Hi! It’s my birthday today! And in a reversal of tradition, I am giving a gift to you in the form of 20% off an annual subscription to this newsletter:

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This deal will only be available for the next week, so make sure to grab a deeply discounted sub before it expires.

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Hi, Messketeers!!!

How’s it going? Can you believe it’s almost August already? My summer is flying by and I haven’t even made it to the beach yet. Sacrilege!

This week, as a sort of birthday present slash my parents finding any excuse to empty out their storage unit, they agreed to ship me their absolutely giant, brand new King-sized Tempur-pedic mattress. And I feel like as a society we are not talking enough about the huge leap that is going from a Queen to a King bed. It feels like the mattress has suddenly ballooned to comical proportions and I am but a pea within it, but at the same time this might be the first bed in my adult life that actually fits the entire length of my body which has been quite shocking to realize. It’s also thankfully finally big enough to contain Fran’s need to sprawl unencumbered. While I’ve been at work, she’s been using that time to explore all new ways to stretch out and take up as much space as a 45-pound dog can possibly occupy. Not that I can really judge her as I’ve been doing the same, awaking each day to find that I’ve been sleeping diagonally across its entirety.

My parents also shipped me their dining table, which in a final twist of Mercury Retrograde fate almost didn’t make it into the house because everyone believed it was too wide to get in through the building’s front door and, naturally, has unremovable wooden legs. But eventually, with some measuring and some finagling, it made it inside and it is very surreal to have in my adult apartment as this was the table I ate breakfast and dinner at for the entirety of my childhood. And in a very cute and sweet turn of events, I also realized that I was actively using the underside of this table as some sort of freeform diary when I was about ~6 years old. And one of the most prominent messages I spotted down there, that was clearly of immense importance to me at the time, is a simple piece of graffito that reads in green crayon scrawl “I’M GOING TO SEE DAVID COPPERFIELD TOMORROW!!!!” I do not recall being this big of a magic stan as a child, but I appreciate the all-new fodder to unpack in therapy.

I also published a new YouTube video earlier this week recapping the month of June in celebrity attire. Make sure to check that out, and I’ll have a new one out for members next week:

Also, it’s my BIRTHDAY next week!! So I will most likely be taking the week off from this newsletter in celebration of another turn around the sun. That is unless something so incredibly breathtakingly ugly transpires that I will be dragged back to my laptop to furiously type out a screed to you all about that garment’s many wonders. It’s happened before!!! Either way, I was thinking that as a gift to you all, I will send out an email offering discounted subscriptions to mark the occasion. So keep your eyes peeled for that on Tuesday!

(And if you don’t know who the titular Jimothy is yet, do yourself a favor already.)

Ooook, then. Time for a deeply random assault on your eyeballs!

First of all, I believe I said this at the time, but I just need to reiterate to you all that with every passing day I become more and more convinced that we as a society completely miscast Zach Braff as the celeb chatbot paramour, when in fact the real culprit behind all those blind items about the Hollywood guy in full romantic Chat GPT psychosis is obviously Aaron Rodgers and his “wife” that literally no one has ever laid eyes on. I love their love, and now I need Sam Altman to gift Aaron a Neo robot so the happy couple can FINALLY go red carpet official. Newlywed Interview editorial spread when?

The First Mess Wedding?

I also have to briefly touch upon Gabbriette’s marital looks not only because she’s officially the first Matières Fécales bride, but also to ask: could this be the first genuinely Mess nuptial affair? It already struck me upon seeing this totally shredded ball gown that she herself says is very phantom from the ocean depths, and then I saw this bridal circus ringleader look she changed into! Again, shredded, farting tulle, and ready to lead lions through hoops between performances of Cabaret. I actually do love both outfits though and, most importantly, I am thrilled to finally see a celebrity wedding with genuine personality.

My Diva

And this right here is exactly why I can never quit Heidi Klum. She already reconfirmed her legend status this year in that full body marble statue prosthetic, and now she’s back to flex upon her peers yet again by posing topless using only a potato chip bag featuring her own face as a modesty panel. My diva. As I’ve been saying since the pandemic when Kim wore that weird dress with her own face on it that gave her baby beluga forehead, I think celebs can and should be leaning way harder into the replication of their own image in strange and usual ways that insist upon their meme-ification. And a chip bag pastie is a fantastic start.

Double the Doppelgänger

On the subject of the Klums, her husband, Tom Kaulitz, and his twin, Bill Kaulitz, are apparently getting their own Netflix show. They were photographed at the premiere and Sofia Vergara DM’d Heidi about it to say that Bill looks like her twin, not Tom’s, to which Heidi was like, oh yeah, “he morphed into me in the past few years but I take it as a compliment.” Amazing. And, honestly, I agree. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then having your husband’s identical twin be so obsessed with you he’s inspired to transform into your drag alter ego has got to be a compliment of the highest possible order. But the real reason I bring up Bill and his gorgeous attire is just to say that I need him to have his breakout moment already and cultivate crossover American fame on par with his fame in Germany because he would give these lackluster Timothée wannabes a hell of a run for their money on the red carpet and I need to see it. The only note of improvement I have for this look is that I think a brief instead of a boxer brief would do a world of wonders.

The Twin Swag Chasm

In further news of twin swag canyons, I was just struck by this image of Rami and Sami Malek walking around London together because I did not previously realize Sami had it like that. He’s got that shit on. I suddenly realize why I have never had a lick of interest in Rami and it’s because Sami absorbed every ounce of interesting available in the womb. But I also wanted to highlight this ensemble to praise the pleated volume of this gaucho pant. As always, men are so, so close to just wearing a skirt already and making their outfits automatically more interesting by default, and yet they still simply refuse to snip out that gusset……

Introducing the Polo Poncho

Here’s someone who clearly doesn’t fear a little snip. I was tagged in this Justin Bieber polo poncho at the World Cup a handful of times and blessings to all who did so as I totally would’ve missed this top otherwise, writing it off as just another rehash of the double-popped collars of my youth. I really enjoy the deconstructed prep of it all. It feels somehow akin to all the embellished distressing going on at Dior, where the cutting edge of design is now the intentional unraveling of the luxury garment. I also think the general flappy-ness adds a lovely element of motion to the overall look that’s often nonexistent in menswear. JB does it again. Likewise, I must applaud his commitment to trying to make this chunky 80s cankle silhouette happen in a world full of thin, Gen Z quarter socks.

Stay Out of My Sauna!

Now, I must follow up those compliments with a stern warning for the young pop superstar, which is: Stop blowing up my sauna spot, bitch!!!!! I ignored it the first time he was spotted at Spa 88—the superior/cheap NYC Russian baths my friends and I have been frequenting for the last ~15 years—hoping that it was a fluke and that the whole affair would pass by the public without so much as a second glance. But he returned to my favorite no-frills place to schvitz and go swimming this week, and now I am pissed. Go to Aire Ancient Baths like a normal rich person! Leave one of the last places on earth that still has an indoor smoking room to the rest of us plebes! Like what has become of New York City when even the “spa” completely populated by octogenarian Eastern Europeans where I regularly see cockroaches is not safeguarded from the 1%. We’re cooked, chat.

Boycott Illusion Mesh

And the last sartorial musing I’ll leave you with is simply this aggressively wired matching set worn by Paige DeSorbo while on vacation. I just wanted to show you that the rudimentary technology for strange, floating cutouts does in fact exist and is out there ready to be improved upon. An illusion mesh-less future is possible if we want it. Not even so much as a single PVC strap in sight!

Ok, my sweet sea hags! I have to go join Chloë Sevigny in collecting some merman merkins by the seashore. I’ve got another YouTube video for members coming out next Friday, and a new podcast episode shortly after that, and an offer for a deeply discounted subscription to this email coming posthaste. If none of that appeals, I’ll see you all right back here once I’m officially 38 years of age. Bye-bye, besties!!!

• If you can’t wait for another single solitary second to find out what deranged attire we’re discussing in depth behind the paywall, make sure to upgrade and treat your friends to a taste of the trash life today:

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• Once you’ve gorged on those sacred texts, go take a masterclass in the ancient scrolls by diving into the Mess chat room:

And as always, if you can’t afford to pay for more, just ask me about getting a complimentary subscription. I promise, it’s no big deal. I do it all the time. And if you send over a screenshot of your donation to any abortion fund, bail fund, Gaza relief fund, or honestly anything that helps stymie Trump’s agenda in any capacity, your next month of Mess is on me.

WFP Gaza Fund

Messketeers! I missed you! How are you!?

How are we all breathing in this toxic Canadian sludge air followed by a beautiful toxic sludge torrential downpour? Will the wonders of climate change never cease (they will not).

As I mentioned last week, I went to my friend Rosie’s wedding and it was outrageously gorgeous and fun. I took literally one picture all weekend as I was so busy dancing, screaming, and running about chatting with everyone. It was a beautiful homegrown affair from top to bottom. Everything was handmade or thrifted, everything was cooked, arranged, and sewn by a loved one, and the whole thing was pulled off without a hitch in her parents’ backyard with the help of all of their friends and family. Truly, the perfect testament to the type of love those two have and inspire in others.

In more pedestrian news, something I’ve noticed about myself at work recently is that I’ve started calling everyone “brother” in a completely sincere, Hulk Hogan-esque fashion. I have no idea where this rhetorical flourish stems from, but I actually cannot stop myself from doing it. I’ve suddenly been granted acute insight into the straight, male psyche, and I am here to report back to you all that they’re actually really on to something with this whole generic platonic pet name thing and we must reclaim it for ourselves, brothers!

Also, did I tell you guys already that I have been living through the most Mercury Retrograde Mercury Retrograde of my entire life? It has been a deeply humbling couple of weeks. An endless technological hell of my own making really, featuring one cosmic joke after the next. I accidentally got candle wax down my sink and clogged it, my bluetooth headphones will no longer pair to anything I own despite having been paired to everything I own for the last decade, my computer shut down randomly mid project, and two of my credit cards decided they are locked apropos of nothing. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Simply incredible.

Today’s headline comes to you courtesy of this amazingly insane Page Six headline:

This turn of phrase is currently rivaling brother for vocal stim of the month in my brain. Ah, to be the T&T mystery dog! Let alone the T&T mystery dog making its grand Floridian debut at Trump International Airport!!!! Many were surprised that this is the breed the newlyweds went with, but a Samoyed being their dog of choice actually makes a little too much sense to me. Especially given the intense upkeep costs on such a thick, pristine white coat—this is a billionaire canine flex. On the subject of the vast amounts of capital visibly poured into this creature, I am disappointed to see that the dog appears to be trained to within an inch of its life because I would actually find it infinitely more humanizing if these two androids had an absolute little scamp as a pet. Wouldn’t you just love to see him zigging and zagging about the tarmac as Taylor screams from within her impromptu cabana of assistants wielding blackout umbrellas to, “GET THE HELL BACK HERE ALREADY!” Alas.

The only other pop culture news that’s been dominating the week is Ariana Grande getting back together with her ex-boyfriend Ricky because she adamantly refuses to be alone with her thoughts for a solitary second. Not that I particularly care. I only bring it up because I need everyone to know the only important piece of information about Ricky, which is that he’s the guy from the “I hate America” donut video. These kids grow up so fast!!!

Ok, buckaroos. Let’s giddy up.

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Ciao!

A slightly briefer letter today as I am currently en route to my DEAR friend Rosie’s gorgeous wedding weekend and there is still much left to do in preparation, including about an hour of hammering in order to complete her DIY gift. Maybe I’ll tell you more about that next week once my poor hands recover from the trauma of all this manual labor, but for now it’s still too fresh.

Last week, I chatted with some choice Messketeers behind the paywall about JLo’s faux FUPA tattoo, another famous man in lace-up pants, the fashions that transpired at the BET Awards, and what is perhaps the ugliest outfit I’ve seen all year. And next week, I’m sure we’ll get up to even more of those same shenanigans. So make sure to upgrade today so you can catch up on all the latest in mildly entertaining and highly alarming celebrity detritus.

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We also had our Dekonstructing the Kardashians meeting this week, which was so fun and interesting. As we just announced, we’re taking July off in celebration of our double Leo birthdays. But we will be back in August reading our eternal fave Ways of Seeing and we hope you’ll join us then!

Now, I’m off to go vociferously celebrate the bride and groom, but not before treating you all to some choice thoughts from the darkest recesses of my noggin. Let’s do it.

To begin, I am NOT going to talk about that wedding. But I do just need to express to you all that every single new detail I learn about those nuptials hurts me deeply. Every choice that was made is so completely antithetical to my conception of good taste, I simply refuse to take it in. Tacky, honestly, isn’t even a strong enough word for the things I’m seeing leak in the tabloids. As I said last week in regards to the “JUST&T,” the billionaire’s graphic design alone leaves so much to be desired. And just when I thought the discovery of the mid-ceremony raffling off of door prizes was the lowest this night could sink in my estimations, my boss then described to me what he has heard the couple’s wedding attire looked like, and I was deflated to levels of couture depression I didn’t previously know existed. As the subtitle of today’s email states, I am prone before the altar of Tree Paine, begging all that is holy to please never let a singular image of this Disney princess-ass gown be inflicted upon me. I don’t know that my impossibly chic, yet fragile psyche can withstand that discourse.

A Dina Lohan Protégée Emerges

Now, as a palette cleanser for those cruel details I just inflicted upon you, here’s a truly remarkable new photograph that crossed my desk this week of Brad Pitt and his girlfriend Ines de Ramon on their way to that aforementioned function. A new addition to the pantheon of exceptionally executed photoshop wizardry. As I wrote on Notes, Brad—and to a much lesser degree, Ines—is swiftly approaching Kris Jenner levels of FaceTune retouching. I actually can’t decide if he’s a faithful student in the Dina Lohan self-portraiture fine arts, or if he’s currently gunning for her crown as the feature-less monarch of the blur tool. Personally, I think an A-list male celeb entering the fictional digital avatar game is exactly what our current anti-aging discourse needed. I look forward to seeing just how much smoother and more unidentifiable he can get!

Poultry in Par-ee

Do I even need to say it at this point? To put it quite plainly, bawk-bawk.

Hyperreal Bodies and Archival Holy Grails

And as always, nothing Zendaya has ever worn should land her in these pages. But I must discuss both of these outfits with you, so I am dragging her down into the muck and the mire of my newsletter regardless.

The first thing I wanted to share is just that this Givenchy Spring 1997 Couture dress designed by Alexander McQueen is already an iconic archival pull, but pairing it with the designer’s Philip Treacy gold filagree mask is a massive flex upon a massive flex, even by Zendaya’s standards. Insane, Isabella Blow-caliber business. I do find wearing this headpiece while standing directly in front of the Eiffel Tower to be a touch corny, but in the face of such a massive slay, I must forgive this minor transgression. Also, I am not hearing nearly enough people talking about the mask’s built-in Cro-Magnon forehead ridge, which I find to be stunning. Could the neanderthal heavy brow be the new upper bleph? Fingers crossed!!!!

As for the gown on the right, it is the closing look from Schiaparelli Fall 2026 Haute Couture and had to be teleported across the planet directly from that show on to Zendaya’s body. While I do think the dress is gorgeous and I certainly understand its thematic connection to The Odyssey given that it looks like a Greek statue crossed with body armor, it seems that with each iteration of these molded metal bodices they are becoming increasingly detailed and realistic in a way that makes my skin crawl a little. I think I talked about this before when Kendall wore that Gap Studio dress to the Met Gala afterparties that had every visible rib and protruding hip bone carefully etched into the molded leather corset. It’s the same story here, except somehow even more realistically detailed and I don’t know if it’s just the automatonophobia in me talking, but this uncanny valley six-pack gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Regardless, it feels like the very simulacrum Baudrillard warned us about—the map that becomes so large and detailed it ends up corresponding 1:1 with the actual landscape its delineating, eventually covering it completely and subsuming the real. We are crafting increasingly faithful recreations of the body that follow the landscape of the wearer’s physique so precisely that the real body is ultimately rendered extraneous. It’s almost enough to make you miss the extreme public nudity of yesteryear!

Cardi’s Couture Armor

Of course, it wouldn’t be Paris Couture Week without a brief examination of the many extravagant looks Cardi B found herself swanning around that city in. My least favorite of the week was probably this Rahul Mishra couture gown she wore to the designer’s show (left). I mostly just included it to point out yet another hyperreal body etched into a gown and yet another set of trompe l’oeil articulated nipples despite the fact that I do believe I expressly forbade this type of fictional areolae a few weeks ago.

She also stepped out in this totally shredded hot pink set (center), which seems to be the same top I previously showed you on Maddie Ziegler and said it looks like a cat absolutely went to town sharpening its claws on this garment. Yet another piece of evidence to add to our growing file of disintegrating designs.

But most fabulous to my eye was the Robert Wun couture look she wore to the designer’s show that also appeared on the runway as part of the new collection. It’s like if you tried to make that iconic Divine dress using only a drafting compass. I do wish though that Cardi had pushed the styling all the way to the max like it was on the catwalk, popping the cherry-esque fascinator upon her head and walking the step-and-repeat while blowing a perfect, red bubble. But I’m also biased, as I think this mermaid skirt would be better off as a rock-hard semicircle dome as well.

Princess of Pants

Vera Wang attended the Dior Couture show in this absolutely enormous pair of lightly distressed dungarees. An elegant Delft Bermuda short they are not, but they definitely do Justin Bieber and his gathered princess train hems proud. This is the future House of Drew/Juggalos want. But while the width is exceptional with all this extra yardage absolutely waterfall-ing off the hips, I do believe the Biebz would have rocked this trouser with double the inseam as well.

Birds of a Feather

We opened this email with a chicken and thus we must end today with a tropical parrot. Emma Corrin wore this technicolor feathered jacket with beaked nipples and a high, seriously stiff collar to the Schiaparelli Couture show. And yes, I have received all of your comments, messages, and tags alerting to me to how deeply Mess-coded that new collection was, to which I say, ISN’T IT ALWAYS……jk, but also, a lot of collections this season did feel weirdly tailored to my hyper-specific peccadilloes, from the latex tentacle arms swirling off the torso of one of the models in this show to Robert Wun’s weirdly haunting Balloon Saloon confections that take my red carpet inflatables trend to all-new heights.

Anyway, I bring up Emma’s jacket because, yes, bird, obviously. But also, their complete inability to turn their head in this look got me thinking again about high-fashion medical accoutrement and my recent requests for Issey Miyake cervical collars. And in many ways, this very much feels like the forthcoming dog e-collar that was promised. Or like those blinders they put on carriage horses. I still think we could go a little larger, stiffer, and blinder with it, but this is exactly the level of stupid opulence I crave.

(Also, I still need to catch up on all the couture shows, but I was thinking we could have a little exclusive subscriber Substack chat about them next week once I do!)

Ok, my friends! That’s been my brief, but essential bombardment of bad ideas. I’ll see all you gorgeous paid Messketeers back here next week for another rundown of shocking red carpet attire, or over in the chat yapping about these Mess-coded runway show. Have a great weekend, you cuties!!! <3

• If you’re already living la vida Messy, it’s time to turn the dial up to max Mess by upgrading your subscription and taking your friends along for that wild ride:

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• Then, go share your vast expertise on all things hideous with your fellow connoisseurs of sartorial swill in the Mess chat room:

And as always, if you can’t afford to pay for more, just ask me about getting a complimentary subscription. I promise, it’s no big deal. I do it all the time. And if you send over a screenshot of your donation to any abortion fund, bail fund, Gaza relief fund, or honestly anything that helps stymie Trump’s agenda in any capacity, your next month of Mess is on me.

WFP Gaza Fund

Hello, Messketeers! Happy Fourth of July, I suppose!

What a dystopian 250th anniversary, but also one extremely befitting our country. We get the birthday party we deserve, etc. And I am absolutely including the incredibly bizarre, capitalist spectacle of a wedding that just took place at MSG in that assessment.

This week, the only thing that’s been top of mind is that I want to start taking way better notes about my life. Throughout the week, I have so many random little thoughts and experiences that I tell myself in the moment I want to share with you all, but my brain is so frenetic by the time I sit down to write this email, I’ve completely forgotten everything. So please know that I am consciously putting effort into documenting more of that stuff. Unfortunately, I am still stuck at the stage where I keep forgetting that I even created a note on my phone expressly for this purpose. Baby steps!!!

One of those details I did manage to jot down, however, is that I’ve spent the week watching YouTube videos and looking up where I can take advanced English grammar classes because the very nature of my job makes me question everything I ever thought I knew about punctuation, capitalization, and em dashes. I am immediately 12 again being quizzed on comma placement, which is something that I’ve always personally felt was more of a linguistic vibe than a set of hard and fast rules. Apparently, the English grammarians of the world do not feel the same. If you have any suggestions for content or classes that can provide this much-needed refresher, please drop them in the comments!

This week, I also saw SO MANY pictures of celebrities canoodling in tall grasses, which I found to be quite a striking development. It got me wondering if this is the new 1% flex: to fearlessly enter a field in shorts and a tank during the height of tick season with zero fear of Lyme in your heart. I’m sure if I was in the Hamptons this weekend, I would be seeing more of the same from our local elites, despite the fact that we all know Hamptons’ ticks are on that vegan tip. I suppose if health insurance did not seem prohibitively, psychotically expensive, perhaps we would all feel a little more cavalier about sallying forth into the dunes of Long Island? Although, I do feel they should all have to watch a mandatory Bella Hadid PSA before they do so.

The last thing I have to share with you for now is simply that there’s a new pod episode out!! I made the stupid mistake of talking about the Pornhub Awards in it, so YouTube is attempting to silence me. However! You can stick it to the man by watching it anyway here:

Ok, I know all my American readers are currently knee-deep in a body of water and some BBQ, so let’s get to it.

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Howdy, buckaroos!

How are ya? Hope you had a nice week and found some ways to stay cool. I know that finding a way to submerge my body in the ocean has suddenly moved to the top of my list of priorities.

I forgot to mention last week one of my favorite things I published o…

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Hellooo, Messketeers!

How are we feeling? I think New York City has officially usurped Disneyland as the happiest place on earth. I have never seen so many strangers smiling, small-talking, bursting into spontaneous applause, and generally acting drunk and disorderly in public as I have this week.

I don’t have much to report on the home front. The only recent development is that I am letting the spirit of summer move me and I have decided to make a more concerted effort to leave my apartment more often. Largely because, thanks to my new job, I am now getting invited to cooler, swankier stuff than I’ve ever been invited to in my many years in this business.

Last weekend, I went to a Nike airbrush workshop where I decorated some shorts with a big, old rose and the number 69. The brand instantly won me over with free iced lattes on tap, but the airbrushing was also surprisingly fun, if a challenging lesson in releasing perfectionism because no matter how much tape you put down to stop it, that paint WILL find a way to get into the most improbable of locations.

I also went to the new gym in our office building for the first time, and leaving my desk to go for a jog in the middle of the afternoon made me feel like a deeply busy, high-powered executive escaping the rat race for a rare moment of self-care. In other words, luxe. I got to cosplay high-flying media tastemaker again the following day at a dinner with Target to celebrate Isaac Mizrahi’s appointment as creative director. It’s been a long time since I went to something like that, and I’d forgotten the small joys of getting served a very fancy, free meal while charming the pants off seatmates you’ll probably never see again. Or more likely, will see at the next fancy, free, sit-down meal. Also, completely worth it just to have an icon like Isaac rest his hand on my shoulder while telling an anecdote as if we’re old friends.

But of course my favorite thing about deciding to leave my house more often is RSVPing yes to anything and everything that enters my inbox and then not actually attending those events once the time comes. Something I did probably four times this week. Oopsies, my bad. But nothing feels better than not doing what you’re scheduled to be doing and going home instead.

Beyond the paywall today, we’ve got Zohran, Brooklyn Beckham, Cardi B’s butt cheeks, Eric Andre proving everything I’ve ever said correct, and so much more.

Let’s get into it.

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Hiiii, Messketeers!

What’s happening, my friends? Have you succumb to Knicks in five fever yet?!! (I’m writing this to you from before the game, so don’t get mad at me if you read this later and we lost tonight.)

While I always find the sudden swarm of new celeb fans sitting court side to be a little cringey, I realized I need to check my attitude because…

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Hello, Messketeers!

It’s been one hell of a week. Much to do and think about! But while things have been hectic, there have also been plenty of silver linings. Like I once again got my hair cut to look like a young Ozzy Osbourne, and I think this might be my look for life. I feel at home. With my blunt, face-framing tendrils, I finally know peace.

I also went and got coffee with a new internet friend and, as always, asked myself why I do not do stuff like that more often. Over the years, Messketeers have always proven themselves to be nothing but cool and interesting folks who I have a hell of a lot in common with (duh). Also, always a great excuse to untether myself from my laptop for an hour or two and go outside.

I went to the Prada Mode after party at Katz’s where the bougiest thing that has ever happened to me in my life transpired. When I arrived, I got in line to check in only to be promptly pulled out of line by someone working the party and escorted inside. I’m sorry, what?! VIP behavior! And at Prada no less!!! As always, I credit what many on YouTube have dubbed my ugly, old man glasses for making me immediately, unmistakably recognizable as me.

The party was cute, I won some sort of strange Prada-branded inflatable out of a vending machine, and it felt pleasantly illicit to be in such a New York institution after hours. But I have to say, I saw all of Dara’s photos from the event afterwards and realized I was NOT provided with the opportunity to scarf down some brisket. I saw nary a mustard squeeze bottle while I was in attendance and I’m furious to have missed out on such premium snacking which is obviously what lured me out of bed post 10pm to begin with!

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The next day I met up with my best friend Cass at the Prada Mode activation at The Chelsea Hotel where I waltzed right in without even scanning my QR code, clearly still high off the celeb treatment I received the night before. And it seems I was not the only one to do so as it was jam-packed in there and I spent most of my time deeply concerned one of the giant, glowing TV sets was going to topple over onto someone. We also apparently arrived at the exact moment they stopped serving food meaning I was once again cruelly denied sustenance by the brand. I will forgive, but I will not forget, Prada. But also no worries because that just meant we decided to hop on over to 7th Street Burgers for some cheeseburgers which were crazy good. I’d never been there before and I def recommend.

But I think by far the best thing that happened this week is Interview moved into our new office space and it has instantly improved staff moral tenfold. I credit the sheer volume of vitamin D we’re all suddenly getting from the sunlight streaming in through all our enormous windows. It’s also just so gorgeous and spacious and new, and makes it feel like we’re running a real, serious business which we are!!

Ok let’s see what we’ve got going on here!

I have to say a couple of things to the general public before we pop behind the paywall to discuss the 2026 Pornhub Awards. The first being that I feel like we are all falling for Tree Paine’s tomfoolery and I do not understand why. You’re telling me these two goobers are getting married on July 3 at Madison Square Garden in front of all their fans……….ok. Come on.

Now, I do believe these two might sell tickets to such an event as a sort of Americana semiquincentennial spectacular and stage a pretend wedding there for their fans to the tune of billions, but that is an entirely different conversation. It’s my personal belief based on absolutely nothing that this ceremony has already happened and we missed it, and if anything we’ll find that out at whatever this parasocial cash cow ends up being.

And it’s that time of year again! That’s right, it’s the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit runway show. One of the many banes of my existence. And clearly, no one took my one CRUCIAL piece of feedback from last year’s catwalk as if they had you would not be seeing either of the above images of Tunde Oyeneyin and Emma Slater. This leg pop pose remains one of the most criminally insane acts of modeling I’ve seen since ANTM was still on the air. I must know who is directing them to toss a gam akimbo in such a manner, and why they hate these women so much. Don’t even get me started on the pirate spyglass. Although, to Tunde’s credit, she’s giving that prop everything she’s got. I also have traditionally always thought of the modeling as the worst thing happening at this show, but this year I realized it might actually be the spray tan that’s about ten shades darker than it has any right to be. This is body building orange, and meanwhile the neck and face are left completely untouched…….Everything about this event is so wild, long may it reign.

Ok, alas, the Pornhub Awards are for paid subs only. Hope you’ll join us there, otherwise I’ll see you next Friday with your usual dose of Mess! <3

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Howdy, Messketeers!

I’m back from a weekend chillaxing in the wilds of Vermont with baby and friends where I ate an insanely good pancake, visited a miniatures exhibit, and earned my keep as a backseat entertainer par excellence. We visited the Eric Carle museum and I found his work to be even more beautiful than I rememb…

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Hiii, Messketeers!

How’s it going? I’ve returned from my visit to Hudson where I was helpfully confronted with the cultural shock of trying to order delivery literally anywhere that is not New York City. A true reminder of the absurd lap of convenience luxury New Yorkers live in and just how spoiled we are for endless consumption on demand. Having now lived here for ~15 years, I am slowly coming to the realization that it has perhaps ruined me for life anywhere else and I am cursed to be a deeply lazy Brooklynite and bad cook for the rest of my days. Also, forever cursed to walk at an absurdly brisk pace no matter where I am.

But I was only home just long enough to pick up all my dirty clothes, water my plants, and unpack and repack my suitcase, because now I’m off again for the Memorial Day long weekend to Vermont for a quick girl’s plus baby trip. I look forward to indoctrinating my best friend’s child into our time-honored tradition of gathering in the woods to drink too many glasses of wine and scream-converse with each other on all of our favorite, most well-trod topics while an abysmal reality show plays distantly in the background.

In terms of my professional obligations, I have two very fun stories out on the Interview website right now for your perusal. For starters, I asked the question we’ve all been thinking: Can we finally stop paying attention to James Charles, please? Now someone out there help me seed this essay with all the YouTube tea channels so we can get this “No More Jimmy Chuck” movement kicked off in earnest.

I also chatted with the incredible Iris Van Herpen whose new Brooklyn Museum exhibition I highly recommend checking out. Her work is absolutely bonkers insane. At the very least, you must click through to look at my many photographs that do not do the show justice.

Ok, I’m writing to you from the road next to a baby who must be entertained via copious eye contact and an endless, Oscar-caliber, one-woman performance delivered by yours truly, so let’s get into today’s newsletter which shockingly is almost entirely about CANNES!

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Hello, hello, hello!

Happy Saturday, Messketeers! What a delight to finally be past my self-induced Met Gala psychosis having spun out all my disparate and alarming theories for you on that topic in one massive email last week. This week, it feels like pop culture went on a…

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Hi!

It has been a deeply frenetic week over here at Mess HQ. No surprise there, such is the Met Gala. Even when you work for a publication that is not particularly gala content-heavy, I think there’s just a certain manic energy in the air here in New York City that permeates everything, even the chillest chillers amongst us (me).

So anyway, I’ve felt like I’m a headless chicken running around all week. In other words, extremely on trend. But I’m glad to finally have a moment to settle down here with you all and put a handful of my MANY Met Gala thoughts and feelings down in this digital paper of record. Obviously, with the Jeff Bezos of it all, this year was bound to be bleak, but I did not anticipate just how astonishingly bleak and, frankly, empty this red carpet would be. A travesty even by this event’s usual low standards. We have so much to get to today that I’m going to skip the usual rigamarole and jump right into it.

Welcome to what is perhaps the worst Mess Gala on record!

Let me kick things off here on a high note with a few of my fav looks of the night that actually understood the assignment. In a surprise to absolutely no one, Jordan Roth killed it in this custom Robert Wun (right) that triggers my automatonophobia in a very serious way, but is also perfect so I must allow it. I think the light taupe velvet takes the original design to another tier of eerie, as does Roth’s pitch-perfect posing, working those mannequin arms from every conceivable angle.

I also loved Emma Chamberlain in custom Mugler that looks like an oil painting melting off her body. I said this on the livestream, but it really does remind me of that scene in What Dreams May Come where they find themselves in “painted heaven,” which I know is a hyper specific, almost inscrutable reference, but such is my brain.

And Gwendolyn Christie in custom Giles Deacon proved why it pays to have a master couturier husband at home. Although, I do wish the body of this dress was done in some sumptuous, plush velvet instead, but the accessories more than make up for any quibbles I may have. The Stephen Jones ostrich feathers are a fantastic, dramatic addition and the dual-sided mirror/mask is fittingly unnerving. I feel like Gwendolyn walked in that Margiela Artisinal Spring 2024 show and discovered her truest form — a gorgeously bedecked, creepy Victorian doll.

It was also a huge night for prosthetics. While I traditionally do not condone costume dressing at this gala as Jared Leto and Katy Perry have pushed me to my absolute brink on that front, I must make an exception for our reigning Queen of Halloween Heidi Klum in this perfectly executed reference to Raffaele Monti’s “The Veiled Vestal.” She’s one of the only people that night who referenced a sculpture instead of a painting. I’m also partial to this look because I just interviewed Mike Marino, the special effects artist who made this and all of Heidi’s Halloween costumes, for the website (stay tuned) and hearing him describe its actual fabrication is mind-blowing. He also made the excellent point that this prosthetic embodies every form of art at once. It is a foam latex sculpture that has been hand painted to look like marble and then serves as a sort of live performance piece, and it doesn’t get much more “fashion is art” than that!

I’m also obsessed with Anok Yai’s frozen tears. And I feel this beauty detail also underscores my biggest pet peeve with Vogue’s red carpet livestream coverage which is that they don’t zoom in on anything so all the finer points of outfits like this are completely lost in the hustle and bustle of the red carpet! This is a fashion event, GIVE. ME. THE DETAILS!!!!!

And I’m going to round out the free portion of today’s Met Gala email by alerting you to two enormous Mess trend predictions that came to fruition on the first Monday in May. We got ANOTHER bubble dress. Truly, genuinely, what are the odds. This time it came to us not from the Nader sisters shilling natural deodorant, but rather Eileen Gu in an Iris Van Herpen dress that had a bubble machine hidden somewhere within it so that real bubbles floated all around her as she walekd. This dress is radically better looking and better constructed than those Gaga knock-offs I previously showed you, but I’m still waiting for someone to formally take the plunge into non-faux soap droplets and figure out how to fashion them into a semi-permanent garment. I’m thinking frozen bubbles might be the next logical step in the evolution of this aesthetic…

And just in case that wasn’t enough creepy trend intuition for you this week, Alexa Chung also shared this BTS photo of someone standing atop an apple crate on that red carpet. AN APPLE CRATE! Strap these to a famous person’s feet and let’s officially check this off our 2026 bingo card.

Ok, now let’s talk Lauren Sanchez, Kim Kardashian, and the rest of these clowns.

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Good morning, Messketeers!

Once again delayed with my sincerest apologies. It’s just that I’ve had so many back-to-back meetings over the last two days!!! In a good way, to be sure, as we are definitely working shit out. But also, between that and recording the podcast, I feel like I’ve just been yapping into the abyss nonstop all week. I’m overdue for this return to the humble written word.

Before I throw up the paywall for the rest of the email, I just need to make two quick public declarations. One, is that I take back anything nice I said about The Drama last week because over the weekend I went to see the opera Innocence at The Met which grapples with the exact same themes WAY more profoundly and creatively. I find myself still thinking about and genuinely moved by that performance a week later. If you have a chance to see it, absolutely do. The set alone is insane. It’s basically a slowly rotating, cursed doll house.

And secondly, we had a meeting on Monday where we had a rousing discussion on Our Aesthetic Categories, which we will continue to read in May focusing on the “zany” chapter. A piece of theory I have come to believe might hold the key to unlocking the kingdom of Mess. But most importantly, one of our readers reminded me of the existence of Cassandra from Dr. Who — a sentient flap of skin stretched tight across a frame, which I presume is Kris Jenner’s platonic taut form. I’ve been so taken with the re-emergence of this character in my psyche, I also brought it up on the new episode of the podcast which will be coming your way on Monday

And finally, I will be livestreaming the Met Gala over on YouTube starting at 6pm est on Monday and writing all about it for paid subs next week. See you there!!!

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Hellooo, Messketeers!

Happy Saturday! Apologies for the delay. I missed you all. We had a great chat behind the paywall last week featuring even more hyperreal bodies, dresses made out of mist, Kim K in her Spring Breakers era, and fully inflatable clothing. I also posted a brand spanki…

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Helloooo, my beautiful paid subs!

Week two at Interview magazine is officially complete and everything remains as fabulous as ever. I led my first official web meeting this week and I can’t believe the number of deeply wild ideas I pitched that were immediately understood and greenlit. It’s exciting to feel heard and like I’m making effective change. It feels like the website is about to come out the other side of one of those movie makeover montages, suddenly hot and popular because it took off its glasses. Also, Messketeers have already started pitching me and the pitches are GOOD! How cool is that! I shouldn’t be surprised, of course, anyone who reads the 3,000 word brain dumps I do here every week should have a profound and intimate understanding of the type of weirdo shit I like.

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Hello, Messketeers!

Apologies for the serious delay, but I am reporting live from the tail end of week one of my new job at the illustrious Interview magazine! My new gig even got a little shoutout in Feed Me this week which is fun and silly.

My primary takeaway from my time on the job thus far is that its fucking awesome…

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Hi, Messketeers!

So. As promised, I have big news to share with you. On Monday, I’m going to start my new job as digital editor of Interview magazine. That’s right. They’re trusting me to run the whole website! What the hell! This is how the Mess agenda wins!!!!

What does this change for you, my most…

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Hello, Messketeers!

Happy Friday! Well, as happy as it can be given the general catastrophic state of the world. At least it’s starting to officially feel like spring again outside so I can stand on the street corner staring into the sun pretending I’m on a tropical beach with a daiquiri in hand somewhere where eve…

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Greetings! Welcome to the aftermath of the Academy Awards, Messketeers!

And a blessed 6th Mess-iversary to us all!!!! That’s right, I’ve been producing this newsletter for SIX STRAIGHT YEARS of my life! I don’t know which is more insane, me for writing this newsletter for that long or you for gobbling it up week after week. It should go without saying at this point, but I am incredibly grateful to all 19K+ of you for taking the time out of your busy lives to engage with my various fashion frivolities and for helping make Mess my full-time job over the last two years. I couldn’t ask for a cooler group of readers with more impeccable taste.

When not partying like it’s 2020 in commemoration of this newsletter milestone (i..e. sitting on my couch and never going outside), it’s actually been a pretty busy week! I returned home from Massachusetts where I livestreamed the Oscars to you all out of my friend’s spare bedroom. Substack’s livestreaming platform still leaves MUCH to be desired despite my relentless feedback, but my pal Ferron was integral in relaying your many chat messages that I couldn’t actually see. And fear not because a Messketeer has stepped forward out of great frustration to help me finally learn OBS so I never have to rely on Substack’s audio-visual services again, and hopefully by the time the Met Gala rolls around all will be resolved so that we may enjoy a seamless technological and viewing experience of that tragic red carpet.

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Because my ancient apartment continues to crumble around me, we finally got the refrigerator replaced only for my toilet to explode in the midst of me writing this email. The joys of renting truly never cease! But on the bright side, I did get my little young Ozzy bangs trimmed this week which makes me feel like at least one thing is right in the world again. Also, whenever I go to the hair salon, I always swing by that chain Maman for a little tasty treat afterwards because it’s right next door and I am a firm believer in rewarding myself for accomplishing even the most minor of adult tasks. And I just wanted to say, if you have the opportunity to partake of this pastry they made in collaboration with Martha Stewart that’s like a creme brulée sugar bun thing, do it immediately because it is DELECTABLE. Like for sure very decadent and you could def split it with someone, but I picked at it over an afternoon and delighted in every single bite. Really an exceptional indulgence if you can get your hands on it.

And the last thing I have to impart on you all before we get into the highs and lows of Oscars night is that I’ll be doing a Substack livestream on Monday at 5 pm EST for paid subs where we can recap all things Oscars or whatever other pressing issues the tabloids dredge up in the interim.

Hope to see you all there! But in the meantime, THE OSCARS:

To begin with, by far the most important thing that happened to me on the Oscars red carpet was learning about the PricewaterhouseCoopers accounting firm and the crucial role they play in Hollywood’s biggest night. Apparently everyone but me knows that they’re the historical keepers of the Academy Awards ballots since 1935, overseeing the whole voting process and delivering the envelopes unto the ceremony.

Personally, I feel these facilitators need to be featured MUCH more prominently and their briefcases could likewise be jazzed up substantially. Is no bag designer willing to take on the task of making something custom? Do all the jewelry brands find it beneath them to craft a diamond and platinum encrusted casing?? I just feel for such an important job, much more pomp and circumstance should be heaped upon this momentous feat of tallying. Just something to consider for next year! If Coldstone Creamery is allowed to entrap celebrities into doing accidental spon con on the Critics’ Choice step-and-repeat every year, why not give PricewaterhouseCoopers’ actuaries a chance to walk some famous people through their outstanding tax returns?!

On Oscars night, I was asked by friend of the letter to name my pick for best dressed at the ceremony and my first impulse was to bestow that honor upon the ladies of Sentimental Value, Renate Reinsve and Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas. As I explained to Eliza’s readers, what struck me about these particular gowns is how at first glance they look incredibly simple and timeless, but both have design elements that make them completely weird and unique. And I think for two actors attending their first Oscars, both made such excitingly bold choices.

Renate wore yet another custom Louis Vuitton gown that I was shocked knocked my socks off. One of the commentators we were watching on Oscars night called this dress “risqué” which I think speaks to the illusion this dress creates that you are seeing a lot more than you actually are because this is hardly risqué!! I mean, we have famous women showing up on red carpets fully nude at this point, I don’t think a little thigh is going to kill us. But I think the asymmetry of the skirt does amp up the feeling of exposure and also makes the gown feel off-kilter in a way that transforms this simple column silhouette into something totally original again. My only point of contention is actually the shoe as I feel the ankle strap prematurely cuts off her leg when I think what this dress demands is unfettered flesh from hip bone to tootsie.

And Inga wore this custom Loewe column gown with a big old ShamWow combover at the neckline, like a Muppet’s tongue emerging out of the bust. Again, this is a masterclass in black tie statement dressing. Completely elegant, yet with a little freak twist. The boob flap actually looks like it was made out of one of those Barefoot Dreams blankets which makes me hopeful that the whole gown is lined in that same fabric so Inga can flip that thing up into a pillow and take a luxurious nap whenever the mood strikes her.

But while I paid lip service to my Norwegian queens on Oscars night, upon further reflection, my actual title for best dressed of the evening might have to go to Sinners star Jack O’Connell for this low-key vampiric homage. In fact, this might be the first truly good use of a red carpet PR plug for a movie in the history of relentless red carpet film promotion we’ve been living through post-pandemic. A plug made all the better by the fact that there’s nothing actually left to promote as it’s Oscars night and Sinners was a shoo-in to be a big winner. Plus, I think how casual and understated this nod to his character is only makes it all the more impactful.

Up next, the best pair of pants I’ve ever seen, the biggest trends of Oscars night, Devon Lee Carlson’s butt cheek sliver, Lisa Rinna’s 11 pounds of hair and, of course, my many, many thoughts on the blue-eyed Kim Kardashian of it all.

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