Review: Met Gala 2019
Good morning to girls and gays only. Straight men can perish.
Well, the Met Gala has rolled around once again and all I can say is: I’m so glad I’m a lesbian. The theme for this year was ‘Camp: Notes on Fashion’ and my GOD did some men decide that this was the perfect opportunity to come in a bland black tux or worse.
Some of the biggest disappointments of the night for me have to be Rami Malek and Taron Egerton, who, having both just played some of the most iconic men in recent history who lived, breathed and ate the essence of camp, saw fit to turn up in black tuxes. Taron’s was kinda sparkly though and I still respect the dude for his general lack of typical masculinity elsewhere (more men commenting “phwoar” on their mates’ Instagram, please). Shout out to Frank Ocean who showed up looking like any bouncer you might find outside one of my local clubs on a Saturday night. He collaborated with James Charles to prove that while some gays showed their best, others certainly did not. The theme was CAMP, James Charles, and you still couldn’t deliver.
I appreciated the change in pace from Darren Criss and Harry Styles, but to be honest, Harry’s had camper looks in concert and Darren Criss…well, I loved his look, but it also took me a solid ten minutes to work out that it was him and not just Brendon Urie in his regular concert gear. Glittery jackets and statement eyeliner do not a camp icon make, I’m afraid, though you certainly did better than so many others.
Kim Kardashian was certainly…there. I’m impressed with the way she managed to make herself look like she’s just stepped out of the ocean butt-naked and dripping wet, but girl. You’re rich as fuck. There’s more than bodycon dresses out there. Also please smack your husband, he’s a dick and he’s wearing a black tracksuit. Kendall and Kylie were a little more flamboyant but honestly, they were single-colour knockoffs of things I would say you could find at a Rio street festival, except that would be an insult to Brazil and all the ways Rio festivals embody everything the Jenner looks were not. And to be real with you? For all the colour that was there, they were boring. What is it with these women and being afraid to be #Iconique? It’s sad that all they seem to know how to do is emphasise their boobs and hips in dresses with very little fabric to try and be daring. If they weren’t so rich and influential no one would pay them any mind because you can see the same look on anyone else.
While I don’t like Cardi B, I can appreciate her attempt to get into the spirit of the Met Gala, which she pulled off so well last year. I only wish her skirt hadn’t ended up looking like rows of theatre seating. Katy Perry was there as both a chandelier and a hamburger, which, while a step up from the Jenner-Kardashian contributions, leads me to wonder if she knows what ‘camp’ means, or if her foray into queer culture stopped once she was done appropriating sapphic sexuality for male consumption in 2008. Special mention must go to Benedict Cumberbatch who saw fit to show up dressed like some bizarre visiting cousin of Colonel Sanders who maybe definitely owned a plantation. It wasn’t a black tux but somehow I just wish it had been.
To get to the real stars of the night, I think it’s only fair to start off by saying this Met Gala was once again, Black Excellence. I cannot BREATHE for the number of incredible, powerful black icons taking to the pink carpet in works of art. Let’s begin, shall we?
Billy Porter showed up (and showed everyone else up) with six hot half naked slave dudes decked out in gold carrying him in on a black-and-gold chaise-lounge like a modern-day Cleopatra and, once he had both feet firmly on the floor, threw up the massive golden wings of Isis and owned the entire space around him. The crown. The wings. The copious gold sparkly shit. The gold bedazzled stuff on his face. Every other man should be ashamed of his failure to measure up to the king. Also every man in a tux found DEAD by the side of the road thanks to our Lord and Saviour Billy Porter.
If Billy Porter is the king, then surely, there are too many queens to choose from. From Laverne Cox’s strikingly shaped black dress with her brilliant blue-white hair and statement makeup, to Lupita Nyong’o showing up in the full neon spectrum of the rainbow, black women showed up to take the crown every single time last night. Janelle Monáe’s stunning artsy dress blew me away, from the Picasso-like features to the multitude of hats that I have no idea how she balanced, she’s a masterpiece. Lizzo stepped out looking like the Empress of Flamingos and I am absolutely here for every second of it. The colours are loud, bold, and the outfit is as large-as-life as Lizzo herself. Her hair was so stunning, I swear I thought it was a crown at first.
Black hair certainly had a starring role on the red carpet as well, from Tessa Thompson’s insanely long braid (she was carrying a WHIP to complete her outfit RIP all wlw) to Lupita’s impressive afro with its many golden combs. I adored Danai Gurira’s hair and especially loved her Oscar Wilde-inspired outfit: here is a woman who understands her brief and works from it to great effect, and I loved Keiynan Lonsdale’s gorgeous hair and butterfly gown – seeing him embracing his queerness with both arms since Love, Simon led him to come out has made my heart big.
I can’t move on from the black dominance and excellence of the night without mention of two of my favourite looks: Zendaya and Lena Waithe. If Billy Porter is the king and there are too many queens to count, then Zendaya stands out yet again as the living, breathing princess of the lot of them. I can hear the white tears over black girl magic Cinderella from here. She arrived in a whole Cinderella dress that expanded and glows from within, a pumpkin-carriage purse and her own fairy godmother to transform her with a little bibbity-bobbity-boo? She even lost her damn glass slipper on the stairs. A true artist. As they say in the LGBT+ community: um, wig.
Speaking of which: Lena Waithe. The lesbian icon herself, who showed up to last year’s Catholic-themed Met Gala in a pride flag cape, and who went hell for leather this year as well, putting every man in a tux to shame by not only out-classing them in how fantastic she looked in her lilac suit, but also paying homage to the origins of camp, with the back of her jacket boldly stating “Black Drag Queens Invented Camp” and the pinstripes on the suit actually being cleverly displayed lyrics to iconic drag queen songs. She really Did That yet again and I’m knocked dead.
This review is already long as hell and it’s about to get longer because there are more looks that I want to mention.
First of all: Lady. Fucking. Gaga. My girl did four outfits on the pink carpet in the space of 15 minutes and holy shit did she kill it. Starting out in a voluminous hot pink ballgown, followed by a more sedate but still impressive black one with a matching umbrella, then down to a slim hot-pink number, huge sunglasses, and statement telephone, and finally ending up in an iconic mesh and underwear set, all while sporting the most gorgeous gold false eyelashes that made the whole thing pop. The creativity and flair of everything Gaga does has made her iconic throughout the years and this event was no exception.
Ezra Miller FUCKED IT UP. Pinstripe suit with the sweeping train, glittering cage corset on top and a myriad of imitation eyes all over his face, carrying an eerie mask of himself on a stick? Phenomenal. The confidence in his walk as he moved and the way he displayed his look was so striking and seeing him own it so much made my night.
I loved Jordan Roth’s take on Billy Porter’s wings, allowing him to show up as a literal whole theatre. I loved Ryan Murphy’s sparkling pink champagne tux and high-collared cape. Florence Welch absolutely slayed in her glittering wing-collared cloak.
However, one of the standout looks for the night was Hamish Bowles. The embodiment of camp, with that magnificent fur-trimmed patterned cape. The look is absolutely dominating even when he’s standing still, and when he moves, the whole thing comes alive. Watching some of the dynamic shots taken of him having fun with his outfit, I felt like I was watching a bullfighter in a lion’s mane – and all of that is good. I can’t quite put my finger on why I felt he looked like a fabulous Mrs Doubtfire (maybe it’s the shoes) but the outfit was one of the best and definitely set a bar that so many men fell short of.
Final Words:
Can someone please tell cishet men to step their game up? Or men in general (I see you Frank Ocean and James Charles letting the damn side down)? They can stay boring if they want, however. The rest of us will be having far more fun without them, and the plain black tuxes certainly are no talking point of the evening.