Al Pacino and Whoopi Goldberg at the Tony Awards in New York on June 12.
Photo: Getty Images
God bless us. That this photo exists at all makes me so happy. I know the fashbloggeur in me should unspool these guys’ guts for showing up to a televised award show looking exactly this way but who the hell cares? It’s the Tony Awards. A.K.A. the Antoinette Perry Award for Excellence in Theatre A.K.A. some thing that only media Twitterer-types, Alec Baldwin (… I love you, sir) and glee club dorks watch (ahem, A.K.A. Gaby our editorial assistant *cough* NERD *cough*) so it’s all amongst pals and friends and industry insiders and randos who Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa, would make $40 sandwiches for.
Besides, it’s Pacino and Goldberg. These guys aren’t really even people anymore, they’ve been burning so famous for so long that they’ve long been distilled to a pencil drawing of a face and a rousing collection of catch phrases. Maybe a smell.
Whoopi is wearing a velvet wizard’s robe boasting a burn-out design that closely resembles some faux-exotic, masstige, Pier 1 ottoman and a beautiful specimen of millinery that is the lovebaby of a buccaneer’s chapeau, the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao and a giant’s cochlea. I mean, it’s not something I would do but I can certainly see the appeal (from space).
Al Pacino, who everybody seems to be having a grand old time arching their eyebrows at for bringing such a young, supple, Argentinian date, also has something for us in the fashion world, oh wait, it’s in his pocket. Oh, yes, that’s swell, it’s a fully extended middle finger and HARK, right-o! He has another one just like it. As if to offset/complement the conspicuously ornate embellishments occurring on Ms. Goldberg’s crown, Pacino is keeping it gully, monochromatic in Dolce & Gabbana, and 100% straight up HYSTERICAL by wearing what looks to be a black sweat band. I can’t… there’s just no… It’s just marvelous.
I suppose it’s to keep his ample (impressively so) fringe from his eyes but the fact that your man can rock up with such a baffling contraption AND step-and-repeat for the red carpet with his famous-enough-to-be-Tussaud-statues pals, is simple, elegant, unimpeachable poetry. If only Jack Nicholson would rappel shirtless from the ceiling with that foot-long ham hoagie and his broobs clapping because then this frame would be complete. Thanks guys, somethingsomething WAR HORSE!