Read the article written by British journalist and TV personality, Piers Morgan.
What
the **** were they all wearing? Seriously? This year’s Met Gala,
supposedly ‘fashion’s biggest night out’ and a ‘pinnacle of iconic
style’ was the most absurd collection of disturbingly attired human
beings since the last Hunger Games movie.
In
fact, I do Hunger Games a disservice. Most of these monstrosities would
have been thrown off set for dragging the futuristic franchise’s
stylists into disrepute – only to then re-appear as extras on The
Walking Dead. Prompting the obvious question: what is wrong with these
people? They’re fabulously rich and successful, adored by millions, and
able to hire the finest experts on the planet to guide them through any
sartorial minefield.
Yet
each year, on the biggest date in the fashion calendar, they spend tens
of thousands of dollars morphing themselves into catastrophically
ill-judged clothes horses joined by one common quality: excruciatingly
bad taste. This year’s red carpet was so bad it was breath-taking.
Literally.
I could barely catch a breath through snorting with laughter so
violently. One leading offender was Katy Perry, a beautiful woman with
huge talent. Last night she turned into the bride of Frankenstein with a
dash of Darth Vader. Her head was clamped with the kind of stuff you
normally only see in a Texas execution chamber shortly before a mass
murderer gets fried alive. The dress, if it can legitimately be called
that, resembled a massively oversized red burka.
The
split-toed boots, a pair of crimson hooves. ‘But they’re all talking
about me!’ Ms Perry will doubtless be consoling herself this morning.
Yes, Katy, but we’re all talking about Kim Jong-un too and it’s not
because we like his haircut. ‘The joy of dressing is an art,’ her
outfit’s designer, John Galliano, once famously opined.
No,
sir. The joy of dressing comes from people looking at your dress and
thinking ‘WOW’ not ‘WTF?’ Fortunately for Katy Perry, she was by no
means the worst offender.
Pharrell
Williams is a great guy, and I’m sure his wife Helen Lasichanh is
lovely too. She gave birth to their triplets earlier this year, and
deserves huge credit for getting out at all under the circumstances. But
the gigantic, padded, hideously unflattering scarlet armless onesie she
wore made it look she was hiding all three of them inside. ‘There
should be no boundaries,’ Pharrell has said about fashion. I fear we now
know for a fact there should.
Rihanna
looked like she’d just fallen into a flower-bed and emerged splattered
in random roses, hydrangeas and rhododendrons. Lily Aldridge sported a
purple mesh veil so thin it was if she’d dipped her face in a bowl of
pale beetroot puree. Cara Delevingne came as a tube of tin foil.
Elizabeth
Banks as a psychedelic chequers board. Solange Knowles as a baggy
bin-liner, complete with inflatable pool mattress. Some barely worried
about clothes at all: Kendall Jenner wore a barely visible fishnet
thong, Bella Hadid a body stocking and Nicki Minaj mimicked an S&M
dominatrix. Others adopted an animal theme: Julianne Moore, an ostrich.
Zendaya, a giant parrot-encrusted curtain. Donatella Versace, a shiny
canary.
As
for Chrissy Teigen, she looked like someone had blown large globules of
cocaine all over her. Or as NY Mag put it: ‘A blizzard of confusion.’ I
can’t even be bothered to mention what Kim ‘I’m not materialistic
anymore’ Kardashian wore because it was so dull nobody cared.
And
then there was Madonna, wrapped in camouflage tarpaulin after
presumably getting lost in an army surplus store. She thought it
screamed ‘BRAVE SOLDIER’, I thought it screamed ‘$100 if you want me to
beat you up too, but I’ll take $80 for cash.’ The dress wasn’t even her
worst atrocity.
Madonna
opened her mouth to flash a jewel-encrusted grill filling out her mouth
like a seaweed-spotted gum shield. This is a fashion item most
teenagers would reject when they reach 17 on the grounds it would expose
them to social media humiliation from their friends.
Madonna
is now 57 and tragically, knows no such shame. ‘Ready butches!’ she
tweeted, along with five gun emjois. It was entirely accurate: she
looked horrifically butch and shot herself repeatedly in the style foot.
I’m only glad she had a survival flask with her. Her status as any kind
of fashion symbol will need one after this.
Now,
before the inevitable cries of ‘SEXIST!’ that follow any kind of
criticism of the way famous women dress or behave in this brave new
PC-crazed world of ours – a rule that never applies the other way round,
I’ve noticed – let me say that the men were just as bad. Dakota
Johnson’s be-skirted male date was Austin Powers meets Caitlyn Jenner on
an acid trip. Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs resembled a strobe-lit spider web.
And
one of the Winklevoss twins looked like somebody had puked on him after
eating too much multi-coloured candy. By the end of it all, I felt
emotionally drained. The very joy of life sucked out of me by this
endless procession of train wreck outfits. I come from perhaps an
old-fashioned school of thought that thinks fashion, GOOD fashion,
should at the very least be pleasing on the eye. ‘Fashion fades, only
style remains the same,’ said Coco Chanel.
She
was so right. The problem is you can’t buy a good personal sense of
style. I know women who are multi-millionaires but can’t dress
themselves well for love nor the oodles of money nestling in their
massive bank accounts. Conversely, I know women with very little money
who have an instinctive in-built style that means they always look
fabulous.
of the latter would be seen dead in any of the ridiculous garb we saw
last night. Nor would any of the truly great beauties of all time.
Sophia Loren, whose every pore has always exuded pure glamour, said: ‘A
woman’s dress should be like a barbed-wire fence; serving its purpose
without obstructing the view.’ Last night, there was a desperate race to
obstruct the view… with barbed wire.
The
only outfit I genuinely liked was Priyanka Chopra’s daring trench-coat,
though I’d have cut the train off. Otherwise, it was all a fashion
fiasco of epic proportions. Why? Because none of these stars has anyone
around them in their sycophantic entourage who is courageous enough to
risk a big salary, look the pampered, cossetted, arrogant boss in the
eye and say the words: ‘No, you can’t possibly wear that.
Don’t
be so ******* absurd!’ As a result, their preposterously over-sized
egos career them down the red carpet towards instant global ignominy.
Vogue magazine said this morning that the fashion on display last night
was ‘wonderfully dichotomous’. In other words, it divided into two
parts. I agree: it was awful, and bloody awful. If that truly is the
‘pinnacle of iconic style’, then I’m an Aardvark.
Source: DailyMail
360L
0 comments:
Post a Comment