NICKI MINAJ: A cacaphony of shrill and competing looks that combine the worst of Gaga, the worst of Katy Perry, and the worst of my six-year-old niece’s toy chest. Stopitstopitstopit.
LMFAO: The poor man’s Gym Class Heroes. Pandering, self-satisfied, and too eager to appeal to their frat-boy demographic, their attention-shifting getups make me want to run and wash my eyeballs with bleach.
TRYING TOO HARD HALL OF FAME: Jared Leto and Will.I.Am. Age gracefully, guys.
MAKING IT HARD TO LOVE YOU: Too-much-time-in-the-mirror Thomas Dekkar and maybe-just-dial-it-back-a-notch Jedward
TIM GUNN: That shade of “old bitch” is unattractive, sir. Character ABSOLUTELY influences style, and those nasty comments about Hillary Clinton, Anna Wintour, Kristie Alley, and Taylor made you look bitter and deeply uncool.
BRAD GORESKY: An aggressively over-styled look that was once borderline endearing but now seems pretentious and calculated. One feels his elaborately fussy fashions are an effort to to steal the spotlight from his old boss and drum up attention for his new reality show. And NO ONE beats Rachel Zoe at the style game she invented. Give it up, dude.
WILLOW SMITH: If she was just a little girl spontaneously dressing in horrid outfits, that would be fine. I could turn a blind eye while she was growing into her look. I’m not a monster. I get it. You have to wade through a lot of feathers and spandex to find your place in fashion, nobody understands that more than me. But it’s the fact that she has a fleet of stylists that create these monstrous looks, that they’re are planned out like the invasion of Thermopylae, and that they’re executed with the singular intention of maximizing the tabloid exposure of an 11-year-old girl that drives me bananas. It’s made her into one of the most cringe-worthy stars of 2011.
JOHNNY DEPP: Hollywood’s biggest power tool. It boggles the mind that magazines continue to gush about his “unique style” and editors continue to praise his sartorial mish-mash of asshat signifiers. Give me a break. He’s a textbook example of a middle-age man who won’t let go of his glory days. Everything about him screams mid-’90s douchebaggery. Wash and cut your damn hair, lose the 10 pounds of silver jewelry, and quit whimsically wrapping things around your wrists. Whimsy on heterosexual men is just grating.