Every Year The Met Gala Rolls Around And Every Year I Am Violently Reminded Of How Sirius Black Would

every year the met gala rolls around and every year i am violently reminded of how sirius black would eat up every single theme. like no crumbs left. fully booked. walked the carpet and shut it down.

but THIS year?? with this theme?? androgynous sirius, ethereal, otherworldly, gender-defiant, draped in layers and lace and sharp tailoring and something feral behind the eyes?? he would have SERVED. like—no. you don’t understand. BEST DRESSED by a mile.

imagine it: sirius walking up those stairs in a tattered couture piece—something that looks like it was dug out of an ancient aristocratic crypt but is somehow still impossibly chic. a long, floor-grazing cape, heavy and regal, embroidered with silver thread that catches every flash. layered shoulder caps. sharp cheekbones dusted with silver shimmer. sheer black gloves. antique jewelry tangled like vines. velvet. lace. a corset, maybe. boots laced up. hair wild but purposeful. black nails. a veil, even??

anna wintour would’ve handed over the keys to the met. the met becomes his house now.

i’m genuinely at a loss for words. he would’ve embodied the theme so perfectly it would hurt. everyone else? attending. sirius black? ascending.

But amidst the gowns and glam, remember: palestine is bleeding. speak up.