As someone who spends most of her time in sweaty running gear or slobbing around in an assortment of athleisure apparel - chiefly oversized hoodies and baggy joggers - I tend to get a tad discombobulated when it comes to the notion of anything “dressed up”.

The fanciest I manage these days is throwing on jeans and a clean T-shirt that aren’t covered in dog hair, muddy paw prints, coffee stains, yoghurt splodges and a cornucopia of crumbs.

So, it has been to my great surprise that in recent days, I have found myself oddly captivated by photographs documenting the 2024 Met Gala, the swanky annual charity fundraiser and fashion industry soiree thrown by Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour in New York.

This year’s theme was “The Garden of Time”, inspired by the 1962 JG Ballard short story of the same name. At its heart is a macabre fairytale centred around magical flowers that, when picked, can slow the clock, helping its aristocratic protagonists to hold off a rioting mob.

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As dress codes go, it was wildly open to interpretation. And it appeared not everyone was on the same page or, for that matter, even reading the same book.

The red carpet looked like several designers had ram-raided the florals section of Laura Ashley, circa 1983. Then sat up all night, armed with a bottle of tequila and a hot glue gun, rustling up outlandish creations from lace curtains, ugly cushion covers and metallic spray paint.

When I was a youngster, I was taught how to make paper roses using coloured toilet roll and twisted pipe cleaners. This long-forgotten memory was roused from the deep recesses of my mind upon seeing many of the sartorial (or should that be satirical?) offerings at the Met Gala.

The reality TV star and entrepreneur Kim Kardashian presented a puzzling conundrum. She wore a floor-length gown and silvery corset that cinched her waist to such extremes it was like watching someone being cut in half with a cheese wire.

Yet, draped around her shoulders was a misshapen, bobbly grey cardigan that had all the glamour of having been plucked from the bin after being worn to death by Isa from Still Game. Perhaps it was meant to be a clever pun, as in Kim Cardi-ashian?

Then there were the accessories. Singer-songwriter Camila Cabello risked frostbite while toting a chunky block of ice, encasing a single rose, which melted and dripped as she ascended the stairs into the venue.

The comedian Cole Escola, meanwhile, carried a carnation-filled, dog-shaped wicker basket that looked like it might have been swiped from their granny’s sideboard.

Besting that, though, was the actor Michael Shannon, who paired his classic tuxedo with a leather bag that resembled a giant packet of cheese and onion crisps.

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It gave off vibes of hitting the nearest 24-hour garage for a late-night snack, rather than rocking up at one of the most glamorous, invitation-only events on the planet.

I like to imagine that tucked inside was an actual six-pack of cheese and onion crisps, a cunning Trojan horse-meets-nesting Russian doll-style ruse. Particularly since Wintour is reported to have banned chives, onions and garlic from the Met Gala menu.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Who am I to judge, as I sit here, typing away in my seen-better-days leggings and a tracksuit top that makes me look as if I’m auditioning to play Paulie or Christopher in an am-dram revival of The Sopranos?

You make an excellent point. But the first chance I get, you better believe I’ll be donning my strawberry net cape and using a watering can as a natty handbag to walk the dog.