The Met Gala isn’t a human and isn’t even alive, and yet, that bitch is still getting more action than me.
The theme for the Met’s costume exhibit is Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and Catholic Imagination, but the dress code for the Gala was “Sunday best.” Now, my Sunday best is a faded black Dollywood t-shirt and some Fruit of the Loom sweat shorts covered with chicharron crumbs, wine splatters and lube drops from snacking, boozing and watching porn on my couch. But I guess “Sunday best” to famous rich hos is a crown that weighs more than their head and all of the fabric found in the “Perfect For Granny’s Living Room Curtains” section at Hobby Lobby.
While escorted by a gay mafia hitman-looking Andy Cohen, Sarah Jessica Parker, who always does the theme and HOW, looked like a terrifying demonic Queen of Hearts who will siphon your soul with her eyes and keep it in the crown gazebo on top of her head. You just want to throw holy water at her and mostly because that might melt the tragic Wet ‘N Wild frosted blue eyeshadow covering her lids.
The crown gazebo thing was actually a nativity scene. It’s a good thing my abuelita wasn’t at the Met Gala, because she’d fix this act of sacrilegiousness by pulling off her shoe and demanding that SJP hand over that nativity scene so she can return it to a church where it belongs. And then she’d take it home and put it on top of her analog TV so she can look at it while watching her novelas.
Both Andy and SJP wore Dolce & Gabbana, so yeah, their ensembles are extra shiny thanks to the tears of same-sex parents covering them.
I wasn’t joking in my headline about all the trains. There were so many fucking trains, like Blake NotSoLively’s Las Vegas hotel bedspread of a train. The best seat in the house was probably a place in the balcony where you could watch all those messes trip on each other’s trains. It was probably a night of glorious non-stop train wrecks.
Lynda Carter didn’t wear a train, but I felt like we should stop here for a minute to bow down to her gloriousness. Shit, this whole post should’ve been nothing but Lynda Carter.
On a serious note, they all tried to fully encompass the theme, but nobody did it like Denise Richards in Drop Dead Gorgeous:
And she did it almost 20 years before this Met Gala even happened, and she did it without even trying, and without a train (unless you count rolling Jesus as a train)!
Here’s more of the (mostly tragic) trains from last night: