I was at a dinner party in Tribeca last Thursday—just an intimate gathering of twenty-five close friends, a few minor European royals, and a woman who curates artisanal ice—when the conversation took a deeply unfortunate turn. We were perfectly enjoying our squab when someone brought up the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s decision to honor John Galliano at the upcoming Costume Institute exhibition. The guest, who I will not name but who clearly does not understand the mood-killing properties of historical memory, pointed out that Galliano was literally convicted of a hate crime for hurling antisemitic abuse at patrons in a Paris cafe in 2011. The entire table fell silent. The vibes were completely ruined. It gave me the immediate, unshakable ick.
Call me old-fashioned, but there was a time when high society understood the basic social contract: you do not bring up a designer’s court-documented bigotry when we are trying to romanticize the first Monday in May. Yes, the things Galliano said were vile, hateful, and profoundly damaging to the Jewish community. But have you seen his Spring 1998 Dior couture collection? The man understands how to drape silk chiffon over a human clavicle in a way that simply defies gravity. We are being asked to weigh the undeniable trauma of a marginalized group against the structural integrity of a perfect corset, and frankly, I am exhausted by the expectation that I should care more about the former when the latter looks so good in photographs.
If we permanently banished every visionary who occasionally launched into a racist tirade at a brasserie, the red carpet would just be a sea of poly-blend separates.
The protests against the Met’s decision are entirely missing the point of museums. The Costume Institute is not a morality tribunal; it is a place where we go to stare at garments we cannot afford and briefly forget that the real world exists. When critics demand accountability, they are selfishly asking the museum to prioritize ethical consistency over the sheer visual spectacle of a fifty-pound embroidered train. It is incredibly unfair to Anna Wintour, who has championed Galliano’s rehabilitation for years. It takes profound courage to look at a man who shattered the bounds of human decency and say, bravely, that he still deserves a dedicated wing in a major cultural institution because his tulle work is just that compelling.
I understand holding onto trauma, I really do. I once had a deeply upsetting experience at a wellness retreat in Tulum where they promised me alkaline water but served me something that tasted distinctly like a municipal tap. I felt betrayed. I felt unseen. But did I spend the next thirteen years demanding that the resort be scrubbed from the earth? No. I did a Sunday reset, took a deep breath, and recognized that their infinity pool was simply too photogenic to boycott. The critics of this exhibition could learn a lot from that kind of spiritual resilience.
Accountability is a beautiful concept for the working classes, but it simply does not drape well on a size zero.
If we force the fashion industry to actually adhere to the ethical standards of normal society, the logistical burden on celebrities will be catastrophic. Do you know how hard it is for a stylist to find a gown that is both ethically uncompromised and structurally sound? We are essentially punishing actresses, forcing them to walk the steps of the Met in boring, safe, unproblematic silhouettes just because the person who sewed them harbors a deep-seated hatred for a specific ethnoreligious group. It is a terrifying precedent. Today we cancel a man for a hate crime; tomorrow, we are all forced to wear sensible linen trousers to galas.
The real tragedy here is not what happened in that Paris cafe, but the absolute lack of grace being afforded to the people who have to plan the seating chart. Organizing the Met Gala is hard enough without having to factor in which tables will actively protest the guest of honor. We should be applauding the museum for its bold stance that some things—specifically, the flawless execution of a bias cut—are simply more important than human dignity.
Our primary mandate is the preservation of beauty, and honestly, apologizing is just visually exhausting for everyone involved.
It is time we stop demanding that our geniuses be good people and start demanding that our good people learn how to tailor a bodice. The next time you find yourself wanting to complain about the Met honoring a man convicted of a hate crime, I urge you to look at the beadwork on his 2004 fall line. Look at the way the light hits the sequins. Let the sheer, unapologetic glamour wash over you, and ask yourself: is it really so wrong to look the other way?