Prepare Your Resumes, Because Gucci Is Hiring Again

Also: the Critics Choice Awards, the Met dress code, and Audrey's villa

The Critics Choice Awards, postponed from its original date due to the L.A. wildfires, landed at 7 p.m. ET/PT on this past Friday night — not the sexiest time slot for an awards show that’s already not tremendously high profile, but it provided me a great excuse to curl up on my couch with snacks and thick socks, and hide from the world under the guise of having to work.

Chelsea Handler hosted, beginning the show with a very sincere tribute to the first responders — some of whom were, again, in the audience; I wonder if they all had to do Rock Paper Scissors to decide who got which show — that was so uncharacteristically earnest that she stumbled over it a little. The rest of her shtick was, well, exactly that: the same old Chelsea Is Horny and Drunk act that she has done forever. She chugged a glass of milk a la Babygirl, while Ralph Fiennes urged her on; she cracked that David Alan Grier gives great pap smears, and I don’t think anyone, including him, quite knew what to do with that…