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May 2008
Definitely somebody
The tourist was sure of it. “That’s definitely got to be somebody!” she said on tip toes, neck craned to spy on Madeleine Albright, who was getting out of a car and looking very classy in a copper sequined dress. We weren’t so sure, however, about the other elegant characters that paraded into the Hilton on Connecticut Ave., for last month’s Whitehouse Correspondents’ Association dinner. Our little group of gawkers had staked out the side entrance to pick out the Somebodies from the Nobodies. Everyone looked lovely in tuxedos and taffeta, but once in a while someone looked extraordinary. Even extraterrestrial.
We watched expectantly as a blonde, whose entire body, even her hair, appeared to be made of some space age-polymer, stopped to sign autographs. We were stumped. “Pamela Anderson!” hissed one of her entourage, in a tone that suggested we didn’t get out much. Well. We knew she was Somebody. You don’t normally see that much Botox around here. Not outside of Potomac, anyway.
Down in the lobby, on the red carpet, even the press was confused. Photographers took safety shots of everyone the tourists squealed at and then turned to each other with the same question: “Who was that?”
There was that red-head from Desperate Housewives, that cute guy from The Office (the short one, not the tall one) and that woman with the tiara, she was probably Miss Somebody Or Other. The guy with the dreads, big glasses and the most excellent red loafers, he’s that guy who sings with that group and made that video for that candidate. You know.
It was soon obvious, however, that the Somebodies arrived in cars with tinted windows. They glided through the door and floated over to the guy with the Hollywood Access microphone and had a delightful chat. They had time for languid waves and dazzling smiles. They were really, really, honored to be there.
The Nobodies walked in late and flustered, because parking was such a pain and the skinny high heels were IMPOSSIBLE or the cumberbund would not go on right. They dodged cameras and hurried off somewhere to check to see if their tie was on straight. They really, really doubted that this whole thing was such a good idea.
Today, the Somebodies are back in La-La land, but the Nobodies are still here, the scribes, Senate Staffers and spouses who live in the Glamour-Free Zone of Takoma Park. I don’t think anyone really appreciates what they went through that night or anytime the dreaded ‘Black Tie’ invitation shows up in their mailbox.
Sure, the first black tie invitation is an “I have Arrived!” moment, according to Takoma Park resident, Clarence Page.
“The first black tie affair is always the best. It’s what you come to DC for.” Not too long after buying your own Tuxedo, he explains, “you just start dreading it.”
While his wife, Lisa, was disappointed to learn they were not attending this year’s event due to “sheer campaign exhaustion” and budget cuts at his paper, Mr. Page declared himself “personally relieved.”
Deb Price, columnist for the Detroit News, seldom finds a good reason “to squeeze into a black party dress and panty hose” on the weekends. But the WCA dinner is one she hates to miss because the celebrity sighting is so choice. Also the ratio of Nobodies to Somebodies is pretty big, something unheard of at a New York or LA big event.
But still there is quite a lot of fashion angst before this and other Black Tie events. If you’re like many Takoma Park women, the only special outfit in your closet may be the national dress of some exotic locale from your stint in the Peace Corps. Add to that our local paranoia of shopping malls and before you know it, a panicky paralysis sets in.
Three hours before her last WCA Dinner, Welomed Laanstra raced into Takoma Underground where the entire staff went to work on her until a suitably retro yet elegant Empire waist, rhinestone trim dress was found.
Other Takominas are resourceful enough to stage a sort of fashion Barn Raising before a big event. Friends and neighbors pitch in grandma’s heirloom jewelry or designer shoes they found at a yard sale in Bethesda.
A really special friend is often called in to pull out the big guns: make-up. Barbara Rawlins spent a good deal of time in denial about the meaning of “Black Tie” on the invitation to a splashy event at the Philips Collection. When it became clear that a cocktail dress would not do, she ”trolled friends and co-workers to put together something really nice.” It takes a village to get dressed in Takoma Park.
But once dressed, it’s time to make the most of it. If you are lucky enough to go to one of these events, keep your eyes peeled. Anytime you combine the vapidity of celebrity with the hot air of politics, strange things can happen.
Like in 2000, when I spied Donald Trump (fresh from his short-lived bid for the Presidency) and that super model arm candy of his, you know, whats-her-name, standing in the back of room, just before the President took the stage. They waited, still as Rococo statues, until the Marine Corps Band struck up “Hail to the Chief.”
Then they marched solemnly to their seats. Sometimes, even the Somebodies like to pretend to be Somebody else.
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