I don’t know where to start with the mess that was the Met Gala last night.

Looking for photos, I tuned into the lighter than whipped air red carpet “coverage” that was streaming on Vogue.com. The oft-asked, “Who are you wearing?” should really have been, “Who’s wearing you?”

The theme of the exhibit (and presumably the gala itself) was Punk Chaos. Not only did it look like most of the red carpet walkers got punkd instead, but … who invited these people, and why?

This event began, way back in the mists of time, as a staid fundraiser for  the Costume Institute, a way for Manhattan blue bloods to contribute to what was at the time, pretty much a cultural nonentity.

When Diana Vreeland became head of the Institute (much to the chagrin of museum curators) she delighted crowds with her over the top shows – and horrified those same curators by often being historically inaccurate. But to Vreeland, fashion was more than a dress on a form. She was the first to unite music, film and fashion at the gala, as she had done throughout her editorial career. And so, in some ways, I’m sure Vreeland would have been thrilled by last night’s attendees – both the ridiculous and the sublime.

As for the former, two thumbs down (and if I had more, I would point those downwards, too) to Kim Kardashian and Beyonce. Both wore puzzling choices by Givenchy’s Riccardo Tisci, who must have laughed his ass off designing these. Beyonce looked like Gianni Versace, circa 1992, threw up on her, and the matching gloves and boots added that certain granny je ne sais quoi.

Kardashian literally upholstered herself in a swath of floral awfulness, with matching shoes and gloves that made it look like she was armless. If only they could have obscured the entire view. It was like Lazy Boy took a bride and Kardashian was the matron of honour.

Madonna should consider herself really lucky. Her awful Cher meets Sid Vicious look (also Givenchy, though I’m guessing even Cher would have rejected those pink shoes) almost didn’t register in the wake of the awfulness left by Kim and Beyonce. The cross, curiously hanging off the back of her jacket and descending to mid-thigh level would have been, well, hell to sit on. Maybe that’s Madonna’s idea of doing penance. Maybe wearing Givenchy is the new penance!

As for jewelry or accessories … do chains count? Well, they’re a lazy approximation of punk. I would love to have seen even one tux-clad guy rip his YSL or Calvin Klein suit and pin it or zip it back together.

No photos with this post – consider it a kind consideration of your retinas.

If the event is supposed to showcase fashion, it failed miserably. All that money and all those stylists, and that was the best they could come up with. It was all less a look than a look away.