Kanye West continued to further cement himself as an insecure, spoiled little cunt during Fashion Week by kicking out all the fashion critics during his fashion show. How he doesn’t spontaneously combust from his level of assholery is beyond me.  Says Daily News,

The rapper-turned-women’s clothing and accessories designer was reportedly so worried that the style press would bash his second collection, he banned them from the preview.

“He canceled last minute, saying, ‘I don’t know about this. I got treated unfairly by the press last time. Why would I want to do this?’” New York Times fashion writer Eric Wilson reported Tuesday.

Before West booted Wilson from his showroom, the critic said a preview would be a great chance for the budding designer to personally explain his vision.

West just said, “No, if they don’t understand it, they don’t understand it.”

Critics were a little kinder to West this time around than they were to him when he showed his first-ever collection for his line, DW, in October.

Many noted improvements this time around, but they spanked him for taking a little too much Goth and leather inspiration from his style idol, Givenchy.

Fur foes bemoaned his heavy use of exotic animal skins and hides.

Wilson, who wrote that getting kicked out of the preview was “awkward,” wasn’t impressed with what he saw on the runway.

While he admitted to liking an “oversize cream sweatshirt with zippers running up the sleeves,” he had chilly words for West’s final look.

“When Joan Smalls closed the show, wearing an adhesive black gauze dress with a strip of alligator running up the front, it seemed as if Mr. West’s approach to making a dress was like a cook wrapping leftover turkey.”

There’s got to be some sort of logical explanation of how he could be such a gigantic pussy. I’m no mathematician, in fact I never made it past 7th grade, but I think if you multiply asshole by cuntrag, the square root of that being whiny bitch, which is equal to Kanye West.

With those not kicked out of the show:

Photo source: Fame Pictures

Lindsay Lohan met German designer Phillip Plein on Friday; on Saturday, she was his new muse and model; and by Sunday she was fucking him. Okay, I’m kidding about that last part. We all know she fucked him the first day she met him. The Daily Mail says:

[Less than 24 hours after meeting him], Lohan was revealed as the face of the 33-year-old German’s embellished designs and was modeling for him.

The pair have been tactile since they met at Milan Fashion Week [on Friday] but last night they appeared to share a lingering kiss, shielded by a body guard.

Wearing a slinky black dress from Plein’s new line, Lindsay became slightly disheveled and seemingly more amorous [as the night wore on].

The Mean Girls star hadn’t seen a stitch of Plein’s new line until Saturday. She admitted that the collaboration came about ‘spontaneously.’

But by Sunday, as she posed [in his clothes] at Lake Como, she said: ‘Something important to know about this collection is that its expressing something a little bit more edgy.’

Whatever. He’s a virtual no-name who just hitched his cart to her tabloid notoriety to get free press for his shitty clothes, and she’s a drug addict who just wants instant access to all his German coke dealer friends. It’s mutualistic symbiosis, but with more syphilis and stimulants.

Miranda Kerr in a bikini from an old GQ photoshoot, because I don’t wanna have to look at any more Lindsay Lohan today:

Kirstie Alley modeled the latest in Galadriel, Queen of Lorien’s new evening wear line at Fashion Week in NYC yesterday. Then I assume she and Mangolar of the North Woods summoned his mom’s minivan to go LARP-ing in the parking lot behind the Food Lion. By the breath of Heckatees, the mark of Merlin is upon thee!

On the runway at Zang Toi’s Spring 2012 show:

PHOTO SOURCE: Fame Pictures

Despite displaying no talent for it whatsoever (and maxing out her credit cards to pay for it), Lindsay Lohan is all about high fashion and design. She has it in her head that she’s some kind of Edie Sedgwick-esque style icon on the cutting edge of couture that dozens are dying to emulate. The reality is she’s a leather-faced old bat with all the sophisticated stylings of a forcibly-retired day-shift stripper. Case in point: the Cynthia Rowley show Friday night. New York Magazine says:

Right before the lights went down, a platinum-and-orange waif in tiny trousers, massive shades, and hypnotically puffy lips burst forth from backstage, hustling to a front-row seat with ruthless efficiency (and several security guards). For one glorious, confusing moment, we — and, we later learned, everyone in the rows around us — thought this walking creamsicle had to be Donatella Versace.

Then, the entire room full of journalists sat ramrod straight and let out excited, disbelieving, four-letter expletives as we all realized this was actually Lindsay Freaking Lohan. We then simultaneously commenced trying to figure out if she was wearing pants. (They were shorts. Small ones. Very, very small ones.)

The take-home here for Lindsay should be that we all initially mistook her for somebody much crispier who is thirty years her senior, but we suspect she will gloss over that part and focus only on how fast the crowd whipped out their smartphones and overloaded AT&T service. One photographer even went so far as to walk down onto the runway — which we’d been expressly forbidden to do, given that it was mirrored — and get in her face to take a photo, prompting event organizers to confiscate both his camera (which looked more expensive than her extensions) and his credentials, which they ripped from his neck with soap-operatic verve.

The room applauded, led by Lindsay herself.

Have you seen Donatella Versace lately? You don’t normally look like that unless you’ve spent the last four thousand years inside a sarcophagus. Lindsay’s thirty years younger than her and to the best of my knowledge, has NOT already been embalmed. Not unless they’ve recently replaced formaldehyde with a proprietary blend of alcohol, schedule II stimulants and semen and just forgot to tell me.

Heading to the show in her sleeveless blazer and pleated leather shorts:

PHOTO SOURCE: Fame Pictures

Here’s Halle Berry at Fashion Week, which is something where people give air-kisses and try to say brilliant-sounding things to each other about the ridiculous crap that’s being paraded down the catwalk, and what’s basically a smörgåsbord of everything superficial under the banner of haute couture. Well, their high-falutin’ fashions don’t tempt me none. You’re never going to convince me that anything they have is better than my Hawaiian floral muumuus. They’re like a tent of paradise!

Halle Berry, thankfully NOT wearing a muumuu:

Picture Source: Fame Pictures

Lindsay Lohan’s brief foray into couture is over as quickly as it began — she has been fired as the artistic director of fashion house Emanuel Ungaro. According to Women’s Wear Daily

Lohan was not at the Ungaro show Monday morning, leaving chief designer Estrella Archs to take a solo bow.

“She’s not involved in this collection,” Ungaro owner Asim Abdullah told WWD backstage before the fall show, declining further comment.

Later in the day, Lohan turned up in Kenzo’s front row. Asked why she hadn’t been at Ungaro, she replied: “Because I don’t work for them anymore.” Prompted for more specifics, she noted, “There’s legal things going on; I can’t really discuss it.”

I didn’t realize being a talentless, clueless dirty whore was actually a legal issue nowadays. Good to know. You might want to see about getting your mom an attorney on retainer then, just to be safe.

UPDATE: Watch the E-Trade commercial for which Lindsay is suing for $100 million in compensatory damages after the jump. Not making this up.

In Paris for Fashion Week:

PHOTO SOURCE: Bauer Griffin Online

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Katy Perry was front and center at the Louis Vuitton fashion show in Paris yesterday in this sexy little number. Rowr. Now, don’t speak French, but I think it’s pretty obvious “haute couture” must mean “massive cans.” Everything sounds fancier when you say it in the language of love.

Lindsay Lohan’s pairing with French design house Emanuel Ungaro didn’t go over so well with the critics at Fashion Week, but not to worry — it drew rave reviews from meth-addicted exotic dancers with bastard children. The Daily Mail says

The collection prompted only lukewarm applause when Lohan and [new head designer Estrella] Archs came out onto the catwalk after the show.

Fashion critics looked aghast at Lohan’s bra tops and stripper-inspired nipple pasties.

The thigh-skimming dresses in peach, hot pink and white [and] the sparkling nipple pasties flashing from underneath loose blazers were a reminder of Lohan’s own occasional wardrobe mishaps.

‘It’s not good to show your nipples so they should be covered,’ Lohan [said], referring to the heart-shaped pasties.

Lindsay Lohan thinks it’s “not good to show your nipples?” Am I taking crazy pills? What about this? Or this? Or this, this and this? It’s almost impossible to find a picture of Lindsay Lohan where she’s not showing her nipples. You know what they say — people who live in glass houses shouldn’t call the kettle black. Frankly, that’s just being racist.

Pics of her at the show, plus bonus video of her rapidly aging before your very eyes thanks to the magic of cigarettes and purging after the jump:

PHOTO CREDIT: Bauer-Griffin Online

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Well, I’ll be damned. You can do something with sheer red lace other than hang it from an antebellum whorehouse window. Scarlett O’Hara could really learn a thing or two from Lady Gaga.

“Performing” at New York’s Fashion Week yesterday, plus some of her drunk at the VMA’s afterparty:

Pamela Anderson showed up at the Vivienne Westwood fashion show in London yesterday in a cut-to-there dress, proving once again that she’s still got it. “It” of course being “the scabrous complexion of a truck stop hooker with HIV.” Lot lizards everywhere must be so jealous!

Victoria Beckham debuted a new short hair cut reminiscent of Halle Berry’s 2002 Bond girl ‘do at the Marc Jacobs show at Fashion Week in New York yesterday. Think kabuki-face Petunia Pig in a Frankie Valli wig. Grease is definitely the word here. I’d say the Pink Ladies just found their new Rizzo!