From Broadway, Cheyenne Jackson! ("I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian family, so we weren’t allowed to wear costumes for Halloween. When I turned 21, I dressed like a slutty boy scout every year.")
From post-minimalism, Jeff Koons!
From the blogosphere, Cory Kennedy!
From the edge of your bathtub, Vidal Sassoon!
From Gilded Age New York, Albert Hammond Jr., accompanied by Agyness Deyn (who, it must be said, looks and acts exactly like recent victim of sex addiction Téa Leoni.)
And from that movie—no, that one—Kate Bosworth. What was she wearing? "What am I wearing? What do you think?!"
Good answer, because at that moment—8:15, give or take—Mr. Lagerfeld himself was making his way cadaverously to the party. Surround by seven or eight men and boys, he caused even the usually well-behaved print press to storm over the barricades and gather around as he held court on the issues of the day. The wind picked up again, swirling leaves apocalyptically.
So who’s better dressed, Obama or McCain?
"I don’t make political statement. I am not an American." Touché. He was dressed, as it were, like Karl Lagerfeld, which is to say in clothes comically unflattering for a man of Karl Lagerfeld’s age and morphology; up close, the delicate cut of the leather motorcycle gloves and the structural rigidity of the satin piping on the jacket could do little to mitigate the utter profanity of the ensemble. He is, in the end, still a man, with liver spots.
There was a curious notch of black on the back of his pressed white collar. Must be "detailing."
Ms. Hadid, perhaps the most consequential Iraqi exile since Ahmed Chalabi, came shortly after, wearing shiny, spandex-y tights, among other sartorial reappropriations. She said little before ducking inside. As one of the young event coordinators explained earlier, "You know she’s an artist, so she can be difficult."
Soon everyone who was anyone, and the reporters too, would be inside, where the neo-disco band Hercules and Love Affair would sing and dance and saxophone in a venue built to look like a vitrine. Over in the uterus proper, Sarah Jessica Parker would try to get a male friend-handler to stick a camera in some art to snap a picture for her; nearby in the same room stood fellow alpha-blonde Miuccia Prada, as well as, single-white-female-style, Kim Raver, the would-be S.J.P. from Lipstick Jungle.
Before leaving the carpet, though, the press steamed and fumed over the non-appearance of Blake Lively and Penn Badgley. What, they decided the InStyle party would be more edifying?
Eve, the rapper, did deign to show up, and was a soothing presence. Some findings: Her favorite Halloween treat is "candy corn, of course." In the taking-care-of-herself department, "I’m a bath girl. … I don’t get the massages as much as I should." Moreover, nutritionally, morning protein is crucial. "I’m not really a lunch girl."
She loves Chanel, because it’s designed for all sorts of women. What do you think of Zaha?
"I don’t, but I’m interested in finding out."
Somebody on the red carpet asked Ms. Eve something about something having to do with red carpets.
Her reply was worth noting: "They say if you smile—" Pause. "If you smile, then you’re happy, right?"
Still bloody and inky, the pain in the hand was gone.