I am not a gay man but I’d play one on television if I thought there was a Golden Globe in it for me. In fact, my wife insists that her next husband will indeed, be a gay man and I’m cool with that as long as I’m not still around to witness all the fabulous shopping thrown back in my face. And just so you know that this Op-Ed is not coming from a squinted biased eye, I’m hereby going on cyber-record to announce to the entire Blogosphere that our bride’s maid was a male fashion designer, my best man was a lesbian, and we first encountered our bisexual ceremonial minister at a coffee shop in Boystown. If you don’t believe me, just ask our poor parents. And perhaps this is why a certain Jason Wu recently ‘Requested’ my Friendship on Facebook. (The fact that I even know who the man is serves as the premise for this piece.)
And thus, without doth protesting too much, if you ever met me in person you’d clearly see that I’m not physically fit enough to be gay—or at least, not the sort of gay I’d prefer if druthers were in order. I do know a little bit about fashion, though, and I have to declare that I am totally pissed that Michelle Obama did not wear Maria Pinto at the Inauguration. There, it’s out. I said it.
Allow me to digress. Maria Pinto is a well known Chicago based fashion designer who studied under Geoffrey Beene. She is the twin sister of my best friend and managing broker, Joe Pinto, and a personal friend and designer-of-choice of my wife, Mona. For the past 18 months, none other than the Michelle Obama, has been frequenting the Pinto showroom for complimentary couture and thus, dangling the possibility of wearing Maria Pinto for The Inauguration. There were nods and winks but I can say no more. And since ‘ The Dress ‘ will ultimately hang in the Smithsonian alongside the likes of Jackie Kennedy and First Ladied others…well, needless to say…this was all a pretty big deal for a lot of people here.
And so, all collective eyes in Chicago were glued to the television screen this past Tuesday. Maria had been picked up in a limo and whisked away to DC just one day earlier. The buzz in our social circle was ear numbing; the text messages, encoded and endless. We were all sworn to secrecy. I microwaved popcorn and took the entire day off. Mona buried one of my Saint Joseph statues in the pocket of a Maria Pinto cape she paid $1800 for. I called my bookie and tried to get the over-under on a side bet. Evening finally fell and the first of a dozen fabulous Balls began. The cameras panned left and the First Lady appeared with something sparkly strapped across her back. All at once, things did not look promising (on so many different levels). “IT’S NOT HERS.” my iPhone immediately pinged. And alas, it was ultimately a little known designer named Jason Wu, who got The Inaugural nod while the rest is, and will forever be, haute history.
So, to say the least, I was a bit surprised that Mr Wu himself requested my FB Friendship when I checked my Text messages this morning. I logged-in and noticed that we also had 34 ‘Friends in Common’—all real estate bloggers and not one of them fashionistas from what I could tell from their pictures. Hmmm….the new ‘Request’ reeked of the same Donald Trump icon that I couldn’t shoo away from my BlogLog widget a few years back. I went to my Facebook Dashboard and searched for ‘Jason Wu.’ 500+ entries came back. Duped again.
But still, I find myself reticent to click ‘Deny’ although it seems like every time I post one of these types of pieces, a handful of soon-to-be ex-Friends promptly ‘Remove’ me from their rosters. (Unsubscribed, as it were.). It’s not cool to shun those who identify with the fashion elite, I decide. Anyway, I always welcome a hot tip on a truckload of Man’s Purses; COACH, preferably, if you’re taking notes.
postscript: My wife just walked into the room and asked me if I wanted to go for a Mani-Pedi. Am I dead yet?