Kerry Washington Judged the Sh*t Out of My Scarf
A perk of my job as a celebrity news writer is that I get to attend events and speak with famous people who are exponentially more fabulous than I will ever be, no matter how wealthy of a husband I might be able to acquire through SkyMall. Though many covet such “fabulous” opportunities, I’m here to tell you that it’s exhausting for a narcissist like myself to devote energy entirely to reporting on individuals who are not in my mirror. I mean, hello; doesn’t Jason Sudeikis know that I was the first-chair baritone saxophone player for my middle school band whose bari sax quota topped off at two?
I am the only thing that matters.
‘I am’ is an anagram for ‘Mia’ after all, so let’s restore order and make this show about me. From now on, I will report on myself at star-studded events through the lens of celebrities whom I encounter in a series called “I Witness Mia”.
And to answer your question, yes. This is just about as single as it gets.
Let us begin by recounting my very first red carpet coverage through the eyes of Scandal’s Kerry Washington at the Allstate Purple Purse Event to spread awareness of domestic violence (and me).
I Witness Mia:
Kerry Washington Judged the Sh*t Out of My Scarf
Man oh man. What a whirlwind Shonda Thursday it has been for Miss Olivia Pope! Sorry—I don’t usually refer to myself in third-person, by my character’s name, but after doing two rounds of daytime talk before 11 a.m. it’s easy to forget who you are.
I could really use some wine. Lord knows I would have trekked across the street for a box if 5th Avenue wasn't as packed as Brad Pitt’s playpen. People have this misconception that I only drink the finest of Bordeaux, but c'mon. Who wouldn’t “slap the bag” when a $60 sip of Pinot Noir from The Plaza’s minibar is your only option?
Call time. No wine. Instead, I have to run downstairs to walk the carpet for this Allstate charity event. Great cause. Hope the generosity will infect the bartenders if you know what I’m sayin'.
Rumor has it that Robin Roberts is here. Wait… and is that Andi Dorfman in the lobby? I love that bitch! She’s like the Jennifer Lawrence of The Bachelorette. A true Chris Harrison icon.
Walk, walk. Pose. Walk, walk. Smile.
Jesus, this is exhausting.
There’s Andi again! Aw, she’s so cute with her bar mitzvah curls. But who’s that reporter that she’s talking to? She looks like a gecko with a stick up her ass all tied up in that pretentious scarf.
Walk, walk. Pose. Here we go. Access Hollywood. Rolling in 3, 2—waaHaait a second. Did he just say the Pope is in town? No, not me “Pope”. THE Pope? Big Papa?? Papa JOHN?!
Somebody hold my purse. I’m going outside to watch the Popemobile go by. Habemus papum, mother fuckers.
Back inside. Who knew that Kelly Bensimon was so tall and that Tommy Hilfiger was so short! Do you think that he harbors a Napoleon complex?
Speech time, I suppose. I love giving speeches at events that offer open bar because once you get one schmuck to cry, the rest of them crumble like dominoes given that 76% of the audience is buzzed. I see Robin! ...And that reporter again. Why is she holding a glass of champagne while staring at the back of Robin's head like she wants to smell it? But more importantly, is that a sob I hear?
Ah, Sonja Morgan alone at the bar. What fortune! Not only a 'W' in the speech cry column, but also the perfect company to chugalug alongside of before live-tweeting tonight’s Scandal without looking like I need it.
“Hey Ker. Nice speech.”
“Thanks. I stole it from an early draft of Suffragette.”
“Did you audition for that film too””
“Nope. Just found it on Reddit.”
“Hey–That young reporter didn’t try to talk to you, did she?”
“The one with the scarf who stood in the middle of five cliques without trying to penetrate a single one?”
“Yeah. I've never seen her before at these things and was wondering what her deal is. She looked like she was in a silent panic.”
“Well, you must remember when you were that that age. Feels like yesterday for me with these implants—“
“Sure, I remember my twenties quite well.”
Sonja swirls her wine not to aerate it so much as to make sure she gets every drop.
“When you’re alone with your thoughts in a crowded room of successful people at that age, there’s that little glimmer of semblance, right? Whether in your career or a relationship, it feels like a fragment of your being is finally there, but then you remember all of your shit that's still stuck in the fan. You put your phone in the laundry or realize the guy that you’re dating spends more time online shopping than thinking about you. And then you see a woman in the flesh; a true woman like Robert Roberts, and wonder how long it’s going to take for you to stand so tall. How long it will take until you feel confident enough to stand alone at a bar knowing that someone is bound to talk to you an find you intriguing because you know that you are.”
“Well maybe you should have talked to her when she came to pick up her free glass of champagne.'
“No, Kerry. Confidence is a muscle you strengthen on your own.