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Why Everyone Was So Mad About the Met Gala

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Why Everyone Was So Mad About the Met Gala

There are, as I’m writing this, just shy of 500 reader comments on our recap of our 15 favorite looks from the Met Gala on Monday. The top comments are almost all negative.

“I’m sorry. I find this display of ‘fashion’ disgusting and I wish the NYT wouldn’t celebrate it,” reads the most recommended comment. “I’m struck by how out of touch and unrelatable this feels for the average American,” is the one just below that. A few down we get the first of many comparisons to the elitist incongruity captured in “The Hunger Games.”

The uneasy state of the American economy watered the soil for this sentiment to grow. Gas prices have soared since the onset of the war in Iran. The cost of groceries remains stubbornly high. The word “inequality” came up five times in the comments section of our story. It seems that the gala, to some, landed as a financially frivolous, Marie Antoinette-like affair.

For a few years, the Met Gala has ignited these “Hunger Games” comparisons, as the event has mutated into a competition of which attendee can wear the most baroque, procession-halting dress. I lost count of the celebrities who proudly shared how many hours it took to make their ensembles.

This, more than anything, seemed like the point where they were misjudging the simmering animus toward them.

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If the intention was to laud the work and elevate the craftsmanship involved in making garments like these, it was ringing hollow in this forum, where tickets cost upward of hundreds of thousands of dollars for a table. The opulence of the clothes became another example of billionaire class entitlement for a cause most people don’t benefit from.

It’s not an entirely new conversation, even if the critiques were louder this year. Five years ago, when Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez wore a dress splayed with “Tax the Rich,” she sprayed lighter fluid onto a hot conversation about the class politics of this particular charity event. (At this year’s gala, Sarah Paulson arrived with a dollar bill stretched over her eyes, an intended critique on the influence of money that many viewers saw as a hollow gesture.)

The discourse roared with a particular fervor in the lead-up to Monday for the marquee presence of Jeff Bezos and his wife, Lauren Sánchez Bezos, one of the world’s wealthiest couples.

Placing the Bezoses at the apex of the gala ratcheted up the sense that something already well outside the reaches of the average person had been taken to a new tier of exclusivity. There were protests centered around Bezos, and at the event Christian Smalls, a former Amazon union leader, attempted to storm the carpet. He was arrested and charged with two misdemeanors.

“It shouldn’t be that way when you have all of this money and wealth,” Smalls said of Bezos in an interview with The Times on Wednesday. “He should pay his workers a fair share.”

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In responding to cries of elitism, the Met Gala’s organizers have long pointed to the money that the event raises. They did so again this year. At a news conference on Monday introducing the Met’s new fashion exhibition, Anna Wintour, the event’s longtime chair (and the global editorial director of Vogue magazine), shared that this was the most successful Met Gala ever, having raised $42 million.

“That money could feed and clothe many hundreds of less fortunate people,” read the top comment on our Met Gala story.

We’ve come to expect anti-celebrity comments when we cover cultural events. “Who cares!” is a common, if slightly disingenuous, refrain given how many readers clamor to see and vote on their favorite looks from awards shows.

But there’s a meaningful difference between the Met Gala and many other red carpet events. At the Oscars or the Emmys, the arrivals lead to a star-studded performance the public can watch, shows with a purpose — celebrating talent (subjective though that is) — that is self-evident. For the viewing public, the Met Gala ends at the doorstep of the museum. If you’re watching at home, the gala can be seen as nothing more than a bunch of grandiose clothes that lead nowhere.

In reading up on the life of Ted Turner, who died Wednesday at 87, I perked up at this five-word sentence in Malcolm Gladwell’s 2010 profile of the media mogul: “He dressed like a cowboy.” It led me to scroll through photos of the Cincinnati-born businessman — especially in the 1970s, when he was sailing in a piqué polo and an incongruous striped conductor’s cap or taking in his Atlanta Braves with his button-up shirt undone to mid-chest.

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Turner, a college dropout, who was a prolific drinker (and philanderer), looked rugged — swashbuckling even. He was, it should be said, handsome. In some images, Turner, with his modest mustache, looks like Robert Redford’s body double. But it’s remarkable to visit these images now, when all corporate titans — of media, tech and otherwise — dress so alike. They’re Sun Valley clones in their fleece vests, stretch chinos and dad caps that they theatrically pull low in front of cameras.

But Turner was indeed a telecom cowboy, upending how networks ran in his rugby shirts, knit ties and denim. He looked suave. How few media C.E.O.’s can we say that about now?


Everywhere I go I see young men in ribbed tank tops, sometimes with unbuttoned shirts on top, but often not. The tank tops can be black, white or gray, but they’re worn with everything — not just as undershirts, as I was taught was correct. What is going on? — Richard, Philadelphia

The tank top may seem basic — just a sleeveless cotton top with a scooped neck — but as a garment it contains multitudes. It has roots in the working class and the professional class, the military and the farm, men’s wear and women’s wear, sports and Hollywood, gay culture, rap culture, gym culture and indie sleaze. Read more …


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Greetings from Maputo, Mozambique’s capital, shaped by a modernist architecture

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Greetings from Maputo, Mozambique’s capital, shaped by a modernist architecture

I took a ride on a tuk-tuk motorcycle taxi around Maputo, Mozambique, with my buddy and fellow All Things Considered producer, Vincent Acovino. We were in the country reporting on changes to U.S. funding for AIDS in Africa.

Vinny noticed it first: There was something magical about a number of the concrete apartment blocks and government offices here. With half a day off and a little googling, we gave ourselves an impromptu tour of the architecture of Amâncio “Pancho” Guedes. The late Portuguese-born architect designed some pretty cool buildings here in the 1950s and ’60s. They include the Prédio Abreu, Santos e Rocha pictured above, and other structures with evocative names like The Smiling Lion apartment block and the Lemon Squeezer church. Step into a small interior stairwell of The Dragon House, and you see a mural in sparkling black and white stone of a spiky dragon with a toothy grin. It transforms what would otherwise be a dim stairwell.

Guedes designed more than 500 buildings in the city, from churches to bakeries. I don’t have the language to capture it: the use of heavy materials, combined with the playful use of shapes and murals. “Eclectic Modernist,” I later learned, is how his work is described. One critic wrote that his work brilliantly mixes the “sculptural and figurative with practical requirements and traditional local identity.”

Maputo will change and I have to imagine not all of his work will survive. But stumbling into a town with a visual landscape that still shows Guedes’ thumbprint was a delight. For an afternoon, riding through the city streets in the open-air tuk-tuk, looking for what might have been his handiwork was a good time. Like an Easter egg hunt in concrete.

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For more Far-Flung Postcards, click here.

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Now you can visit dozens of state historic parks for free through 2026. Here’s how

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Now you can visit dozens of state historic parks for free through 2026. Here’s how

From now through July 6, residents and tourists alike can download the California State Parks Historian Passport for free, allowing them access to more than 30 state historic parks across the state through the end of 2026.

Gov. Gavin Newsom announced the initiative Wednesday in honor of both Juneteenth and the the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

“California’s state historic parks preserve some of our nation’s most powerful and meaningful stories, and I’m proud to live in a state that celebrates diversity to connect more people with those stories through this limited-time free pass,” California State Parks director Armando Quintero said in a statement. “I hope the free Historian Passport introduces more Californians to the state’s historic gems and sparks a curiosity and thirst for knowledge that leads to many return visits.”

The pass typically costs $50 and allows unlimited entry for up to four people to state historic parks and museums that charge a per-person admission fee or a vehicle day-use fee.

Historic parks in and around L.A. County that accept the Historian Passport include:

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Colonel Allensworth State Historic Park

(Courtesy of California State Parks, 2026)

Other parks that accept the pass are:

A full list is available at parks.ca.gov.

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To download a free pass, visit ReserveCalifornia.com and click “Passes” in the upper main menu. From here, you’ll be prompted to either create a new account or log into your existing account. Once logged in, you can use the dropdown menu on the page to select “Special Edition Historian Passport 2026 – $0.00.” You can then check out with your pass and will quickly have it added to your list of passes within your account.

Leaders with the California State Parks Foundation and the California State Railroad Museum Foundation, which helped finance the initiative, said they hope the free Historian pass opens up access to more people to see our public lands.

“California state parks help us understand the history of California, the United States, and the ongoing work of building a more inclusive democracy,” said Rachel Norton, executive director of California State Parks Foundation. “The special edition Historian Passport is a great opportunity to explore state parks for free. We hope access to the Historian Passport encourages more Californians to visit a historic state park and learn about, and reflect on, our shared history.”

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On a flight home, a stranger helped her understand what came next

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On a flight home, a stranger helped her understand what came next

Rebecca Simonitsch (right) smiles with her mother in 2001, the year she had her surgery.

Rebecca Simonitsch


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Rebecca Simonitsch

In the summer of 1995, when she was 15, Rebecca Simonitsch woke up in the hospital. She later learned she had had a series of convulsive seizures that put her into a coma. For the next three years, she took medication to prevent future episodes.

At 18, before she left for college, her doctors took her off the medication. That’s when she began noticing more subtle kinds of seizures, known as focal seizures. She later realized she had probably been experiencing them on and off ever since she left the hospital.

“The average person would likely have never known when I was having a seizure,” Simonitsch said.

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“[But] if I tried to speak during them, my words would come out sounding a little like gibberish.  And then I would also feel nausea, weakness and fatigue.”

Simonitsch was diagnosed with epilepsy. She cycled through multiple medications to stop the seizures, but nothing worked. She could no longer drive, and the side effects of the medication became unmanageable.

By the time she was 20, it was clear something had to change. That winter, she flew from Charleston to Baltimore to meet with a neurologist at Johns Hopkins Hospital. After many tests, he identified the source of her seizures — scar tissue in her left temporal lobe — and told her she was a candidate for brain surgery.

On the flight home, Simonitsch kept replaying what the doctor had told her.

“And like so many patients who receive difficult or big news, I had really only absorbed 10 to 15% of the conversation. And now I had so many questions,” Simonitsch said.

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“So I just recall being on the plane, looking out the window and feeling so many emotions in that moment … everything from fear to worry to relief.”

As she continued to grapple with these feelings, the man sitting next to her struck up a conversation. He asked her what she was doing in Baltimore, and she told him about the surgery.

“He turned to look at me. And he shared with me that he had an expertise in neuropsychology, and he had worked with patients like me.”

For the rest of the two-hour flight, the man listened as she shared what the doctor had told her and the questions she still had. He clarified what the surgery would involve and made sure she understood. Then he reached for his bag and pulled out a notebook and pen.

“He had some really old school graph-like paper that he put on the airplane table,” she said.

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“And then he just started drawing pictures of the brain. And even marking sections of his drawing as he spoke … and ‘This is what they would do with the surgery and how they would remove that scarred region.’”

Twenty-five years later, she still remembers how that conversation made her feel.

“I’ll just never forget his kindness and the warmth that he exuded. And how it helped my anxiety fade,” she said. “And that was what I needed on that flight back to Charleston by myself.”

Simonitsch went on to have the surgery, and today, she remains seizure-free. She still has that piece of paper with the man’s drawing of the brain.

“He gave me something that I deeply needed that day: realistic hope, reassurance and compassion,” she said. “All from a complete stranger sitting beside me on a crowded flight.”

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My Unsung Hero is also a podcast — new episodes are released every Tuesday. To share the story of your unsung hero with the Hidden Brain team, record a voice memo on your phone and send it to myunsunghero@hiddenbrain.org.

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