Our columnists sound off
On a deadline and with nothing much in mind, IVAN PUN finds he has more to say than he thinks
FOR THE RECORD, I’m writing this under the duress of an old friend on the magazine, in my semipermanent state of jetlag, which – insufferably – I seem to suffer for longer than normal. I might possibly have sleep deprivation, a heady cocktail that’s bound to make this guest-column Pulitzerworthy.
As with a handful of things in life I agree to in the spirit of the moment, I’ve come to regret this already as deadline encroaches. What do I want to write about? The word count sent was 700, which is 690 more than I’d like to write. So here were my editor’s suggestions:
The Met Gala? Hmm. No, I don’t want to write about it. Having attended the Met Gala on a few occasions in my time, I’m a fan, but not fanatical about the mix of personalities walking up the stairs this year. Once upon a time I even worked on this event when Anna gave me my first job after I dropped out of Oxford ... Anna Wintour, empress of Vogue, who has steered that unsinkable ship with a deft hand and a stern perfectionist’s eye for the past 29 years.
So I have much affection and adherence to the behemoth that is the Met Gala under her gilded guidance. The themes and diktat set in the past have been inspiring; 2015’s China: Through the Looking Glass had that glorious moment with Rihanna in Guo Pei, immortalised in the documentary First Monday of
May. I also liked 2016’s theme Manus x Machina: Fashion in an Age of Technology, but most memorable was my first as an impressionable 22-year-old at 2008’s prophetic Superheroes.
There’s a cultural, historical, artful and fashionable relevance to the entire enterprise. It inspires, it’s spectacular, it’s glorious – there’s a reason why that red carpet has a global audience, why people pay US$25,000 per plate to attend and these days this number can be much more. Well, there was. Now, it can sometime seem like anover-the-top Halloween costume juggernaut that I’m bemused by. I have my theories but I don’t really want to get into it.
Another wedding invitation has landed on my desk. Last year as a friend of both bride and groom, with the bachelor party in Iceland, the bachelorette in Cartagena and the wedding in New York, I must have spent more than 21 days on the road. I’m going to be stricter about attending wedding side events. I need auto-cue-cards with Regrets written in calligraphy. I love my friends but enough is enough. No, let’s not talk about that. I’ll end up offending someone or another. Unintentionally. And intentionally.
Ageing? As someone who’s seen Hong Kong society on and off for the past near-decade, I’m morbidly fascinated by people ageing suddenly. They look fine and dandy, and – boom – suddenly the jowls go. Risky territory, skip the subject. Wouldn’t want to tempt karma.
My stint in the media? The long hours and the you-must-be-joking pay? Why on Earth would I want to talk about that? My sojourn with launching a menswear brand in China for a hot minute? I’ve had hangovers that lasted longer than that. No. Not that.
I am excited about flying a few friends over to Myanmar for an exhibition we’re supporting. I’ve already got a list mentally on where to go and what to see and really showcase the best of what the country has to offer, but that’s for a later day subject.
I could shameless plug HAWKR, my new southeast Asian grab-andgo venture with Jake Astor and Mina Park, but that’s not my style either.
Well there you have it. I have nothing to write about. But feel free to pop by my next pop-up for a drink, though.