Interiors

I've been circling this page for weeks now, it seems, not knowing quite how to approach it, or for that matter all of you. Should I talk about that ball? You know the one I mean? Anna's party that is no longer anything that resembles the Costume Institute ball of years ago. I wonder if you all would have been interested or amused by the legion of savaged beauties that lined up to be presented to the Queen, I mean Ms. Wintour, the closest thing we have here to an actual monarch. Would you have been as stupefied as I was just taking in the sheer numbers of celebrities, models, designers, social butterflies, editors, bankers, PR agents, handlers, walkers and Cadillac Escalade dealers, not to mention stylists, personal trainers, life coaches, Housewives, photographers, and sundry assistants. Let's not forget the Fashion directors, General Merchandise managers, curators, window dressers, window dressers dressing as Fashion directors, patrons, members of the board of directors, "wives" of fashion designers, "children" of aforementioned fashion designers and their girlfriends and boyfriends. In all those varied guests did you notice that I failed to mention just plain "folks" ? Well. I didn't because there weren't any. Not this year or last for that matter. Folks don't seem to work in this mix. The stage is set now with the principals and the audience is just more of the same. It's one nice neat circle jerk. I think that all the trains on all of those gowns and the robes on some men which had trains that dwarfed some of the women's, well all that soiled fabric is just a metaphoric mop to keep the limestone floors dry enough to ward off any untoward legal battles. Imagine the problems the Met would face with lawsuits had some brittle legs snapped slipping and sliding through all that jizz. If a bomb had dropped we'd all have a second chance at rebuilding the culture that has all but vanished from the planet. Aside from the brilliant exhibition that Andrew Bolton, Curator for the Costume Institute has staged the highpoint of the night was Daphne Guinness undressing in a shop window and perhaps some over faced assistants pushing Beyonce's ample rear end up the steps of the museum. I have to mention the sad statement that Tom Ford and Carolyn Murphy made. I didn't realize he could design an ugly dress and then force a beautiful woman to wear it... So I hesitated to discuss that or the other events of the past few weeks. It's been a slow one around here. The wedding was more newsworthy but we ALL caught that one, even those of us sitting in the cheap seats. I did take in L'Amour Fou, the compelling documentary on YSL and Pierre Berge. I went 2 days in a row and could still stand to see it again. That is a visual feast. The art, the archival footage, Saint Laurent talking, sketching, unravelling; all of it fascinating. I can't help but think that his story ended in a timely way. His benchmarks were set, the stage was packed and a full house cheered. His point was made. As I watch Marc pump and preen in the mirror of my gym, I ask myself what will be the essence of his contribution? For the life of me I just don't know. It probably won't matter by then. It doesn't matter now.