Last night I found myself tuxedo'd up in a receiving line waiting to shake the hand of the Queen. I was not at the White House, but at the Metropolitan Museum's Costume Institute benefit gala, which was a salute to the French designer Paul Poiret.
You no doubt will recall that Poiret is famous for setting women free of corsets and caging his wife like a bird during a costume gala like the one we were at last night. Only his was in 1911 and Lindsay Blohan was not there. And the Queen of this event was Vogue editrix Anna Wintour. The Met's Lobby featured a birdcage too, several stories high with what looked like several men dressed in Fredbird-sized parakeet costumes inside. The birds were actually real massive peacocks, a base of thousands of roses framed the cage, and it all was quickly eclipsed for me by the sight of J-Lo's silver encased butt, which happened to be right in front of me. My date (and only reason I was at the damn party, by the way) was Jessica Seinfeld. I'd dubbed her booty very Jewish J-Lo-ian, so it was great to see the gold standard in person. And my date's did stand up in close, head-to-head competition.
We were in that long slow march to the Queen for some time walking in behind the J-Lo party of 16. It took 4-evah because she gets stopped a lot and because J-Lo brings a bodyguard to even that party where nobody brings a bodyguard and pretty much everybody is somebody. See, people are really really trying to get to J-Lo. To tell her stuff and just get in her face. As opposed to Cameron Diaz or Giselle or Diane Sawyer or Mick freaking Jagger. It is J-Lo that people must get to so thank the Lord she brings her bodyguard with her so the collection at the Met doesn't get cocked up by the stampede. Ultimately, Elizabeth Hasselback and everybody at the White House white tie and tails ball can suck it because I shook the hand of the REAL queen, Anna Wintour. And Mayor Bloomberg was next to her shaking hands too. He repeated my name right after I said it to him.