shall we?

there's nothing like the met costume gala to prod me from a semi-comatose state of blogging, and I must say that after last year's disappointing proceedings which involved a distinct lack of imagination in the superhero costume department, this year's attendees all deserve a pat on the back for such dedication. because let's face it, cooing over their dresses and kirkwood bedecked feet is about as glamorous as most of our monday night could get. we're the parasites who get our fix of glamour second hand from them.

seeing as the met gala is the thickly underlined and enthusiatically highlighted fixture on the fashion calender I thought I'd write a homage in poem form to last night's affairs. cuz, you know it's all in a days work for an A-grade english student. (i kid, i kid)

first of all let's raise a toast
to racquel whose outfit I cooed over most
looking on top form a bleached ms zimmerman
more to be said than for "guess who" in wang
yes, dree hemingway, how predictably,
but goodness me, where was chloe sevigny?

diane kruger looked like a perfect cloud
to ms leighton, respect for going so loud,
I suppose I must eat my hat and say,
Erin Wasson in Phi took my breath away,
January Jones undeniably one to watch,
hold! lara stone, I almost saw your crotch!

mayock, kebede, traina all deserve a mention,
madonna as per usual centre of attention,
elson and white couple of the night,
hocus pocus, what a frightful delight!