The last time we saw Kristin Scott Thomas, I was praising what I thought was a cool and dignified Dior with a Champagne bottle bursting across it. The commenters were less kind: “Champagne sperm,” wrote one. “Hairy golden squid,” said another, and we also got “confusing flower guppy” and — possibly my favorite — “a bunch of shiitake mushrooms flying out of a comet in transit across the lower thigh region.” But the prevailing thought was also that Kristin Scott Thomas can elevate basically anything, even “[an] accident with pancake batter.”
How are we feeling about that right now? I can’t decide. The Fabulous Fund Fair is traditionally a very kitschy, over-the-top, lavish affair, so this is probably more on-point than it looks. I have to give it to Kristin for camping it up so thoroughly. Because, objectively, Kristin Scott Thomas is quite possibly the LAST person I thought we’d see dressed as Edina Monsoon, Failed Fortune Teller, who summers on cruises that leave from West Palm Beach and consumes nothing but free shrimp cocktail, cigarettes, and Singapore Slings with enormous umbrellas. She will ash in your dinner or drink if she’s passing, and invariably, all her fortunes involve made-up medical conditions like “genital inversion,” “boob excitement,” and “spastic cerebrum.” I would like to hang out with that person, admittedly, but perhaps not for $1,500 a plate.