The Subtle Power of the Red Carpet Durag

As someone who loves clothes, you’d think the idea of walking the red carpet in a ridiculous floor-sweeping dress would be my idea of heaven. The truth is, it’s actually my idea of hell. Here’s the thing: getting dressed for myself has always been fun. It’s a moment to boost my mood, indulge in some creative play, and express my quirks. But put me under the glare of a thousand flashing light bulbs, and I’m a wobbly mess.

It’s perhaps why I find myself panicking over a bowl of tuna poke on my lunch break three weeks before the Met Gala. At this point, news of the dress code—gilded glamour, white tie—has been out for a good month or so. The content planning for vogue.com is in full swing, with writers and editors busy gathering intel about what celebrities will wear on the night. The plan for my own look? Well, that is still very much TBD.

Inquiring minds (well, mostly just my friends) want to know what I have up my sleeve for fashion’s biggest night of the year. My lunch date, the designer James Garland, isn’t afraid to put me on the spot. “I mean I could wear this maybe?” I say gingerly, pulling up selfies taken in the dressing room of a well known high-end vintage store. The outfit I’m wearing—a pair of gold cobweb-like leggings, a black lace Edwardian shrug, and a beaded gold mini skirt and camisole likely from the ’70s—is charming if slightly cobbled together. “Oh cute!” says Garland, feigning delight. “I mean you could wear that or… I could make you something?”

The proposition is music to my ears. Just a couple of weeks earlier, I’d borrowed an outfit from Garland’s J6 label for The 15 Percent gala at the New York Public Library. Believe it or not, the crystal-studded workwear-style pants and trucker jacket gave me enough confidence to volunteer myself for the step-and-repeat: a first for me. Slightly slouchy but undeniably glam, it was the kind of thing I would wear on a normal day—only dusted in a cloud of fairyqueen sparkles. “It would be amazing if you could dress me, but you know there isn’t much time left!” I say, doing my best to suppress the shrill note of anxiety in my voice. The designer nods silently with a smile on his face as if to say, Leave it with me, I’ve got you.