CATE BLANCHETT vs. NATALIE PORTMAN
CATE: Well, I am simply EXHAUSTED.
NATALIE: Hmph. Is that so?
CATE: Yes, can’t you tell? I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. Aren’t you at all curious as to why?
NATALIE: Not even slightly.
CATE: Really? Are you sure you can’t even IMAGINE why –
NATALIE: Listen, Cate, if you’re trying to get me to congratulate you on your Oscar, it’s not going to happen.
CATE: Well – I – that’s not at all what –
NATALIE: Bitch, please. You are as transparent as cellophane.
CATE: Fine. I was going to tell you the story of how I woke up today at dawn in Bruce Dern’s limo wearing nothing but Jared Leto’s red bow tie, but have it your way.
NATALIE: Been there, done that. Occupational hazard of being an Oscar winner.
DITA VON TEESE vs. VICTORIA BECKHAM
DITA: Really, Posh? Schoolgirl chic? What is this, 1997?
VICTORIA: Thanks, but I do not generally take fashion tips from women who cover their breasts in spiderwebs.
DITA: Oh, is that right? Well, you could also lighten the fuck up and smile once in awhile.
VICTORIA: A grin doesn’t go with this outfit.
DITA: When you dress as well as I do, a smile goes with everything, you sullen little mannequin.
VICTORIA: Tell me, do you use a Delorean or a Time-Turner to travel back to the 1940s and steal every actress’s wardrobe?
DITA: If you’re trying to insult me, you’re doing it wrong. Plus, you can’t shame a burlesque diva.
VICTORIA: You do burlesque? Is that still even a thing?
DITA: Of course. It’s rather like being a Spice Girl, except it requires actual talent.
EMMA ROBERTS vs. DAKOTA FANNING
EMMA: Hey, Dakota. I love your dress and everything, but you’re giving all millennials a bad name with those Heidi braids.
DAKOTA: You leave my braids alone. I am an ethereal Scottish milkmaid and the world just needs to deal with it.
EMMA: Alright, weirdo.
DAKOTA: Look who’s talking. You look like a fashion robot.
EMMA: I take that as a compliment.
DAKOTA: Whatever. Talk to me when someone lets you wear couture.
EMMA: Don’t make me fight you in the middle of the Met Gala. Anna Wintour would NOT approve.
DAKOTA: She probably doesn’t approve of that tacky blue streak in your hair either.
EMMA: Whatever, like any of us even knew what the hell to do with that punk theme?
DAKOTA: Preach, girl. There are few things less punk in the world than an extraordinarily fancy high fashion industry gala held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art where every person’s outfit cost more than the price of an average car.
LILY COLLINS vs. OLGA KURLYENKO
LILY: Hi, Olga! How are you doing on this fabulous Monday?
OLGA: I’m hungover as shit, Lily. Can you please be a little bit less enthusiastic and maybe whip me up a quick Bloody Mary?
LILY: Jeez, you’re moody. Were you Oscar-partying all night?
OLGA: And then some. Now how about that Bloody Mary?
LILY: Honey, I’m in a white dress and white shoes. I am NOT risking spilling a Bloody Mary on this outfit.
OLGA: Fine. Just pass me some aspirin and leave me alone.
LILY: Not until you tell me at least one story about the Oscars.
OLGA: LEAVE. ME. ALONE. And pass me a coconut water.
LILY: Fine. Just one tidbit of gossip?
OLGA: Well, I don’t remember much, but all I know is I woke up at dawn in June Squibb’s limo with Jared Leto asking me if I’d seen his bow tie.