I Wasn't Going to Write About The Met Gala . . .

I wasn't going to write about the fashion at the Met Gala.

But then I saw the fashion at the Met Gala. 

And I mean- GUYS. 

This thing was like peacocking on acid.

I'm pretty sure that every guest in attendance threw every concern about subtlety to the wind and opted for an over-the-topness with which I cannot, and will not, dare to argue. 

Scrolling through my NY Times Interactive feed of gowns and gown-esque ensembles made me want to stand up and cheer for all of the sheer weirdness unfolding in front of me. 

For all my talk of "minimalism" & "casual dressing" & "effortlessness", there's something so invigorating about seeing the revered amongst us give up all guise of "not caring" and embrace whole-heartedly the excessiveness, gaudiness and indulgence I saw last night. 

See, guilty truth: 

Every time I see a celebrity looking drop-dead-amazing in the most boring of outfits, a little part of me dies. It's the part of me that hopes that one day, I might live in that world too. Because-- no. I'll never look that good in a t-shirt & jeans, or a blazer and slacks- BUT. But but but. Give me an insane Oscar de la Renta floor length+10 mile train gown, some Swarovski's, and a foot-destroying pair of Jimmy Choos, and I can work that red carpet with the best of 'em. 

So here's to playing dress up, to looking like overdone Barbies, to awkward, boob-enhancing poses and strange side-turning stances, to using dates as accessories, to too much print and too-short shifts, 

and to Edward Norton. 

Because I will marry him if it's the last thing I do. 

Happy Met Gala hangover, y'all. Let's hope next year's theme is as obnoxious as this one. 

Cheers.

What I would have worn (had I the body of Jessica Biel). . . 

Lela Rose, Nili Lotan, Tibi, Monique Lhuillier, Band of Outsiders

all pics via nytimes