Anna Wintour has a wine (or two), or: the Met Gala

This terribly demode Met Gala was held once again, a couple of days ago. It's Anna's little party, though I overheard a little bird wondering whether Anna has gone lesbian; what with the model as muse theme and all. Of course, that's if we define "model" and "muse" by excluding those more unconventional muses- Rebecca Alperin, those of Yohji, Rei, and so on- eventually we end up with a very glamorous...barn of sticks who appear to be impersonating drag queens. So it's unfair to say Anna is a lesbian- she obviously has a thing for drag queens, which is fine. Very J.G Ballardian.

I did not go to the Gala because I don't like parties as a rule. I am not a party person. I am more of a by-myself person. However, I feel that the Gala has outstayed the welcome fashion throws out to it: it is becoming the Fondue Party of this decade. Frankly, the only interesting thing about this ball was mon amour, Jules- she wore a dress by me. Fendi, spring/summer, 2009- look 35 I believe. I got the telegram from her around last month requesting a dress. I tried to convince her that maybe it wouldn't be the best idea; that these balls and galas are terribly demode now; it's incredibly vulgar to stage something like this when people are losing jobs, no? Not just any jobs, but the jobs of seamstresses! If there's anybody almost as important as a designer, it's a seamstress. I was just outside the Chanel headquarters the other day as a seamstress sat homeless on the street, her dress like rags and her eyes a vortex of blazing desperation. I laughed at her, because it was I that fired her. I'm only worried about the good seamstresses.

My driver drove me past the gala, once. We were going out for a late night high-collar feast and people stalking session anyway. Now if this was Yves, we'd be hearing about "Oh how I regret not going to this ball of balls!" I, on the other hand, was stuck by the circus that appeared to be congregating outside- what appeared to be a large yellow bird was smoking a cigarette. I heard snippets of conversation: "Where do you insert a tampon?", "Do you think he's straight?", "I heard Alaia had an affair with Anna."

Oh yes, Alaia! Readers of other media will note that Mr. Alaia pulled out of this little ball. Commentors on say, Cathy Horyn's blog have been positvly enraged by this! Yes, because a designer pulling out of a meaningless ball is very enraging! My Chanel, I feel my ice cold blood rising a degree. Nevermind that our Mr. Alaia is a noted prima-donna (much more than Nigel Barker is a noted fashion photographer) , and what probably happened was someone insulted his shoes. You know, a lot of people praise Alaia, calling him a genius and such. Nevermind most of them haven't seen Alaia's work; he's, like, a totally important designer! It's mostly the critics who like him, of course, because He Has Wine.

I had to go to the gala in the end anyway, Anna passed out. By the time I arrived half the guests had passed out, actually- it reminded me of a gas chamber, but with pretty dresses.

Cheeseboard

This is the transcript of a conversation I had with my dear friend, Connie Wang.

Connie: Karl, darling, I'm having a cheeseboard!
Karl (that's me, so we'll refer to me as "me" now, without the quote marks): What's that?
Connie: Water. Diet Water.
Me: Oh, I thought it might've been food or something....you know, something that contains calories!
Connie: Karl!
Moi: What?
Connie: You've just proved that you don't trust me. Assuming that I'd eat something with Calories...
Me: Non, non, it's just that "cheese" in "cheeseboard" sounds like it contains something with calories.
Connie: HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? I'm hurt...
Me: It was just a simple mistake, darling. Really..
Connie: You don't trust me do you...
Me: I've never heard of a brand of water called "Cheeseboard".
Connie: Do you even love me?
Me: Golly goose, these are some pretty hard-hitting questions.
Larry King: And with us on the show tonight is BOB DYLAN.
Bob Dylan: Man, we're talkin' 'bout a cheeseboard here. This ain't no protesty, hoity-toity game we got goin' on. Do you trust Connie, Karl? Do you trust this chick?
Me: How was I supposed to know...
Connie: OH KARL! THE FACT THAT YOU THOUGHT I'D EVEN CONSIDER EATING SOMETHING WITH CALORIES IS BAD ENOUGH! DON'T YOU KNOW ME BY NOW?
The Lounge Singer: If you don't know me by now...
Me: Connie, I just don't know. I didn't mean to upset you or anything.
Little voice in my head: Yes you did, you sociopath.
Other little voice in my head: You're just misunderstood.
2nd other little voice in my head: You don't even have voices in your head!
3rd other little voice my head: Non! Karl doesn't even need a little voice in his head!
2nd other little voice in my head: Oh...
[All the little voices in my head pop out of existences as they collectively realize that they can't exist]
Sound effect: [Pop!]
Little voice in my head: But we were talking before! I think therefore I am!
2nd little voice in my head: Ah! But are we thinking or are we really just a by-product of Karl's thoughts, and thus actually cannot think for ourselves?
3rd little voice in my head: Good god, are we actually making people think?
Little voice in my head: What sort of blog makes people think!
2nd little voice in my head: Hurry! Hurry! Post some pretty pictures and distract them from thought!
3rd little voice in my head: IT'S ALRIGHT BLOG LAND! YOU MAY GO BACK TO LOOKING AT PICTURES OF PEOPLE DRESSED UP NOW!
Typical fashion blog reader: Honey, thank the lord-almighty-Carine-Roitfeld for that.
Typical fashion blog reader's friend: Amen.
Typical fashion blog reader: Let's go read Karla.
Fashion blog reader's friend: YES, with a capital Margiela.
Typical fashion blog reader: Aw shucks, I love that Margiela-fella.
Fashion blog reader's friend: You betcha!
Typical fashion blog reader: I wonder if that picture-man has updated yet.
Fashion blog reader's friend: Oh you mean the one who posts pictures of men in suits?
Typical fashion blog reader: Yea-up.
Fashion blog reader: Yippie yie yay!
2nd little voice inside my head: [rolls eyes]
3rd little voice inside my head: And now you're bringing up the idea that we can roll our eyes even though we're defined as "voices"
Little voice inside my head: Let's just all kill ourselves.
2nd little voice inside my head: [BANG of gun]
3rd little voice inside my head: How come we're not dead?
Little voice inside my head: Whatever...
Connie: Uh, Karl?
Me: Yes dear?
Connie: You've been blank for like ten minutes...
Me: Oh....voices inside my head.....
Connie: NOW YOU'RE IGNORING ME! YOU ASSUME I'LL EAT FOOD AND THEN YOU IGNORE ME?!!! "VOICES INSIDE YOUR HEAD". YEAH RIGHT....
Tui man: Can we take that one?
Me: No, really, I do really have voices inside my head...
Connie: Ugh. Karl....
Girl Who Calls Everybody Lover: It's always foodtime somewhere in the world...
Me: I know, mon amour, I know. It sickens me to the core. The very core of my being. EVERY MORNING, I wake up and there...bang! The thought comes to me, hmm? The fact that PEOPLE ARE EATING FOOD, SOMEWHERE. I feel the need to vomit- but I haven't eaten in decades- so I sketch. And I sketch some more. And I sketch even more than that. And I try and get rid of this feeling inside of me.....this feeling that knows that somebody's eating. It could be your grandma; it could be Michelle Obama, it could be Anna...actually, no. But it could be some homeless guy in Italy. Every-damn-quilted-second there is somebody eating. I can't do anything about it. It just goes on and on and on, and people CONTINUE eating like they need it to survive or something...