The devil wears parmigiana

Shout-out, damn spot!

Let’s hear it for the true star of the Met Gala. The attendee who, amid one of the most bombastic, fantastical events in the cultural calendar, chose to take a stand on behalf of the normal people. The realies. A feminist hero and future icon who will be forever celebrated for puncturing the bubble of lavish insanity that surrounds contemporary high fashion and reminding us that we are all just living, breathing sacks of flesh who sometimes like to pop a frock on for fun.

I’m talking, of course, about Anna Wintour’s stain.

Was it lipstick? Ketchup? The blood of a sacrificial intern? Did La Wintour know about it but not have time to do anything about it, or did she find out about the stain the next morning while a quivering assistant tried to convince her the whole internet had been, ah, turned off for maintenance? Did anyone try to coax her into a giant Christmas corsage, like a post-hummus Phoebe Buffay?

By now the memes will have memed themselves out and retired to the social media sl…