Met Ball

This photo totally cracks me up:

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Ashley Olsen's bf, Justin Bartha: Book of Secrets, is totally checking out her ass. And I think he likes what he sees:

As I noted in the piece we wrote for NY Mag.com about this evening, when I saw this picture in thumbnail form, I actually squealed with joy because I thought Helen Mirren was in the house.

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Once I enlarged said photo, the following IMs were exchanged:

JESSICA: KIKI NO NO NO KIKI NO

HEATHER: OH KIKI. NO.

JESSICA: OH KIKI

We rarely communicate in all caps -- okay, that's a lie. We often communicate in all caps, especially on nights like the Oscars or the Met Ball, and frankly, we're just trying to be more like Kanye West as it is. But in this case, I feel like the caps were really WARRANTED. I am SO happy that Kirsten Dunst is out and about again. She pleases me in many ways and I hope she gets a job soon so I can read about her career renaissance in one of my many glossy magazines. I also hope that said renaissance comes with a stylist who will find her a series of gowns that don't make her look like a 70 year old woman. A HOT 70 year old woman, but still. Kiki. Come on. What are you doing? Why so saggy? Why so fringed? Why so saggy and fringed? Why are you always wearing something that looks somewhat like something from the Barbara Mandrell show, thus leading me to believe that you're about to burst into a country western song from the early 80s? Why why why why why?
Seriously, every time I looked at this photo, I gasped. And I looked at it A LOT:

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Sweet fancy bananas, she looks bad. The dress is bad, the makeup is bad, the hair is bad, the styling is bad -- seriously, a choker? Are you Kelly Taylor in 1994? -- the whole thing is just WRETCHED. She looks like she's in costume for a period piece in which she plays a beautiful debutante (the daughter, obviously, of some kind of nefarious robber baron) who is slowly dying of some terrible mysterious wasting disease and she just finished filming the scene where she collapses at the ball, right into the arms of the hunky but dissolute rake she loves. But of course they can never be together because he's under the angsty impression that he will never be good enough for her. Obviously, her pure and steadfast love will make him into a better man, but only after she dies, which looks like it's about ten minutes away from happening.  Now, I sort of want to see the movie. But no one needs to reenact it in real life, you know? Wasting diseases are seriously unflattering.
In addition to our on-going Met Gala coverage here today, we also wrote a piece about the craziest looks of the night for NY Mag.com:

"When André Leon Talley shows up in a poncho-cape and it still isn't weird enough to make our list of the top standout ensembles, you know you've thrown an awesome party. And so, with love, we've dished out commendations to our twelve favorite head-scratchers of the night. After all, this kind of high drama tinged with camp -- intentionally or otherwise -- renews our faith in the enduring nuttiness of celebrity attention whores, makes us want to do this job forever, and ultimately deserves a pat on the back."

See who made the grade -- and weigh in on your own favorite So Crazy It's Awesome looks right here.
I have to think that some of the Met Ball attendees misunderstood the "Models As Muse" theme and thought it was, "Models AMUSE."

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Because former model Molly Sims is cracking me up here. She looks like she's wearing Blake Carrington's living room sofa. Bless.

Could someone please explain to me WHAT is going on with Blake Lively lately?

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From the neck up, of course, she looks amazing, because she is very beautiful. From the neck down she looks, as Heather said to me yesterday, like an East German ice dancer attending a Communist spectacular in the late 70s. No offense to Communists. But hootchier. This dress is also, by the way, backless. Blake Lively, I don't know why no one else has told you this, but I will: you don't need a backless, cleav-tacular, one-sleeved dress with a giant slit up the side to look alluring. You are alluring enough to begin with and now you just look CHEESY. Like, the giant slit on the same side of the dress as your one sleeve? Really? REALLY? You're not on Dancing With the Stars, and you don't need to be. This disaster plus the Nina Ricci custom-made satin sausage you wore to the Oscars has me, frankly, concerned for you. Why are you so tacky all of a sudden? What is happening with you? WHY DOESN'T SOMEONE HELP YOU?
I want to find this cute and youthful. I do.

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But it looks like it was fused together from melted-down Mini Babybel wax covers, and now all I want is some cheese.

You know how America's Next Top Model has done a lot of group photos recently? Like, where they make an overly complicated setup and then tell the model that in order to have a successful photo, she has to draw everyone's attention to her and away from all the extras? I think Hilary Swank would've failed that challenge.

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I want to know if that's actual top model Coco Rocha in the gold dress, and whether it's really made of scales. I want to know more about the girl in the hot-pink-heeled shoes and white dress with bodice decorations that look like recycled candy wrappers. I even want to see the front of the purple dress on the girl standing to Hilary's left. ALL of that is more interesting to me than La Swank and her miserable orange outfit. The bodice makes her boobs look depressed, and the rest of it seems all caught up in itself and messy and as if she's so rife with static cling that she could walk up and touch a lamppost and the ensuing electric spark would light up the whole of New York for two hours. And yet... it also manages to be boring. Quite an achievement, Hilary. But maybe I sold her short -- I mean, the fact that I devoted this many sentences to her just proves she DOES somewhat stand out in the crowd, if perhaps not in the way she intended.
This woman is on a roll. I'm not sure I've typed her name in five years as often as I have in recent weeks, and it's because of gems like this:

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It's like a very badly blurred still from a soft-core movie about a grieving librarian from Olden Times, who takes solace in the Dewey Decimal System and the man who built the card catalog. With predictably sexy results.

Riddle me this: On a night when the theme was models-as-muses, why did Lake Bell show up looking like Charlie Chaplin?

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Our pet theory is that she wanted to get attention. Because she's Lake Bell, and outside of the blogging world, I don't think anyone cares who she is.

But if you listen very closely, you might hear an ungodly shrieking sound carrying on the wind. That noise is coming from Lake Bell's soul, anguished because it just checked in her purse and it turns out all of Lake's thunder got pick-pocketed by Rihanna:

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