9. Baddiewinkle, internet sensation. WTF Christmas Turkey 2016

I mean, this is sort of deeply wonderful as well as appalling. Baddiewinkle, née Helen Ruth Elam, was a very sprightly 88 when this picture was taken. She is still going strong at 91. 

10. Sundy Carter, US reality star. WTF Summer Stinker 2017

Sundy was doing that look-at-me!!!!!!! thing you do when you have no talent to speak of and want to get your picture in the papers. Removing the criss-cross tit-tape must have been absolute agony, which serves her right. And the blue lipstick makes her look cyanotic.

11. Lewis Hamilton, racing driver. WTF Christmas Turkey 2017

Ah Lewis! Where would the blog be without him? People keep voting for him because with all his zillions of pounds, he dresses like a prat, but he thinks he looks good. Newsflash. He doesn’t. And he seems to have forgotten his trousers.

12. Jeremy Scott, head designer at Moschino. WTF Summer Stinker 2018

If a bank manager keen on falconry went to a fancy dress as Russell Crowe in Gladiator, this is what he would look like.

13.A$AP Rocky, rapper. WTF All Male Christmas Turkey 2018

He is head to toe Gucci. The suit is fine. But the frilled headscarf and silk dressing gown are very Princess Margaret meets Noël Coward. I bet he wasn’t dressed like this during his recent sojourn in a Swedish prison. where this getup would not have been warmly received. 

14. Lyali Hakaraia, stylist.  Summer Stinker 2019

And so our last winner, who is just plain creepy. The beard looks badly stuck on, there is the threat of glimpsing what we do not wish to see, and what are those golden tassels dangling down? *baffled*

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

Hallo Readers, 

Do you remember when Boris Johnson spoke at various Tory Party Leadership Election Hustings and said that the chance of a no-deal Brexit was a million to one against? WTF does – it was on 26 June 2019. Then Johnson took office. By 14 August, a no-deal Brexit had become ‘more likely’.  Thank goodness he doesn’t run a casino – his business would have gone belly-up, just like that of his mentor Donald J Trump, who managed to lose money on not one, not two, but three, Atlantic City casinos in the 1990s and put each of those businesses into bankruptcy.

This week, the chances of a no-deal Brexit are looking extremely very likely and then some. Johnson and his side-kick, Dominic Cummings, came up with a plan to stop Parliament stopping  them – they announced that Parliament would be prorogued on 9 September, only days after it comes back from its summer holidays on 3 September. It will then reassemble on 14 October, leaving just over a fortnight for MPs to debate the Queen’s speech that no one gives a stuff about and to debate the new deal that Johnson says he can get from the EU, which he can’t, and probably doesn’t believe he can anyway. Even if he does get one, if it is no better than the Theresa May deals, who will vote for it? So out we go on 31 October with no deal. Which is what some, if not most, of his Cabinet wanted all along.

Of course there might be vote of no confidence. If the Government lose, there could be an election, and Jeremy Corbyn might win it, under a coalition of odds and sods various. So the person who in 2016, and for decades beforehand, probably wanted Brexit more than either May (who voted against it) or Johnson (who only decided to back Brexit on what seems to have been the toss of a coin and an eye on the main chance), might end up as Prime Minister to stop a Government that wanted Brexit. The people who wanted Brexit to reclaim our Parliamentary sovereignty are cheering loudly for the voice of Parliament to be silenced. And the ones who went on and on about how Europe wanted us more than we wanted them, and how we would be given a cracking deal, are now busy pretending that they always knew it would be this bad, and that they voted in the full knowledge that this would happen, even though they attacked every one who said it would be this bad as pedalling Project Fear.

So that is clear, right?. We might be leaving with a deal. We might be leaving without a deal. We might have Johnson ushering in the new dawn. We might have Jeremy Corbyn ushering in the new dawn. We might have some other bugger ushering in the new dawn, There might not be a dawn. Meanwhile, anyone worried about getting their ‘flu vaccine this Autumn – whoops. That might be a problem because we do not have enough vaccine in stock, and the rest will be sitting on lorries outside Calais in a 100 km queue.  And if you are waiting for that promised US Trade Deal Trump was waffling on about at the G7- you might have to wait even longer than for your ‘flu jab. These things take time to negotiate, and then the US Congress has to pass it – which it has said it will not unless there is provision for the Irish border issue is resolved. It may be a while before you can tuck in to your US chlorinated chicken, which might make you sick, in which case you can go to the newly privatised, Trump-owned NHS and have your stomach pumped. It will be worth the wait…..

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We survey the weekly fashion flotsam with the clothing on show at the MTV Video Music Awards in Newark, New Jersey, where sartorial horror abounded. We start with singer Camila Cabello wearing Balmain.

Balmain? Really? This thing is just a peekaboo bed sheet and WTF is always worried when there is more train than dress. Not that this is a dress.

Next up, we have model Bella Hadid, wearing Charlotte Knowles.

This is more a case of Charlotte No!!!!! – a boobtube and ruched slip with braces (or suspenders, as our American friends would call them). WTF has a number of objections to this apparel, not least that it is uglier than a very ugly dog. And WTF has also taken against Bella’s pout, which makes her look like a duck pretending to be Melania Trump.

Of course, former model Heidi Klum was there. She is always at these things, and always wearing something silly.  In this case, it is by Nedo.

It looks like a sparkly bin bag with Dynasty-style shoulders and a crotch curtain. Heidi should remove the dress and line the dustbin with it. And then put her stylist’s contract into the trash and get a new stylist.

Here is one of WTF’s favourites, rapper and Law and Order – Special Victims Unit actor Ice-T, and his fragrant wife, glamour model, cabaret artiste and Internet personality Coco Austin. She is wearing not a lot, whilst he is wearing Versace.

Regular Readers will know that WTF is a huge fan of SVU, where Ice-T plays Fin Tutuola, the grumpy cop with a heart of gold. He and the pneumatic Coco have been married for 17 years and they still seem happy. However WTF is not happy with Coco’s dress, because she might have as well have doodled on herself in her tiny thong and not bothered with anything else.

Meet singer Ava Max, wearing Kalmin.

If the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz went to a fancy dress party dressed as Superwoman in a truss, this is what he would look like.

Here is actress Drea de Matteo with her kiddies Alabama and Waylon. Drea is wearing a dress by The Paper Bag Princess.

Alabama is 11 years old and has no business dressing as Mummy’s mini-me, and Ice-T should revert to being Fin Tutuola and arrest Mummy forthwith for child cruelty.  And if that won‘t stick, to arrest her for wearing a stupid dress and flashing her knickers in public.

Back again! It’s singer Bebe Rexha wearing Christian Siriano.

Readers, we have now hit a really rough patch – what follows are assorted body parts on display under what are laughingly supposed to be clothes. Bebe here is flashing her bottom through what appears to be a silver cake doily.

And this is Prince Derek Doll. No, WTF doesn’t know who the hell he is either.

This is the sort of peekaboo, no-knickers, thing that one of the terrible Kardashian sisters would wear. Now men have started doing it too, which is to be deplored. And he seems to have some sort of giant bird on his shoulders. Kill me now.

This one is even worse. Bringing up the rear, quite literally, we have the star of Love and Hip Hop: Miami Bobby Lytes wearing That Trendy Guy. Careful now.

This is the male no-knickers look, worn under a yellow version of Bebe’s cake doily. And what follows is not good either. In fact it is very very bad.

He is flashing his buttocks in a sheer panel inserted into the cake doily, like a pervy cowboy in chaps taking parts as a contestant in a Wild West Bakeoff. You never saw John Wayne dressed like this. Yurgle.

The winner of the Worst of the Worst Poll was …….. Bobby Norris in his 2014 version of the cock-sock. Go and look at last week’s blog to see it in all his horror. You have seen enough male bits for one week in this one.. 

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