Over the past twenty years or so, the Costume Institute’s annual Met Ball has exploded from in-crowd cause célèbre to the Oscars of fashion. The benefit began in 1948 as a slightly cheeky fundraiser popular among the Capote’s Swans set. But decades of careful marketing from the gala’s co-sponsor ( Vogue, via Diana Vreeland and Anna Wintour) have grown the evening into the starry pageant it is today, wherein ultra-famous guests honor a theme in the hautest of haute couture. It’s a Halloween party for people who aren’t allowed to have candy. And though the sheer absurdity of the evening can rankle, I will not lie to you and call myself immune from the lewks. This year’s pageant is set to commence in a few hours, by the skin of Anna Wintour’s teeth. (Condé Nast narrowly avoided a strike this week. ) Because the gala loves its quasi-literary themes, the evening’s dress code is inspired by a J.G. Ballard short story. Even though literary themes haven’t historically correlated to literary guests at this event. There are a few obvious reasons for this. For one thing, writers rarely have gala money. I’ll go out on a limb and say that we also tend not to have the kind of stylist/facialist/publicist budgets that make one enticing to a Getty photographer. Nonetheless, I believe we are a fashionable people, often deserving of sartorial praise. As proof, may I present the following writer lewks from Met galas gone-by. Oh, Fran Lebowitz. I knew I’d find you here. Beloved bard of the city, our cranky queen. Lebowitz is well-known for her signature fashion — specifically that iconic pairing of pocket squares, Savile Row jackets, cowboy boots, and Levi’s 501s. A recurring presence at the ball, she can often be found rocking a tux with predictable panache. This look from 1983’s gala (theme: “Yves Saint Laurent: 25 Years of Design”) is a classic entry. Serious and stylish. And speaking of cranky queens! Tina Fey only attended the Met Gala once, in 2015. And though it’s hard to […]
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