Undressed

By Kat Giantis

Train Wreck: Beyoncé is smart enough to know that a touch of campiness is in order when promoting a stalker thriller in which you utter the guffaw-eliciting line, "You touched my child. You do not touch my child!" But the knockout chanteuse has confused camp with cockeyed at the premiere of "Obsessed," where she hits the red carpet in a clingy, off-kilter gown that's the couture equivalent of a mullet. From the front, her hip-suctioned, sequined miniskirt and pointy, careful-you'll-put-an-eye-out bustier are all business, assuming that business involves slinging drinks amid the din of dozens of slot machines. The explosively ruffled back, meanwhile, is a total party — one that involves clicking castanets, cancan dancers and a Scarlett O'Hara impersonator or two. Despite the contradictory fashion statement, which, shockingly enough, was not designed by her tacky-tending mom Tina, Beyoncé looks radiant, with her glowing skin and shiny hair nicely contrasting with the unsubtle sheen of her nude pantyhose.

Flesh and Dud: Could there be something to rumors that Pamela Anderson is in need of a cash infusion? The vegan and staunch animal rights supporter gives good open-mouth pout at the opening of a steakhouse-cum-strip club, an unlikely appearance that was perhaps prompted by the promise of a meaty paycheck. But Pam is a consummate professional, and she takes her promotional duties seriously by embracing the event's flesh-is-good theme. The veteran bombshell serves up her juicy, saline-seasoned all-beef patties in an unbuttoned, reinforced bra-revealing white top and warms her appetizing rump roasts in matching hot pants that can easily take her from the press line to the stripper pole, depending on her contractual obligations. She even stays on message from the neck up thanks to chicken-fried, dark-rooted blond locks and grill brush-applied makeup, although Pam is apparently so unfamiliar with beef products that she didn't realize A1 steak sauce is not a suitable substitute for bronzer.

Berry Kate and Ghastly: As children, we're issued many warnings. Some are quite useful, such as, "look both ways before you cross the street," "don't talk to strangers" and "no running with scissors." Others, not so much (try as we might, we never did manage to make a face and have it freeze that way). Then there are the lessons that should be taught but aren't. Parents, let the luminous Kate Walsh provide all the motivation you'll need to sit your daughters down for a serious talk about the inherent dangers of satin, Fruit Roll-Ups-colored jumpsuits with deflated halter necklines. Just consider how a brief mother-daughter chat could have prevented this blocky- and schlocky-looking one-piece from ever seeing the light of day. What's more, the discussion might have opened the door for other sharing sessions, such as one focused on how boys don't respect girls who wear gold-plated puka shell necklaces on the first date.

Sing a Song of Nixed Pants: Not too long ago, Vanessa Hudgens remarked how "very proud" she was to be a role model. But here's the thing: When kids look up to you, there are certain social mores that need to be followed, and wearing pants in public ranks pretty high up there. Sure, the comely starlet has terrific legs, which she showcases in a plaid shirt that looks straight off the back of her dreamy-eyed boyfriend, Zac Efron, but the last thing the world needs is a bunch of "High School Musical" tweeny-boppers running around sans slacks, especially when they could break into an energetic song-and-dance number — with high kicks — at any moment. Also, unless Vanessa wants her impressionable young fans to suffer from severe bunion and back issues in their later years, we suggest she teeter on platform gladiator heels only on very special occasions.

The Mask of Spore-o: For years, Michael Jackson put up with the pointing, staring and taunting, confident that one day, he would be recognized as the viral visionary that he is. And finally, that day has arrived. It's been decades since the endlessly altered former King of Pop gave off a whiff of normalcy, but now, thanks to the swine flu outbreak, he could be any garden-variety germaphobe doing a spot of shopping in a surgical mask. OK, OK, any garden-variety germaphobe shopping in a surgical mask while wearing Halloween-hued pajama bottoms, a tightly wound head scarf and a bright green blazer that's either proof he beat out Tiger Woods for the Masters title or has lost the pants to his Riddler costume. What's that? Oh, all right, if you're going to be a stickler about it: He could also be any garden-variety germaphobe shopping in a surgical mask while one of his kids creepily hovers behind him cloaked in a feathered Mardi Gras mask. Baby steps, people, baby steps.

Bow-mance: Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick step out for a Broadway show and a bit of conversation. Let's listen in…

MB: Ow! Would you stop poking me with the sharpened shoulder pad of your precariously balanced jacket? That thing is pointier than my sideburns.

SJP: Oh, like I'm not experiencing pain of my own over here? I'm the one eye-level with those sideburns. And don't get me started on the bow tie. Is that a weird "Simpsons" homage to Waylon Smithers? Does Mr. Burns know about this?

MB: Hey, you're the one who said to wear something matchy.

SJP: Enlighten me, honey, because I don't see the matching part.

MB: Well, dearest, before my corneas were scorched by the radioactive Pepto-Bismol coating on your shoes, I distinctly saw bows. Thus, matchy. But back to you: What's up with this oddly tight yet billowy satin shirt? I'm pretty sure you should have two breasts, not one.

SJP: This is my empathy blouse. I may not be carrying our twin girls, but I can still get into the spirit with fabulous maternity-wear.

MB: I'm almost positive that's not how it works.

SJP: Really? Because I'm almost positive your shoes clash with everything except the mountain of dirty diapers we'll soon be elbow-deep in.

Dead Ringer: A sure sign that your energy level is in need of a boost: When you pose amid a trio of mannequins and they come across as comparatively lively. Thanks to her pretty, blank eyes (or pretty blank eyes — your call), Mischa Barton does a surprisingly good job of blending in with the similarly lithe, lifeless background, seemingly unaware that the inanimate objects surrounding her have a better-defined sense of style. The angular starlet mixes a belly shirt and high-waisted skirt with a grommet-laden leather vest and studded, peep-toe booties, a combination that leaves her looking like a rebellious prep school student who's hitched a ride with Brett Michaels on the "Rock of Love" bus.

Schlub-Hopping: Call us pessimists, but we predict it won't be long before Paris Hilton and Doug Reinhardt's romance ends up on the scrap heap. Despite their many professions of ardor, the PDA-disposed lovebirds are completely out of sync, clothing-wise, which doesn't inspire a lot of confidence, longevity-wise. On a recent night out, Paris got all dolled up (literally — her bedroom floor must be littered with scalped Malibu Barbies) in a sequined micro-miniskirt and a spring-loaded push-up bra accented with some satin, lace and fishing net. In this nothing-left-to-the-imagination number, she's ready for wherever the evening takes her, whether it's shaking her booty at a club from her usual tabletop perch or doing some undercover work for the vice squad. Doug, on the other hand, is ill-prepared for either of these scenarios. Instead, his backward baseball cap, slouchy jeans, half-zip and sneakers are a clear indication that his big plans for the night involve watching football with his frat brothers while noshing on pizza and sucking the keg dry.

Prim Reaper: Everyone pipe down … Debra Messing is silently judging us. Now, if we're reading the actress' sidelong smirk correctly, she's quite pleased with herself — and most displeased with everyone else. Her reaction is not unexpected, however. After all, who could possibly measure up to the forbidding level of primness and properness she's achieved with her Chanel ensemble? Just look at her. It's like she's daring us to follow her straitlaced lead, even though she knows there's no way we can find a nurse's uniform from World War II or a time machine back to Plymouth Rock on such short notice. You know what, Debra? Go ahead and think you're more demure than we are. See if we care. At least we can take comfort in knowing that there's still blood flowing to our noggin, unlike you and your cinched, little-school-marm-on-the-prairie updo. So there.

Shunglasses: Don't underestimate Fergie's sartorial savvy. At first glance, this outfit might seem like it was assembled at random from items donated to Goodwill by a downhill skier with a litter of poorly trained kittens. But look a little closer and it suddenly makes perfect fashion sense. See, the popster knew full well that taking eyewear inspiration from Levar Burton's signature "Star Trek" specs would anger his legion of fans (and make no mistake — they are legion). The ensuing catfight would be sure to include hair-pulling and nail-scratching, with the former straightening her locks better than any flat iron and the latter artfully shredding her pants into a chic, clawed-at complement to her leopard-print boots. As for her kicky back brace, its fun and practical, offering protection whether trading fisticuffs or lifting heavy objects, like that overstuffed leather bag. Still, there are times when Fergie's style rational is a little harder to unravel, as you'll see by this next ensemble…

And So I Face the Vinyl Curtain: We'll spare you the easy "Hefty! Hefty! Hefty! (Stinky! Stinky! Stinky!)" joke and instead ask you to ponder the following: Do you think pulling on that tiny string perched at the tippy-top of Fergie's thigh will make her glitter-gunned cape-a-clysm rise faster than the curtain at a sold-out Liberace concert? Yeah, us, too, and we're pretty sure the ensuing peep show would be a huge improvement over this rubbery, body-masking tunic, which she pairs with the most impractical fly fishing boots ever made.

For Peet's Sake: This week, Amanda Peet landed a plum role opposite Jack Black in an updated version of "Gulliver's Travels," a feat she celebrated by hitting the red carpet at the "Wolverine" premiere in a dingy, see-through lace doily roomy enough to hide the whole of Lilliput under it. Unfortunately, this is just the latest in a long line of frumpy stumbles for the appealing actress, who appears inexplicably determined to downplay her loveliness with frocks even a Dickens orphan would reject as too dreary and depressing.