The Metropolitan Costume Gala was always the #1 A-list fantasy event for me (next to wing night at Wild Wings), even over the Academy Awards. The Oscars are normally a parade of dull, conformist InStyle cover actresses and their trophy husbands. But I always look forward to getting my issue of Vogue to look at photos of the gala’s decor (the French garden theme was one of my favourites), read about the menu and for once, drool over celebrity and the fashion superstar attendees (one of my pet peeves are random celebrities in Vogue instead of models). There was always Tom Ford, Suzy, Ingrid Sischy, Stella Tennant, Karl Lagerfeld, Amber Valetta, Stella McCartney and maybe throw in a gaggle of young indie starlets or Justin Timberlake (before he got annoyingly arrogant).
But this year’s Model as Muse gala just seems more like a celebrity fuckfest than ever. I’m sure it’s still incredibly fabulous but it’s really sad how celebrities are beloved only because they’re famous. It’s almost as if we don’t give two shits about what made them famous. Sometimes when things are too A-list, it becomes kinda… b-list. Sorta loses its cool, ya know? One of my favourite stories is when Jennifer Lopez wasn’t allowed into one of Versace’s party. Gone are the days of good ol’ fashion world snobbery. Now every fucking hacky top 40 artist and football player can just shimmy into these shindigs.
Lose the Kelly Osbourne’s, Katy Perry’s and Rihanna’s. Give me Naomi Campbell glaring at Robert DeNiro from across the Aztec exhibit. Marc Jacobs making out with his new hunky honeybuns on the steps. Valentino’s eyebrows falling off and landing into his flan. Sofia Coppola smoking with Chanel, Karen Elson and Aerin Lauder in the puffer’s area. Sophie Dahl pushing around her brioche.
Anyway, here’s a few red carpet photos of the Met Gala carnage…
First of all, a serious comment: Tom Brady’s pants are way too baggy. I like that Gisele is such a frigid bitch that she won’t even look below his waist to notice that he’s wearing Canali hammer pants.
Second of all, can you imagine the dinner conversation between these two? I like this bread. I like this table… I like that door.
If I wasn’t so lazy, I’d Photoshop two thought bubbles coming out of their heads with nothing in them.
Who let Mia Farrow’s maid off her leash and into a lycra blend dress? Back to scraping the baseboards in the den, Guadalupe!
I didn’t realize there was a pre-dinnerWho Looks The Most Miserable Contest. Someone call Fran Leibovitz over.
Like sister, like sister? Recent reports have revealed that Ashley Olsen has taken after MK and joined the Eating Disorder Club. Look at how her body is literally shrinking away from her dress as she walks up the Met stairs. She had disappeared so much after dinner that Jesus Luz mistakenly had a whole conversation with a dining chair seat cover.
Is it me or is Michael Jackson’s skin just getting whiter and whiter?
Anna Wintour is killing two birds with one dress. After the gala, she headed to a midnight madness screening at the New York Hentai Festival at NYU’s Student Union Lounge. Who knew the Editor-at-Large was so into tentacle rape?
Who is this? Jessica Swank? Or Katy Lively or whatever? Whoever it is, your date looks like an infant.
I think it’s kinda neat that Madonna looks like she’s doing a couture version of Borderline:
But really, everyone has been saying how she’s all recovered from her recent fall off her horse but does this look like a woman who has recovered from a fall?
I always thought Djimon Hounsou was a bit of an intellectual so it’s kinda surprising to see him following this former vapid Creative Director/reality show diva for Baby Phat around like a little puppy dog. She has him more whipped than when he was in Amistad.
Hopefully, they’ll reconsider the invite list next year and do a little more weeding of the lameasses.