Lorde parties with Swift during disdainful Oscars bash

What’s it like to attend a many disdainful Oscars after-party? Monica Hesse takes a look.

Loading New Zealander thespian Lorde (R) and US thespian Taylor Swift poise as they arrive to a 2016 Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / Getty Images

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Shhhhh, Jennifer Garner is coming and we mustn’t demeanour too eager, mustn’t demeanour needy, contingency ever so accidentally scooch over on a leather dais to uncover that there’s room here if she wants to lay – those strappy heels demeanour so uncomfy, Jen – and finally, all during once, we’ve finished it. Vanity Fair magazine’s stream cover star folds adult her round robe and plops down subsequent to us.

She smells like cucumbers, and America.

Jennifer Garner arrives during a Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP
Jennifer Garner arrives during a Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP

To a right: Whoopi Goldberg in high-top sneakers. To a left: Faye Dunaway in a challenging pantsuit. In a corner, Lorde and her bestie, Taylor Swift, are pulling faces.

Read more: Lorde hits disdainful Oscars after-party

The Oscars rite competence be one of a many prestigious events in a luminary world, though a Vanity Fair jubilee is a many disdainful after-party – a luminary State of a Union in that all of a film stars in all of a land are brought to one vast building to associate and blissful palm and get divided from a mortals.

It’s harder to get into than a White House (electronic pivotal cards contingency be presented during dual checkpoints), and it’s some-more costly to get into than college (invited A-listers compensate nothing, of course, though wannabe arrivistes have been famous to bid $200,000 for a span of tickets during gift auctions), and a universe inside a Wallis Annenberg Center for a Performing Arts is one where a ratios are all wrong: Every chairman there is famous.

Inside is a demystification of celebrity. Inside is a anthropomorphic practice of a times.

Rooney Mara! Hello, and we are eating french fries and your dress looks many reduction doily-ish in person. Jason Bateman! Hello, and we have a unequivocally vast head. Near a cluster of high-top tables, Paula Patton, aka Robin Thicke’s ex, brushes opposite a shoulder of Emily Ratajkowski, aka Robin Thicke’s mostly exposed strain video muse. They do not seem to notice any other though – palm to heart – as they pass, a lost DJ cues adult Blurred Lines. Patton rolls her eyes. Just consider how many times she’s listened this song, how many times she must’ve attempted to explain that “hug me” didn’t rhyme with a difference Thicke suspicion they rhymed with.

Emily Ratajkowski arrives during a Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP
Emily Ratajkowski arrives during a Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP

Let’s take a trail by astronomical fame, shall we? Weaving by a white-jacketed servers and comfy leather sofas and dance music, and …

Dear God, is that Mickey Rooney? Quick Google. No, Mickey Rooney died in 2014. Who is it? Who is a darling raisin sitting on a pappy chair surrounded by some-more fans than anyone else in a room?

Ed Asner?

Alan Arkin?

No. No.

Mustn’t glance during a aged man. Must glance instead during Eddie Redmayne, chatting with Captain America Chris Evans. They are earnestly rub-down any other’s tuxes. Eddie’s looks like it is done of velvet, and he is observant “Shut up! Shut uppp!” though in a pleasant British way. Must glance instead during Adrian Brody, with some arrange of Frenchy silk headband wrapped around his neck as he intermittently claps along to Michael Jackson, or during best-actor hopeful Bryan Cranston, who is explaining, “It’s satin,” as someone else fingers his coupler sleeve. Rampant tux-stroking – is this a thing?

Robin Dearden, left, and Bryan Cranston arrive during a Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP
Robin Dearden, left, and Bryan Cranston arrive during a Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP

Must quarrel by a hipster-eyeglassed cadre of screenwriters to get outward for a exhale of air, since that’s where a cigarette smoking is happening, and that’s where horde Graydon Carter is jolt hands, and so that’s where we design a fun, disobedient people to be.

“It’s great! It’s great,” Jon Hamm is calming someone out on a patio. Then that chairman walks divided and Hamm turns to comic Louis C.K. and says, “That’s all actors ever need to hear: ‘It’s great, it’s great.’ “

“Hey, has anyone watched Vinyl?” someone else asks Hamm and C.K. and another crony in a group.

A prolonged pause.

“It’s not great,” one of them responds.

C.K. leaves a square and meanders behind into a categorical room where he gets down on one knee in front of a pruny non-Mickey Rooney man, in some arrange of deeply deferential homage. Who is this?

Desperate Google search: “Old white bald famous comedians.”

Don Rickles! Don Rickles is a pruny comedian to whom all other comedians contingency compensate their respects! Glad that’s settled.

Brie Larson binds her Oscar best singer in her purpose in Room as she arrives to a 2016 Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP
Brie Larson binds her Oscar best singer in her purpose in Room as she arrives to a 2016 Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP

Ohhh, a initial large Oscar leader has arrived. Brie Larson, altered out of her blue rite robe into something pinkish and slouchy. She solemnly creates her approach by a flock of photographers outward and afterwards – let’s follow as she enters a door, shall we? What does it feel like to be an Oscar leader entering this party?

Answer: It feels like a large cuddle from Common, a initial guest to mark Brie when she stairs inside.

“Wonderful,” he tells her as she throws her arms around his neck. And afterwards – greatfully let us through, Daisy Ridley, atonement us, Sissy Spacek – we’ll follow Larson toward a bar, where another man keeps bellowing during her – “I always pronounced we were a genuine thing!” – while she orders a drink, and afterwards we’ll follow her …

Well, we won’t be following her anywhere, since unexpected a trail is blocked by Spotlight: Michael Keaton and Liev Schreiber and Rachel McAdams and a garland of producer-types with a garland of Oscar statuettes. Pardon us, fellas, though – though no, we are stuck, we are packaged too firmly between a butts of Michael Keaton and Jake Gyllenhaal, who has zero to do with Spotlight though has unexpected seemed and is immovable.

Rachel McAdams arrives during a Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP
Rachel McAdams arrives during a Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP

“I usually saw her final night,” Keaton says to his friend.

“Just keep your conduct above water,” Gyllenhaal says to his possess friend.

Keaton: “She was my date.”

Gyllenhaal: “Just keep your conduct above water.”

This is it. This is how it ends. Until a finish of time, trapped between a former Batman and Maggie’s brother, perpetually and ever and …

“Is that Gaga?” someone shouts. “It’s Gaga!”

Just like that, a throng loosens, lubricated by a enterprise for Lady Gaga, as people whip out their iPhones and swell toward a dilemma where Gaga courteously poses for selfies – selfies with Gwen Stefani, selfies with Taylor Swift manifest in a background, and, while we discuss a possess enterprise for a selfie, we find that Jason Segel, many recently of a David Foster Wallace biopic The End of a Tour, is station on a dress.

Lorde and Taylor Swift attend a 2016 Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP
Lorde and Taylor Swift attend a 2016 Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / AP

“David Foster Wallace was a family friend,” we tell Segal. (True.) “Dad pronounced we unequivocally prisoner Dave’s spirit.” (No idea either Dad ever saw a movie.)

“That means so much,” Segel says, putting his palm over his heart, looking honestly touched. “That unequivocally means so much.”

It’s great, it’s great. We’re removing a hang of this.

“How many burgers have we had?” final a deeply endangered Seth MacFarlane during a In -N-Out mount outside. The opposite lady binds adult 3 fingers. “Three? I’ve had 3 burgers?”

“We could contend it’s dual if that would make we feel better,” she says, handing him another one.

“So this would make three?”

“If we wish it to be.”

“Just tell me,” he begs. “Tell me how many burgers I’ve eaten.”

Seth MacFarlane and actor Jon Hamm attend a 2016 Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / Getty Images
Seth MacFarlane and actor Jon Hamm attend a 2016 Vanity Fair Oscar Party. Photo / Getty Images

Oh, dear. Ben Affleck has arrived, and, after progressing an suitable quarantine in a outdoor-smoking apportionment of a party, he starts to quit toward a leather-sofa apportionment of a party, where Jennifer Garner still mingles. Just dual days earlier, she had damaged her overpower about their divorce in a soul-baring talk published by Vanity Fair; now we are examination them pierce toward any other as if examination a slow-motion collision.

But afterwards it’s fine, it’s totally fine. They hail any other tenderly and dawdle nearby any other during tighten proximity; it’s all unequivocally accessible and grown-up and – this is tough to explain – though a weird, difficult amiability of it creates us feel that we go here during this celebration for a absurdly abounding and famous. We are all usually people, after all. This all creates sense.

Then a starlet approaches, a name escapes us, though immature and fresh-faced, a kind you’d see in a Disney musical, and she greets us a splendid smile.

“You demeanour usually like Emma,” she purrs, tracing a line in a atmosphere around a face.

Oh really? Emma Watson? Emma Stone? Emma Thompson? All Emmas are good Emmas.

“Emma,” she starts again. “My publicist’s dog-walker.”

Right, then.

The Don Rickles chair has been taken over by Quincy Jones, himself now attended by a prolonged line of immature Hollywood people watchful to compensate respects. Leonardo DiCaprio and Alicia Vikander have come and gone. Actually, a lot of people have gone. The tables are dirty with dull champagne flutes, a building is dirty with crumbs.

“See we during a subsequent party?” a lady calls to her friend.

“This is a final party,” a crony cackles back. “The usually party.”

The stars of a world, and their publicists and dog-walkers, all conduct out into a Hollywood night.

- Washington Post

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