Met Ball

Dear Piper:

Bai Ling and Bjork are undoubtedly super and in many ways heroic, but creating a Bjorkling cocktail with a splash of Sharon Stone and a shot of Arquette -- while an impressive feat of mixology -- is a REALLY loose interpretation of the Met Ball's chosen inspiration. If it turns out that you're not observing the theme but are, rather, simply living out your passion project of giving Princess Leia a Gatsby-esque upgrade... well, you might sell it better if you smiled. And blotted your lipstick.

MISCHA: DUDE!

MARGHERITA: Hello!

MISCHA: Aren't we an awesome pair?

MARGHERITA: Could these sacks we're wearing BE any more festive?

MISCHA: What, so you're Chandler Bing now?

MARGHERITA: Who was your tailor? One of the Olsen twins?

MISCHA: Who was yours? Dolly Parton's bedding designer?

MARGHERITA: Is that bodice oozing down your front?

MISCHA: Did you know I found last night's panties hidden behind that dustruffle on your chest?

MARGHERITA: Did YOU know those sleeves are illegal in 30 states?

MISCHA: How did your dress get its manslaughter charges dropped?

MARGHERITA: What's your superhero theme -- the She-Hulk?

MISCHA: Feeling blind today,  Blunder Woman?

MARGHERITA: This was fun; want to do it again next year?

MISCHA: Should we agree to get our dresses fitted next time?

MARGHERITA: Would there be ANY fun in that?

MISCHA: Does this at least mean I can eat the canapes tonight?

MARGHERITA: Do you have to ask?

Bless that Victoria Beckham. She continues to fuel my suspicion that all her nutty getups are merely a ploy to make people look at her, because she knows otherwise we'll all be gazing lustily at the prime cut of man-loin she married.

I'm not entirely sure where the theme comes into play here -- what is she evoking? Nightie Girl? Captain Bedjacket? I Wonder How She's Keeping Her Bits And Pieces Hidden Woman? Not that the superhero shtick was mandatory; just that you'd think wearing a glorified bathrobe wouldn't be Vicky's first choice unless it meant something. Which is precisely why I hope it means absolutely NOTHING except that our girl Vicky wanted people to stare at her all night while they tried to interpret her translucent whim. Naturally, the whole thing only makes me love her more. Pop a veil on her head and she could skulk around Salem for MONTHS on Days of our Lives, haunting the evil Stefano and dropping strange clues at very public places without anyone noticing, despite her unconventional garb. If we have to lose Passions and its castrating serial killer/drunk surgeon reattaching certain organs backwards/Erection of Doom storyline, then at LEAST promise me Posh hurling poisoned paper airplanes at Roman Brady. It's the least the Fates can do.

And things had been going so well!

I am perplexed by the fact that she seems to have her wrap tucked into the top of her gown as some kind of impromptu sleeve, which is making her look weirdly wider than she actually is (which is:  not at all), but it doesn't help that she looks INSANELY cranky. What happened in the car on the way over? Did she and Josh argue over the last of the Flaming Hot Cheetos? (Understandable. I can't stop eating those things even though they've been scientifically proven to make my stomach hurt. I am convinced they're dusted with crack.) Did the driver ask her if she's knocked up yet? (Also understandable, yet none of our business. Doesn't he know that you just closely study the waistline/drinking habits of every woman of child-bearing age and then speculate behind their backs?) Did Anna Wintour beat her in a footrace to the open bar? What up, Fergie Ferg? I secretly kind of love you now! Look alive!

ASHLEY: People will get this, right? That I'm going as a superhero's VICTIM? With the ripped clothes?

CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN: POW!

MARY-KATE: You know who'd have loved this? Frankie Sinatra. Oh, he was a card.

ASHLEY: What?

LOUBOUTIN: ZAP!

M-K: It all reminds me of the time I did Carson with a lit cigarette in my hair. How McMahon did laugh! He was all hands, that Eddie. And what a tongue!

ASHLEY: I don't understand.

LOUBOUTIN: KER-BLAM!

M-K: Somebody get me a scotch, neat, and make it a double. God, that reminds me of that night with Carol Channing and the Hardy Boys. I've got stories about that hussy that would make your toes curl.

ASHLEY: How is it that we're related? Sometimes I think this whole thing is a bizarre accident.

LOUBOUTIN: WHAMMO!

M-K: It's like Bette Davis used to say: "If you can't take off your clothes, then it's not worth having dinner." Or was that Paris Hilton?

ASHLEY: The worst part is, people might think you're ME. Clearly I have to dye my hair again.

M-K: You want to talk about buying new drapes? Let me tell you about the day Phyllis Diller came over for canasta and absinthe -- we'd both been having these WICKED hot flashes, see, and...

LOUBOUTIN: SPLAT!

ASHLEY: Time to go.

Note number one for Eva Longoria Parker:  You have GOT to blend your makeup a bit better. Your forehead is way paler than your shoulders and it is weird, like you've got the forehead of a vampire but the neck of a marginally talented actress. You've got to make your Makeup Bitch blend! Blend! Or is it possible that you've crossed your Makeup Bitch one too many times and she's now making you pay by doing you up like the Cranky Undead? In which case: e-mail us, Makeup Bitch. We'd like to buy you a box of wine.

Otherwise, I have a query for you:

Oh, Rachel:

Why so Amish? Why are you hiding your lithe little light under a bushel? (I am including your bangs in the bushel, by the way.) Have you contracted a terrible disease which makes your skin shrivel up should Anna Wintour gaze upon it? Have you taken a vow of extreme modesty? Are you in the midst of a secret but terribly steamy love affair which has left your entire body riddled with hickeys? Are you just really cold?  I HAVE to know.

The theme for this year's Metropolitan Museum of Art Costume Institute Gala (or, as it is known by nobody, MMACIG) was "Superheroes." And if there is one working actress today whom I'd expect to take that theme and wring it out like a disobedient washcloth, it would be Tilda Swinton -- or as I like to call her, Most Likely To Arrive In The Actual Iron Man Outfit, Complete With Helmet.

And yet:

She has the helmet part on track, thanks to a stylist with four cans of hairspray and an itchy trigger finger. Her makeup artist even got the metallic sheen down pat. So why is the rest of her dressed like she's on her way to her cousin's third wedding in the garden of the vicar's cottage? Tilda Swinton is the person who'd show up as Catwoman Wearing Her Wonder Woman Costume, with a jacket made of Plastic Man and Flash Gordon's head on her lapel. Unless that orange brooch turns out to be some kind of poisoned throwing star that decapitates demons from hell, this is depressingly tame.

At the very least, I'd have been satisfied if Tilda had turned up in something like this:

I guess singledom is the new black -- it's been flattering on just about everyone in Hollywood lately. Well, except for La Lohan, but these days, nothing is going to work too well for her -- except perhaps being locked in Dr. Phil's house for a month, at which point she will become so hypnotized by his braying voice and disapproving mustache that she'll stop putting things up her nose and learn to love her liver for a little while, and then go on a Very Special Oprah in which she weeps about how the Winfrey Empire has saved her life while Oprah sheds a tear and then brings Rachael Ray on to cook some Recovery Cheesecake. So come on, Terrifying Life Experts (and Rachael): We're counting on you.

Back to the matter at hand: Hot single people. When Rosario Dawson was with Jason Lewis, she went through a phase of unfortunate bangs and frequently looking a little unshowered, not to mention that she paraded around in a lot of ill-fitting clothes.

So while I'm sure it was a tough breakup, I'm pleased to see her coming out of it looking generally much better.

The skin is great, her bangs have grown in nicely, and I'd like to buy her shoulders.

Unfortunately for her, she chose a great color on a really boring dress -- and while we'll take boring over, say, giant cut-outs over the ass in the shape of the Oakland Raiders logo, poor ol' Rosario had the misfortune of stepping into this thing on a night when Cameron Diaz did it better. While I have nothing against Rosario (except perhaps the movie Rent, but that wasn't really her fault; people, grow up and pay your freaking rent and stop whining), I think you'll agree that Cam took this concept from average to totally awesome.

Julianne Moore, what gives?

This is a prime example of someone with SO MUCH right about her -- pretty red hair! Creamy unblemished skin! Dimples! Talent! The ability to somehow make people forget that she was in both Nine Months AND that terrible movie where David Duchovny decided that the best way to make people stop thinking of him as Agent Mulder was to appear in a film in which he's investigating aliens with the help of a small redhead! -- who goes SO VERY WRONG.

Let's have a frank moment, you guys. I love Julianne Moore. You love Julianne Moore. I'm sure Julianne Moore's parents and friends and husband and neighbors love Julianne Moore. But she's wearing essentially an ill-fitting pea coat over tights. This works only if you're about to rip it off and burst into something originally choreographed by Bob Fosse.  And while it's true that I wasn't actually AT the Met Costume Institute Gala Ball Party Bus Beer Boat or whatever it's actually called, I am pretty sure that no one made Julianne Moore perform.