Tuesday is officially the morning after the Met Gala of the night before, when we civilians get to press our noses up against the glass of our phone screens and pass unsparing judgment on dresses whose trains alone cost more than HS2.

If you haven’t sat in mismatched pyjamas huffing toast while remarking what an unacceptable misstep Lana Del Rey’s mosquito net was, and how Chanel seems to be going tits up, then you have simply failed to capitalise on the digital banquet spread out for you. These are dark times, and nothing but … gratitude, I think? … should be shown for film director Taika Waititi’s decision to come dressed as a brown pleather three-piece suite, while his wife, Rita Ora, presented as the ribbon curtain tacked over their back door to keep the flies off it.

Despite – and indeed because of – its best efforts not to be, the Met Gala often feels like a spectacle staged for the tricoteuses camping out round the bottom of the guillotine. This is an event where even Lauren Sánchez – helicopter-piloting fauxlanthropist and fiancee of Amazon founder Jeff Bezos – had to silently swallow her debut being marked by a........

© The Guardian