Will the red carpet have the blues?

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They come like chandeliers from the Castle of the Beast, ready to play with Lumière, Chip, Mrs Potts and Cadenza the second he closes the door behind him. As fairy godmothers of a Jetsons era who decided they’d rather be at the ball. As burgers and as soft, chewy omelets. Like the sofas of Joan of Arc and chintz. As porcelain altar figurines. Like illustrations of space on the walls of a child’s room and the starry sky on a cloudless night. As punk princesses and rock band groupies.

The Met Gala, the annual event that marks the opening of the annual Costume Institute exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City has never been short of its red carpet walkers, memes generators.

At this year’s gala, which was held last month with a more modest (relatively speaking) Covid-friendly guest list, the highlights came from an aesthetic that still didn’t seem to abandon our lives at home. of last year and a half. One of this year’s co-chairs, Timothée Chalamet, wore a Haider Ackermann cropped cream satin tuxedo jacket, matching sweatpants, and high-top Converse shoes – waist-size outfit goals if you needed them.

The one to own the night, however, was Rihanna, in her voluminous black cocoon ruffle look from Demna Gvasalia’s first Balenciaga couture line, paired with Bulgari diamonds that heist films are made of. Boyfriend ASAP Rocky, over a classic tuxedo, wore a (really) ERL quilt. Ready to party, ready to spend the night since they’ve been there, it’s done.

Kim Kardashian, also in Balenciaga, every inch of her (including her face) covered in some sort of meta-fashion, meta-celebrity of the evening, took masking to another level. (So, yes, memes have always arrived.)

Red carpets are a glorious scene. We may or may not be interested in the actual event to which they are just a golden path, but these golden expanses have certainly witnessed a moment or two. Lady Gaga in her meat dress. Cindy Crawford in red Versace. Liz Hurley in Versace. Halle Berry in Elie Saab, precursor of a whole range of Elie Saab on the red carpet. Billy Porter in Christian Siriano. Jared Leto in Gucci, wearing a dismembered Jared Leto head. The red carpet is where the puffy, uncontrollable chiffon dresses and fleeing trains invite unexpected help from chivalrous men and women. Where, heads are thrown back in an oh-so-nonchalant laugh in recognition of the bubbly, bubbly spirit of a co-star / mate. Where a leg pose in a black velvet dress launches a thousand memes, where the removal of a pair of heels starts a whole conversation. Where, as the cameras start to click, one incoming star and its entourage push another to lose relevance in the time it takes to say BALENCIAGA. You don’t know what’s going on inside the theater after they stop greeting you and turn their backs on you, but you know who’s inside. A taste of fantasy for the masses, access to which ends at the door.


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