Another Met Gala fashion roundup in your inbox, but it’s a day later so it stands out from the others!
Tag yourself, I’m Pedro Pascal’s knee in that (as I’ve daydreamed it, anyway) I’m naked and firmly beneath the rest of him.
Absolutely fuck Karl Lagerfeld and his fatphobia and that Benjamin Franklin-ass ponytail, but looks were looked upon and I have dumb little things to say.
Also, I have no idea if I will be doing this daily or weekly or less. You tell me?
Onward:
Olivia Wilde: Let me tell you, I love so much of what this woman and that jawline wear. I love that she has not one titty to speak of and takes advantage of it by wearing everything I wish I could screw my boobs off and set them on my bedside table to wear. She’ll give you something backless, something cut down to her belly button, something I’d have to be julienned to execute. I love this dress. It’s Barbarella getting married to one of the guys from Jefferson Airplane and for the first time in my life, do not prefer the black version worn by Vogue China editor-in-chief Margaret Zhang. Olivia took the accidental Big Business (1988) moment in stride.
As she always does. I think Olivia is the fucking coolest. She projected a refreshing unflappability and vigorous professionalism in the face of the bikini mudwrestling the Internet wanted to conscript her into against Florence Pugh (more on that one later). Jason Sudeikis, who is most likely an emotional terrorist but also could fatwa this pussy, very nearly caused her to have to live out her days in hiding as “the woman who ran over Ted Lasso.” Over salad dressing that wasn’t even a bottle of Trader Joe’s Caesar. This is on top of two years of Internet haranguing from the actual terrorists known as the Larry Stylinsons. How these people are able to legally cross state borders…why did we even pass the RICO Act? It is not worth the paper upon which it was typed when that goddamn Vito Spatafore Build-A-Bear hasn’t been publicly decreed a hate symbol.
It’s obvious that her very public professional and personal tsunamis rattled her as they’d rattle anyone, but this bitch decided that her pain is none of our business: “As for all the endless tabloid gossip and all the noise out there, the internet feeds itself. I don’t feel the need to contribute; I think it’s sufficiently well-nourished.” Love her. LOVE. Her.
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Ke Huy Quan: More like King Huy Quan. Long may he reign and please let David Leitch gather the funds to get a Bullet Train sequel chugging along with Brian Tyree Henry back as Lemon, Ke Huy Quan as his new partner, and no Brad Pitt ever again.
Related:
Brian Tyree Henry: Baz Luhrmann’s H@mlet, starring Brian Tyree Henry as a version of Hamlet that isn’t a whiny little bitch boy living in Mommy’s basement. A24, call me. I am leaving work tonight to clear out some closet space for this coat, but more importantly, I am going to start tucking tissues into all of my sleevies like this for the rest of allergy season and calling it couture.
Jennifer Lopez: and also me, walking into Joe Manchin’s funeral and then walking out because I didn’t have security clearance but I did what I needed to do.
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Janelle Monae: There is not much of an outfit upon which to comment, but I wish this were me and I also wish I was the bar she is dancing upon.
Diane von Fürstenberg: It’s a crossword puzzle. A pop of chartreuse. I adore this.
Rih: It’s giving Bride of Grimace and after three minutes of transcendental meditation over it, I have come to the conclusion that it is okay if I don’t know whether that is a compliment or not.
Michelle Yeoh: The outfit and styling are immaculate. I mostly want her to carry me around in one of her sleeves. Imagine how safe one would feel.
Belcalis Almánzar, colloquially known as Cardi B: I had never heard of Chenpeng Studios until Monday, and am now running around trying to sell various platelets and plasmas from mine own body to buy this dress. One Direction wrote a whole song about this.
Charlotte Tilbury (R), the creator of the most perfect neutral pink lipstick ever invented Pillow Talk, and a fan when it comes down to it when though I really enjoy Lily James (L) and once dressed up as the letter Dominic West insanely left on the grass in front of his house1 when he was caught cheating on his wife with her: You would have had to shoot me point-blank in the femoral artery to not have reposted Lily’s dress to my tumblr in 2011, and with my dying breaths I would have at least tried.
Two tweets about Jeremy Strong, an act of restraint:
Florence Pugh: As promised. I don’t get how the Internet decided Florence was Joan D’Arclight during that Don’t Worry Darling press tour. Florence got paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to make a meal out of this role and movie, then refused to acknowledge a movie that hundreds of people worked very hard on, swanned through Cannes like she deserved the Palme D’Or just for deigning to appear, and still managed to win over fans while (rightly; she is an incredible, incredible actress) earning the highest praise from every single person who saw it - no one more than said director Florence all but called “ashy,” who whenever offered the chance to defend herself from internet critique and one-sided narratives, pivoted to credit Florence’s performance and star power. Meanwhile Olivia’s boyfriend, literally Harry Styles, was on his knees blowing raspberries up and down her thighs the entire production right in front of Olivia’s face. Olivia had to sit there and say “Great take! Can you please make out with my boyfriend again right in front of my face so we can get some closeups of your tongues?” I…feel…like…you already won? Stop openly supporting That Pirate Man and chill.
I have had to be gracious to be paid far less and it really rubbed me the wrong way, pilled like this cheap looking fabric probably did against the limo seats. What would Molly Gunn say?!
The dress looks like a kid making gowns with their mom’s sheets, except my mom only let me dress up in my own sheets so this dress would have been tiled with Beauty and the Beast in my house2. The headpiece is giving Wile E. Coyote turned to ash once again in his woebegotten schemes to catch the Road Runner. The boobs are giving “smothered by a pillow by your wife in your hospital bed to be put out of your misery in a justifiable act of deep kindness, personal sacrifice, and love.” Her acting is as seamless as the construction of this gown is not. I don't think it would have looked good on anyone.
Brittney Griner and Cherelle Griner: Brittney is somehow making this Vincent Adultman-ass blazer work. I am shocked at how much I love the shade of the suit as I would never if not for how lush it looks when dyed onto this fabric. My rack would sit…so perfectly…I just know it…in Cherelle’s dress and one of you should buy it for me. Brittney’s coat needed buttons that blended into the fabric. Both needed different shoes. I am so glad these two people are back in each other’s arms.
Rachel Brosnahan: Them thangs be thangin’. I wish the skirt had more of a meniscus curve, but I love this outfit and plan to wear it to a future frenemy’s wedding. Rachel auditioned for a movie I worked on in 2016 and was lovely and every time I have been told I remind someone of Mrs. Maisel, I take it as a compliment even if I wasn’t supposed to.
Sydney Sweeney: I do not mandate that Boobie Girls wear bras, but I do insist that when the opportunity rises to hoist the girls up to their fullest potential, you hoist! Miu Miu needed to take these shoulder straps in about an inch each. HOIST!
Julia Garner: Tilda Swinton starring in a Fosse-inspired remake of The Lady from Shanghai. Four tickets and a DVD/Blu-ray/digital combo pack, please!
Ashley Graham: This dress was made with the intention to take up space and combat Lagerfeld’s notoriously fatphobic model casting. The article I hyperlinked is well worth a read.
David Byrne: Hail to, and I truly can’t stress this enough, the fucking king. Look at this label on his bike that made me tear up and immediately turn on the American Utopia version of “I Zimbra”:
I’m mostly posting this next one to tell you all that I really liked Daisy Jones and it made me want to become a redhead and have a disastrous affair:
Camila Morrone: Klaus Nomi meets The Beguiled and that is for me.
This entire thread sums up my personality better than I pay my therapist to.
Pierce Brosnan and Keely Shaye Smith: or, ME AND WHO?!
Kelsey Asbille Chow: I’m wearing this at my fourth wedding. Mark my words.
And finally, an image and an outfit and a man so goddamn hot that it took me three or four glimpses to notice Viola Davis’ shoulders in the background:
Pedro Pascal: Absolutely fucking not?!?! Dressing up like the genderbent Robert Palmer video vixen of my dreams?!!! Especially when recreating the “Addicted to Love” music video where I am Robert Palmer is the only reason I began a singing “career”??!!?????? Is he fucking crazy?!?!
As Ira Madison said, this SLUT.
I ain’t no toady, but I’d lick his goddamn boot. Bring it here.
And, we pivot:
I wanted to include one last Met Gala look, from 2018’s Heavenly Bodies event, an event that not only remains my favorite Met Gala theme but spurred some of my favorite fashion moments of all time. This interpretation of the theme by Lynda Carter reemerged on Twitter this week, and as an integrating Jew (I’m converting, essentially, but since I am of Jewish heritage: “integrating”) this humbled and moved me, quite deeply:
Thank you for reading - I am almost at 50 subscribers and received my first paid subscriber today (thank you, Caleb THEE Elgut)! Please let me know what you’d like to read and see.
Beesos,
Tara
I will think about this letter until I am old.
My love of hairy, cursed men started early.
Commentary and coverage is fabulous.