For some reason last year, Heather and I decided that Tilda Swinton should just start going by “SWINTON.” She seems like she could pull off the mono-moniker, right? As well as the caps. In fact, I’ve often felt like SWINTON would be a welcome addition to the fictional team of celebrity life coaches I have assembled for myself. Like, Tim Gunn is clearly on that team, because he would give me kind yet constructive criticism whenever I did something that concerned him. And Kelly Clarkson would be there for when I decided I needed a super-catchy anthem about a boy I hate (or love to hate. Or hate to love). And SWINTON would be around in case I needed someone to grab me and say, “TREASURE THE AVANT-GARDE. I CAN PULL IT OFF AND SO CAN YOU!” (She would be wrong about my being able to pull it off, but it would be nice and supportive.) I mean, look at how delighted all the extras in this photo appear to be about just being in her prescence:
They’re all like, “This is the BEST NIGHT EVER. Only SWINTON could wear a flesh-colored nightie and EMERGE VICTORIOUS(ish. Sorta). I LOVE THE WORLD.” It’s hard not to be caught up in SWINTONMANIA. They can’t help themselves.