A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

The Met Gala: A Fashion Analysis

Aww shit, fools, I didn’t even know it was the Met Gala tonight until about five minutes ago. Thank God I had a complete meltdown earlier tonight and Caleb banned me from coming him help sand things at his studio, or else I wouldn’t be here doing this. Now all that’s left in the apartment is me, Franke, Butters the less fat cat now that she’s on diet food, a bottle of seltzer, and unfortunately nothing else, because no one has been keeping track of me for the past two weeks, and I’ve run out of edible — ie snack — food.

I’m just going to go with images as they come. Sorry that there’s no rhyme or reason to this bullshit.

Do you think Anna Wintour’s so tight that she whistles when she pees? 

Oh my god, yes, Kimmy K, just as tragic as everyone was hoping for! I can’t see your hand — did your fetus eat it? I can’t say anything except I hope a strap breaks from your feet being too swollen. You are amaze. Wish we could drink some champs. Have fun with your girlz and your baby daddy XOXOXOXOX

Oh no Bey. Oh yes. This dress is awful. And I intensely dislike you! Might I ask — when did your mother start designing for Givenchy? And also, did your stylist die or go blind, or do they just hate you?

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The 2012 Met Gala: The Good

Is it alright if I don’t write an intro? I have to fly through this commentary, because I’m fucking myself for the rest of the day wasting time on this shit. And there’s still about 100 dresses to go.

Without further ado, here’s the good from last night’s Gala.

It’s funny, when I interviewed Harold Koda (the head curator of the Costume Institute) for Departures, he said that his biggest secret pleasure was lobsters, and here Anna Wintour is, wearing one on her Prada dress. I love it! 

Anna’s fur stole looks completely insane, and is not weather appropriate, but come on, she looks classy. And I like it when she goes out on a limb, rather than wearing a floral skirt, a cardigan, and kitten heels. This outfit is good.

Her daughter, Bee Shaffer (does anyone know what the fuck Bee Shaffer does?), dressed in Erdem, also looks good, although the neckline is, in my opinion, completely snooze.

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Icon of the Week: Grace Coddington

In the throes of heat-soaked depression last week, I spent an afternoon catching up with my Netflix queue. The first movie to appear was The September Issue, which is a documentary about Vogue creating, shockingly, it’s September issue. 

You can tell the filmmakers started out thinking that the movie was going to be about Anna Wintour. She truly is a wonder to behold, but she’s too smart to really let anyone get beneath the crust of her perfect bowl cut coiffe. There are moments, when she speaks of her family, or when she interacts with her daughter, Bee Shaffer, that you think you see glimmers of what she must really be like when she’s alone. Like anyone so successful, she has to be layered ad infinitum with personality flaws and quirks, but I would guess that no one ever sees her as she truly is, in her natural state. Such glimpses as the movie offers hardly gives a picture of the whole.

Grace Coddington, the creative director of US Vogue, is a different story. Where Anna is frigid, Grace is warm. Where Anna is detached, Grace is invested. Where Anna is guarded, Grace is open. Where Anna loves color blocking, Grace loves romanticism, the lure of the chateau, the great wigs and draperies of the 18th century.

Grace really steals the movie. She befriends the cameraman after Anna tells him he’s fat, by assuring him that he doesn’t need to go to the gym. She feeds the models on her shoots cherry tartines. By the end, you’re convinced not only that you love her, but also that she’s a genius. Almost all of the spreads in the September issue were her creations, and they are lovely and color soaked and full of fantasy.

In her younger years, before she had an accident that caused her to lose one of her eyelids (how does that happen, I wonder?), Grace was a Vogue model herself.

Which makes her a kind of perfect Icon.

For you, Grace Coddington, for being beautiful and smart and successful. For kindness in a cold profession, for romanticism in the face of modernity, for the photos you’ve created that I’ve poured over and loved and pasted on my wall. For red hair and pale skin and wearing comfortable sandals, for an eye for images, for your silent movie glamour, Grace Coddington, you’re my icon of the week.