I’m really excited. Not only has the Burberry store opened at MOA, but there also seems to be quite of few Halloween parties going on this weekend! One more chance to whip up a fright, which by my survey of Dinkytown last Saturday night before the blurred vision kicked in, shouldn’t be too hard for most. While you all were stumbling through frat row on Friday, though, I managed to make it to the Walker Art Center for the after-hours party to celebrate the Frida Kahlo exhibit. Let’s just say those betches know how to throw one hoopta of a party.
My biggest quandary of the whole night was, naturally, holy balls! What do I wear? Hot couture, or play it artsy or somewhere stylishly in between? A friend revealed that there’s quite the wide array of “individuals” at these events, which heartened me only in the fact I knew with my wardrobe, no matter what I wore there was bound to be someone dressed worse than I was. Right I was.
First, let me announce what I wore: a charcoal American Apparel cardigan, black dress shirt, H&M khaki crop pants, and black Coach loafers and card case. I thought it could either be dressed-up casual, or dressed-down formal. Note: when dressing for an event with an unspecified dress code, be sure to be versatile with your choices so they can survive any fashion arena. My hair looked exceptionally good, so I was feeling chic. Then I spotted him.
Enter “Junglebook.” I liked him at first because he was wearing a Mutual of Omaha T-shirt, and since that’s in Nebraska, I was proud. But he was wearing Ö velour Ö and not just any velour, leopard velour PAJAMA PANTS! I know art is all about making statements, but this is one edict that should never have been sported.
To purge our minds of Junglebook, my entourage and I went to the food so the cocktails wouldn’t knock us into any of the paintings. The food, catered by Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant and all Spanish-themed, was so tasty, so arty. Think arrays of vegetables in thousands of colors, including cornhusk-wrapped tamales. To top it off, the décor was exceptional. Three mingling areas were set up so guests could move around. And when attendees didn’t distract me, I surveyed the beautiful interiors, replete with a video screen of rotating rose bouquets and giant orange poppy chandelier-shaped arrangements on the tables. Muy caliente indeed.
One last thing: the roaming “Frida” impersonators. Now, I understand it was in the spirit of Halloween and resembling a legend, but they all looked sh!teous. Frida Kahlo, as with many fine artists, has enjoyed posthumous success. So when you dress up as the subject of the exhibit, it’s like saying, “Haha betches! Don’t look at the real thing, look at my crass fakery,” which to me was insulting. Somehow Kahlo made stylish the unibrow, and her self-portraits exude uniqueness by its inclusion. But these days they’re usually bad enough when real, so NEVER try to upstage dame Frida and make your own with 2-cent lipstick from Walgreen’s.
For every style victim, though, there were oodles of style vixens. The aforementioned are singular examples, and some taste was on display. One woman had on a Ralph Lauren tiered floor-length black skirt with a white button-down. She was about 50 and reminded me of Miranda Priestly, one of my (albeit fictional!) idols. One guy had on a green T-shirt with, you guessed it, suspenders, dress pants and a cute green scarf. Let’s just say he tried way too hard, but he definitely gets an A for effort.
Overall, I’d say the party was a style success. I should mention that NO ONE was wearing Uggs. OK? No one, which means, they are OUT. Please, please, please stop wearing them. You’re not Kristin or LC and you’ll never be. Our backyards aren’t burning, a.k.a. we don’t live in Southern California. Wear them to get the mail on winter mornings, not to get an A in class, especially mine. See you in November!
-Aaron Leth welcomes comments at [email protected].
