As if Madonna needed to physically show us how thirsty she is. We know, girl!
Every year, Madonna descends upon the Met Gala with more excitement than a clown who just snorted a line of crushed espresso beans. Last night was no different. Madonna showed up in Duck Dy-Nasty camo couture, swigging something from a canteen. Who cares what the theme was; Madonna wanted to do drunk Bass Pro Shops beauty pageant queen, and so that’s what Madonna is gonna do.
Of course, Madonna did disappoint a teeny tiny bit. I’m of course talking about the fact that her ass – arguably the Met Gala’s most frequent guest – was nowhere to be seen last night. Given the theme of her ensemble, she could have taken it further by letting her ass cheeks flop around behind her like two plucked mallards. Madonna’s look was done by Jeremy Scott for Moschino, so I blame him for that.
We all know that when it comes to dressing for the Oscars, everyone takes it very seriously. They put on a tux or fancy gown that definitely didn’t come with a check attached to the garment bag. Most of the time the result is a one-way ticket to Zzzzzz town (see: a good 75% of the looks from last night). But then everyone gets to let loose at Vanity Fair’s annual Oscar afterparty and put on what they really want to wear (see: The Gold Standard). Like many people at the Vanity Fair party, Diane Kruger wasn’t at the Oscars and she showed up wearing that.
During last night’s Oscars, Dakota Johnson presented with her Fifty Shades Duller co-star Jamie Dornan, and they did a hilarious bit where they pretended to have chemistry with each other. Clearly Dakota was afraid all the crotch-searing sexuality between her and Jamie would be too much for the audience to handle, and she dressed accordingly. And by accordingly, I mean she counter-balanced it by dressing in an unsexy satin nightgown situation that was made by Gucci.
Part two of the BDSM for boring people Fifty Shades epic, Fifty Shades Darker, premiered this weekend. Inexplicably, it’s a hit and Deadline is reporting that it’s going to open at #2 at the box office, right behind The Lego Batman Movie. In fact, they’re saying it’s “the fourth-biggest opening ever for an R-rated film, behind the first offering, Deadpool and The Matrix Revolutions.” Box Office Mojo estimates that it will make close to $50 million this weekend alone.
Fifty Shits Darker comes out this week, so Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson are on their latest “Pretend Like We Sort Of Kind Of Like Each Other” press tour.
Jamie and Dakota were in Madrid yesterday where he looked like he’s trying to hold in the internal screams that are aching to burst out of him. (But doesn’t he always look like that?) And Dakota and her stylist pulled a good move. They decided that the best way to temporarily distract everyone from the turd fumes wafting off of Fifty Shades is to wear the loudest dress possible.
This Gucci dress is something Evan Rachel Wood’s character would wear if HBO did a crossover episode between Westworld and Vinyl (RIP). If Loretta Lynn and a rival had a showdown at sunset and their weapons of choice were hot glue guns and sequins, this is what Loretta would look like after losing. That dress is all ruffles and all “spoiled 5-year-old girl from the 1970s.” What I’m trying to say is that Nicole Kidman is probably going to pick up her phone and delete her stylist’s number. How could Nicole’s stylist let Dakota get a hold of this dress first?!
And I hated that ruffle bukkake of a dress until I saw the back:
This may be a secret message. Dakota Johnson hates Jamie Dornan so much, it’s like flames, flames, flaaaames on the back of her back.
And here’s more of Jamie looking fifty shades of ecstatic while posing with Dakota at the Madrid premiere yesterday, and also at the London premiere tonight.
On last year’s cover of Vanity Fair’s Hollywood Issue were the likes of Jane Fonda, Viola Davis and Cate Blanchett looking like you at the DMV when the number in your hand says “198” and they just called number “10.” Their faces told a story and that story was, “I am bored but I also want to fuck a bitch up.” And for this year’s cover, Vanity Fair did what they’ve done a million times before: they gave us bored pretty youngins’ in $10,000 gowns.