Monday night was the night of Narcissist. Or to those uninitiated to the ways of media starved children – the Metropolitan Museum’s Whore Costume GALA. In essence, festivities revolved around an esteemed collective of individuals who got to pat themselves on the back, blow air kisses to their favorite photographers, more than ever compliant press agents and exalt in their own natural wonder and wart free existence. For anyone else walking down the street it would have come off as just another fancy gala, but to those of you who trade score sheets on PMC, tip sheets and fawning media outlets – it was just another day at the office…
To be sure, the museum declined to ask us to come along and cover it (alas- the mortal pain you bitches) and nor did I request to cover the event- to be honest, the musk of self congratulation and star lust adulation even made this reporter dizzy and resigned to the fact that he would have to spend the evening sequestrated under a tattered pillow case sucking on chomped leather soles while a few miles away the exalted showed their stuff and clinked happy champagne glasses amongst themselves.
Then came the next morning.
What of course made Tuesday morning compelling was the slew of email that was waiting for me in my inbox. What emails you wonder? Emails from publicists scrambling to place their clients in the most relevant ‘dunk them and shine them’ media outlets that they could suddenly think of the day after. Complete with suggested press tip sheet ennui, pictures and suggested quotes for my edification, should I choose to run a piece on the evening.
Should I choose to run a piece on the evening? Now kids, let me tell you something, unless I am invited to cover an event, sufficiently paid off or promised a blow job in a fluffy reclining chair- I will not under any circumstances run an article the next day at the behest of a publicist who has ghost written gnarly verbiage that they hope for us to copy and paste in our journal. And here’s the best part- guess how many emails I received for this honorable request? 4.
That is to say, I had 4 requests to sell my soul from 4 different publicists. Now kids- that’s great work if you can get it.
Imagine- receiving- zero press invite to attend manufactured ass kissing event, but 4 suggested manufactured articles from 4 different publicists (yes I will spare these publicists from a public shaming by not pointing them out today) for me to publish?
Is there something wrong here? Am I to be treated like a good bunny rabbit and publish these publicist’s crap babble? Or to put it another way- are these publicist hustlers giving me a cut off their payola to spread the fawn ass kissing that I am expected to do on the house? At least if I knew I was paid off to sabotage my ethics I could at least hold my head up in society- shamefully yes, but at least a fraction wealthier.
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Scallywag: Michael Gross’ book Rogue’s Gallery is a compelling read for anyone who wishes to understand the machinations of the elite in this town. That someone at that level of access dissected this crowd so accurately and somehow not only lived to tell about it but himself still is able to walk into so many of the better parties in NYC without being assaulted is magnificent. Yet, I can also validate the essence of what you are saying in your post. The party was not even over and I received press suggestions to run by fashion publicists to the stars about running coverage from their clients, celebs and dress designers.
This uber insider party of the world’s so called fashionable elite as so deemed by HRH Fashion Priestess Anna of Wintour has only become an even more crass and belligerent assault on the senses of thinking people, and the non-celebrity obsessed since Gross first wrote his book. You do not have to wait for Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino to walk the Red Carpet at this event before recognizing that it has already jumped the shark.
On a personal aside when I first started documenting philanthropy in this town, it was rather interesting, business, community leaders and philanthropists welcomed me with open arms but the fashionable elite looked at me in my Banana Republic, Brooks Brothers and LL Bean clothes like I was some social outcast and too low rent to document them, despite having an education and intellect that far surpassed the clowns I had to negotiate with. Having nice expensive clothes is a luxury that not everyone can afford and yet dressing nice is an aspect of going out. The fashionista’s take fashion to a level that is literally obscene. This event is literally about glorifying the most soul less people in our society in a truly profane manner. So much so that were I ever to gain access I would feel like Moses coming down from the mountain top discovering his chosen people were worshipping a Golden Calf and would have no choice but to throw two stone tablets at them all before walking out of the room and flipping the bird to Anna Wintour.
While many legitimate photo-journalists are regularly denied access or even a view of this event that places a tent on public property, teams of Vogue photographers work that room from two or three agencies at most and then anyone who decides to write about this event gets a secondary view to Vogue and has to write second hand from what they might have seen on their nightly news cast or a You Tube Video. Yes Propaganda is what it truly all is so much so that I expect Anna Wintour to say pull my finger and have her fart couture.
Christopher London
Link: http://christopherlondonblog.com/2011/05/04/the-met-costume-institute-ball-let-them-eat-cake/