Dior Homme

Hedi, come back.

(Or at least come to Chanel).

Karl T-Shirts

I thought I better create some T-shirts, for the common good.
You can get them here. Dress chic, hmm?
I included a sketch for a collection I never did on the black T-shirt, just as a bonus. The other two say "you are not very Chanel, hmm?", and "Karl does not approve, hmm?".

Interview with Morgan

I interviewed a girl called Morgan. She likes trashy television and is studying something at some university. Actually, the interview isn't done yet but I'm going to write up something anyway because I'm standing in the Dior Homme boutique and some idiots are twittering away to each other
("ohhh, i think that is magnifique" "what does that mean?", "oh I just heard it at last night's party"
"ohh great party, wasn't it?" "yeah, it was magnifique" .) So I need to entertain myself somehow.

I wonder who reads this anyway. Morgan, obviously. I need to buy a new ipod. I loaded up the backseat of a car yesterday with new ipods, but it's just not the same as buying an ipod when in a champagne bath. I don't know where the car went anyway. Maybe the ipod is demode anyway. Or Chanel could buy the company that makes ipods or something- Apple (stupid name, hmm?) (I suggested this to one of my entourage, and they thought I was making a joke- can you believe that?).

Oh- revolution in Tanzania. I, personally managed to quell that. People can buy Chanel t-shirts once more. The leader who was such a bore I can't even remember his name, he gave in when I gave him some free clothes. And they were last seasons, too!

Anyway, Morgan, yes. She said she sews, so maybe we'll see a few pictures of what she's sewn?

Love, Karl

It's a kind of magic

I just noticed I'm on top of the "contributors" thing now. I didn't even ask anyone to do it!
It just happened- like magic. That is the magic of Karl, hmm? Everything is restored to it's natural order now, you can breath easy.

stop the presses: Now Yves is on top? This is madness.

Closets

Hmm, what to say tonight?
Yves has got back to being alive and is as melancholy as he was when he was uhh, "alive". His bulldog (Pierre) found out about our little scheme and is furious with me. Not Yves of course; it's all my fault. I "lead Yves astray" apparently. Astray from what, I wonder?
The bulldog has never liked me, as you probably know. "Karl is just an imitator", "Karl cannot create", and on he goes. He has a duty to say this- he's Yves' promoter, manager, etc. God forbid someone as talented as Yves be alive. Chanel, fine. She's dead, no competition to him. Same with all the other dead geniuses. (Would Yves like Proust if Proust were still alive? ((keeping in mind he worships Proust)) Probably not).
So for the bulldog to respect you, you must be dead or Yves.

Yves is both, technically.

At the moment Yves is hiding in the broom closest. Nobody quite knows why (the bulldog's having tea with me anyway. In France, in high France even enemies act like the best of friends).
But Yves does that sort of thing. Tortured "artiste" or something. Just make the goddamed dresses, hmm?

It's a pretty good closest though. Many great people have hidden in it, taken tea in it. There is nothing more sophisticated that wearing a Chanel jacket and taking tea in the closest of a sophisticated French house. Because you see, the closest is the most intimate part of a person's house. Although I have a theory that possibly the bathroom is more intimate.

Carpet is important in a closest too. Many people use outdated carpet, because they think nobody will ever see the closest. But what if I come along? It is only polite to offer tea in the closet to a great person. In which case the person with bad closet carpeting is not very important, because they don't expect me to come and take tea in their house.

Some advice for life, hmm?
1.) Hide in closets at your own leisure
2.) Carpet your closets well
3.) The most sophisticated thing you can do is take tea in your closet.

Big Problem

Big Problem here, folks. Just saw that Yves has his name on top of mine in the "contributors" bit of this blog. Sneaky bastard, hmm?

In Anna's Office

I was at Anna's office today. There's some idiot- and my idiot I mean iii-deeeeee-oute in the Donatella way. Imagine the word "idiot" with a Italian accent, a shrieking, loud, Italian accent. This is how much of an iii-deeee-oute is. Sean someone, he says his name is. Avery? Like, a birdhouse.
He's a hockey player, and he just lurrrves fashion. He told me so. As I was enjoying my cup of Coca-Cola (served in a teacup, as Anna always does). Then he asked all these obnoxious questions:
"Karl, does my belt go with my shoes?", "Karl, do I look fantastic?", "Karl, Karl Karl!".
As you can imagine, this got annoying. At the Vogue offices, it is customary for the interns to bow before the great and beautiful. (Unless this person is Anna, where everyone, not just interns, looks down as if they've done something embarrassing. They're scared of her.) And that's all I really know about that guy, because Anna gave him some useless job (Guest Editor of some Vogue website), and he bounced away to that. Anna informs me that the day before he turned up in high collars.
Manners, hmm?

There is a Chanel hot air balloon outside, made out of tweed. I must go, as I am flying to Tanzania to see what's happening with it's fashion "revolution".

Yves I'm alive

Hello people, this is Yves. No, I'm not dead, as you've probably heard from our friend Karl. I'll say, life really is more tolerable when everyone thinks you're dead. No taxes, no telemarketers, no unfashionable people bothering you. No hassle at all. Perhaps I should have always been like this?

"Pay me!"

"I want a break."

"What do you mean clean your feet with a toothbrush?"

Pfft... It's all the same, excuses and bickering. Since I've been "dead", things have been much more reasonable. Even perhaps, entertaining. However, it was getting boring without something to spice it up.

So yesterday, I saw Karl scribbling something down on a napkin, and sending it off with an assistant, and I thought "What could this be?". I inquired, and learned that Karl has been writing this blog for you all, and of course, I demanded to participate, and here I am (not dead). Though I won't be writing my posts on napkins I don't think, I'd much rather dictate them to someone. It's even less work than note jotting.

Well, that's all I have to say for now. Goo---

--

Wait--

what is this?

I see to my right... what does this say?

"Better than Yves."

ohh... this makes things interesting.

A new Guest

Yves has been nagging me to about him joining this blog, because the getting dead thing is getting a bit old, he says. Such a child, hmm? So Yves will post here every now and again. I told him "you're dead! Shouldn't you be a bit more subtle about things?". But of course, he didn't listen.

Karl's Night

Since I have an email address now, I have been getting emails from all over the place. Every day, my assistant for the computer prints them all out on specially made, tweed Chanel paper. I then make Oragami creatures out of them. Actually I don't remember what I was going to say.
I made a Oragami Chanel suit out of someone's emails today. It was some people from Niagara selling fake Louis Vuitton bags ("now you too can own luxury!"). Maybe I should send it to Marc Jacob's offices. Someone told me this sort of email is called "Spam" which I thought was a sort of food for poor people. Can they email food now?

Anyway, some young lady is interviewing me at some point. Oh, I'm interviewing her. Something like that, hmm? Maybe she should interview me, because I'm bound to be more interesting.

I'm sitting at the dinner table of the French president, whose name I don't remember. The knives and forks are quite good. I quite like these knives and forks. Not sure what I'm going to do with them since I don't eat. I'm going to mail them to my house, and then mail them back.
"Excuse me Carla, do you have a envelope?"
"Oh sure, here you go"
"Thankyou. Your hair is so naive, hmmm?"
"Yes. Thankyou?"

Now I'm exiting the room ("where are you going Karl?" "to Champange land dear!") and depositing the knife and fork I subtly borrowed into the envelope. I write "Karl Lagerfeld" on it, sign it and send it off. In France, only the poor use stamps- so a good way to become rich is to not use stamps, huh?
I put the envelope into the mailbox, and wave my white handkerchief at the passers by. I've seen this done in American movies. They wave out onto the street, and suddenly a yellow car appears out of nowhere. Here in the park I'm in now, it doesn't seem to be happening, so I instruct one of the assistants hoovering around me to get a car to take me to my next social engagement.

Revolution in Tanzania

I am on the streets of Tanzania right this minute, assistants of mine are dashing forth and with scraps of paper to fax and give to various people. Behind me the streets are chaos, people running with picket signs saying "DOWN WITH FASHION", wearing their uggs and clothes that even Rachael Zoe wouldn't wear. Dust is everywhere, the place is a soundtrack for a revolution: but what is happening here is a revolution. One that is not good for fashion.

The people of Tanzania are revolting against fashion! The Gucci store is in flames, the Prada store's windows are being bashed in and salespeople wearing tight, tight pants and skirts waddle out frantically, falling over each other like bowling pins. Expensive bowling pins. The Louis Vuitton crowd meanwhile escapes in their BMWs- wait- one was just tossed over- the crowd roars it's appreciation, proceeding to burn their Chanel t-shirts (not the Chanel t-shirts!).

What has happened in Tanzania today is that the people have gotten sick of the reasonable prices that most fashion sells for and they are demanding cheap clothes that aren't fashionable. They are sick of fashion. Could this happen elsewhere? In America? In Paris?
This is all the fault of one man- the authorities here are only calling him one name- W- I just sent out a note to meet him. I am told he dresses well, in Dior Homme.

Now my team of assistants is forming a human wall around me, as the ChanelCopter comes to pick me up (there goes Boris. Ah, he was a good assistant. Lucky Chanel has a good legal dept., hmmmm?)

Reporting from the scene- Karl Lagerfeld.

Be Interviewed by me

I feel like interviewing some of the people who read this "blog" of mine.
I know it would be a bit hard, being interviewed by such a great person such as me- but I think if we could get past that, it would be quite interesting. After all, am I not Karl Lagerfeld?
So email me at fakekarl@gmail.com and perhaps we could do lunch and I could disect your brains, hmmm?

Dior phone

I won't even post it on here. So tacky. So cheap. Only $26,000! Might as well you know, buy 10 or something and throw them out the window.

Instead, I'll post a picture of me.

Happy Potter etc

I am told that Chanel (ie. me) is hiring Emma Watson for Chanel no.5. She is not. The end.

However someone said "oh Karl, did you watch TV and see Harry Potter?". What I actually do, is stare at the TV turned off and imagine the TV show. And one day I imagined Harry Potter. And I saw Emma. And then I was amazed that Emma really existed. And I reasoned that I create Emma by imagining her, because I met her after I imagined Harry Potter. So I must've created Harry Potter, too. All with thought power.

I wonder how many things I have created, with my thoughts.

We're (ie. me) going to use Emma for something anyway. I mean, I created her, hmm?
Don't know what.

I think we'll just use me for the Chanel no.5 campaign. Nobody dared argue with that. It's funny how people never argue with me, hmm?

ps. I was going to put a picture of Emma there but I put a picture of me there instead. Wouldn't want to hurt your eyes.

Someone says Fashion is ridiculous. The world doesn't gasp.

See this.
My response: So?

Isn't this stating the obvious? It's like saying the sky is blue, music is something you hear, and the journalist who wrote that is banned from Chanel from now on, hmm?

I mean, I do agree with this:
"I often find it staggering, having sat through a clearly bonkers or unoriginal fashion show - those by Gareth Pugh, Giles, Roberto Cavalli, Armani and Balenciaga spring to mind - when all the members of the fashion press are falling over themselves to rush backstage to pour praise on the designer."

But again, it's obvious. Notice she doesn't mention me. Because I am never ridiculous.

(I guess she's okay then. Someone send her a dress)

New Store Concept

New Chanel store concept:

Let's make a store in a rubbish dump. You know, where people put their garbage. With all the seagulls and rotten food and old cars and dolls with no heads. That kind of thing, you know?
We'll just shove some clothes on the dirt and dresses in the carcasses of the cars, and a few coats on the road for people to walk over.

And then we'll charge double for all of the clothes.

Brilliant, hmm? So avant-garde.

A Correction

During my reading of Everything To Do With Fashion On The "Net" today, I found this.

"We saw one young lad on our happy day wearing a T-shirt with the kaiser on it. "Karl! You're on my T-shirt!" he cried. "Yes, I see that," Karl replied, promptly flinging his arm around the lad's waist for the coveted Facebook shot."

I would just like to say this never ever happened, hmm? These people at this "blog" won't be interviewing me again. I've had them banned from all Chanel, Fendi and Karl Lagerfeld stores too.

I think anyone who has me on their t-shirt is a sad, sad person because they can't afford Chanel.

STUPID PEOPLE II

I have had it with these stupid people!

So I, Karl, show a collection I designed to a friend of mine. (Maybe we were more than friends, hmm?) . And he was like "I have to say that I don't really like it".
He speaks in italics, you see.

Suffice to say he is no longer welcome here, hmm?

Sadly, I can't actually send him some LV bags because he's not that stupid (but he has to be pretty stupid because he doesn't agree with my opinion, hmmm?)

I just- I just can't stand all the stupid people anymore. And I mean the stupid people who make up half of Chanel's customer base as well. "ooooh, look at my Chanel glasses", "oooh, I ride on a Chanel bike".
I don't need them. Chanel makes clothing for the gods. The gods.

They can all go buy their precious Louis Vuitton bags and eat their food*.

"Love", Karl


*Eating is a disgusting practice. I advise you not to.

Stupid People

I am in shock right now.

In the last half hour, I have designed 4 collections, drunk 80 bottles of diet Coca Cola, and paced this room exactly fourty seven times.

Why?

Because a very short time ago I was attacked by a man who called by designs "messy", "and not that great".
Can you imagine that?

No, of course you can't. You're not me. But try to.

I strongly suspect this person is hired by one of the other fashion houses and their vendetta against me. Nobody has dared to insult me since August 16th, 6.53 PM, 1963. So this is a shock.

Need another can of Coke.

I'm ringing up Marc at Louis Vuitton and getting him to send a whole lot of really ugly bags branded with "LV" in big bold lettering to this person. I bet they like LV. Because if they don't like me, they obviously have no taste.

I can't even begin to understand what it'd be like to have no taste. It is worse than bad taste. I almost feel sorry for this person, but I mean, can you even call someone like that a person?

Karl in the street

I was walking down the street today... the street is very dirty, I was thinking perhaps they should make disposable covers for the bottoms of shoes, so that they do not get filthy, hmm? (They could make them out of torn up Gucci, or recycled paper or something, its all the same, yeah?) .

As I was walking, I spotted someone who looked, and dressed, rather similar to me... only, not. Still I thought, "No one looks like me, I am unique, no?". In the blink of an eye, they were gone, but I did see someone, and after much thought as to how this was possible, I have concluded that it must have been a robot. A robot created by one of the other fashion houses to impersonate me (the idea that those incompetent "designers" would go to such lengths to steal my designs is almost humorous. They probably think they're clever).

So I called up one of my assistants (it seems I go through them quickly, perhaps they do not like the way I deal with unsatisfactory beverages?). I tried telling him about my robot discovery, but he was being difficult, and didn't believe me.

"wait, sir, are you that saying someone made a robot version of you?"

"Yes, and it was ugly, I want you to have this impostor, this... fake Karl, quickly apprehended, and then thrown off a cliff."

"but... robots don't exist, they're not ...". At that point, I hung up the phone. This robot problem will be taken care of quickly I hope, I can't have a robot pretending to be me, robots are slow, like fatties, mmm?

Come to think of it, I don't think it looked anything like me. But maybe it did. The maybe part is important, hmm?

Love, Karl.

Actually, I was at the funeral

People have been asking why I didn't go to Yves' funeral.
800 people went, they say.
The truth is the only interesting person there is Yves. And he is dead. (or is he?).
Out of 800 people, only one of them is interesting!

It's pretty hard to talk to dead people. Or people who aren't there.

They're wrong anyway. I was there. In the coffin. (Just like the bed I slept in as a child, hmm?).
Later my people dug me out again. While I was waiting I conducted a meeting via my Chanel phone (the one with the self-destruct button).

Yves has a funeral

Yves had his funeral today. I wasn't invited.
Nevermind he may or may not have faked his death, I can't really comment on that anymore, hmm?
The point is: I wasn't invited.

I do not like being ignored.
Heads will fall.

Oh, by the way. As I was walking out of the Chanel HQ yesterday I heard a girl say "drinking Coca-Cola is not very Chanel". She was gone before I could catch her face. Maybe she reads this, I don't know.
But I'd like to tell her that drinking Coca-Cola is very Chanel because I drink it, and well, I am Chanel.
I would like to have lunch with this girl (at least someone can be bothered to parody me when everyone is obsessed with Yves. "Yves this. Yves that".)
If you are this girl, email my email assistant at fakekarl at gmail dot com and we can arrange a time.

I wouldn't actually go to the funeral if I was invited anyway. Not the point, hmm? I hate funerals. All the attention is on this dead person and the person is dead so they can't really appreciate it. All the attention isn't on me.
I think the dead person should stay alive for a little while at the funeral to say thanks to everyone for coming. It is merely good manners.

Yves wasn't that great anyway. I'm better.

Lindsay Lohan

Lindsay, you are not going to the next Chanel collection, after I read this.
No mention of me anywhere.

She's a B-lister now anyway, hmm? Not very Chanel

Sex and the City, quite possibly the worst film I've seen in a long time

Sometimes, I dress up like the normal people. Like, no collar or glasses or powered hair or Dior Homme suit (although Dior Homme kind of is rubbish this season, hmm?) and I dress up in normal clothes. So I do this yesterday and go to the cinema and bring 20 Francs to buy a ticket etc. They're like "we don't use Francs anymore", "oh?", "yeah, not since 1999.."
I haven't used money since 1976, you see.
So I am having a little bit of a problem, so I just walk into the place where the movie's taking place. "What are you doing monsieur!"
"I'm going to see Sex and the City"
"Do you have a ticket?"
"one sec" (I ring up Chanel HQ, and pass the phone onto the man stopping me from seeing this movie. Do you think they have a man that takes the tickets or something? Surely, nobody would be rude enough to go in without a ticket. I can't stand that sort of rudeness).
"oh, monsieur Lagerfeld-"
"Please, call me K"
"K?"
"Yeah, K. Like agent K hm? Then people won't know who I am"

I go into this movie parlour and watch Sex and the City. Ladies all around me are dressed the same in mini-skirts, heels and some sort of top. This goes for everyone. 50 year old ladies, 16 year old girls. And one thing becomes clear to me: these women in Sex in the City are more superficial than me. These women are Chanel's customer base, and frankly, that makes me a little sad. It's one thing to be ugly, but quite another to be stupid as well. I could make Chanel protective toilet seats and they'd buy them by the dozen.

I mean, in fashion there's a lot of ugly people. It is the nature of the business.
Ugly people need good clothes to make them look good, hmmmm?

And then, and then I find out the city that Sex and the City is, is NEW YORK.
Are these girls in Sex and the City living in some kind of alternative New York than the one I live in half the year? How the hell can anyone live there? Wouldn't they get bored.

So: I assume the scriptwriters wrote this movie by the "drawing things out of a hat" way I described in a post about Marc Jacobs. ie. they draw the plot out of a hat, the fashion out of a hat- the words out of a hat.
I can imagine them sitting there in a room. "Okay, we've got four women, who shop, who wear expensive clothes, and have a bit of sex"
"do we even need to do the hat thing for this?"
"shit man, no. Just uhh, let the girls do a bit of this, a bit of that...you know"
"great!"

Oh. And the fashion: it was pretty rubbish for the most part. Chanel deliberately didn't give many clothes to this movie, but perhaps they could've used them.

Yves went too, by the way. He had a great time telling everybody he was dead and signing autographs. The French are used to this sort of thing.

The Old Guy Croaked

Oh, Yves Saint Laurent died.

I'm actually in Paris right now and some runner boy sent by Pierre Berge came running up to me a few hours ago. "Mister Lagerfeld? Mister Lagerfeld?"
"What is it boy, who sent you?"
"Pierre Berge sir. He says to tell you Yves Saint Laurent is dead."
"okay."

So that was that. No joke, hmm? I really am the best now (not that I wasn't before).
Yves is actually sitting in my kitchen sipping a hot cup of cocco. I tell him it'll make him fat but he won't listen. It was a pretty good faking, all things considered. The TV's on and we're watching all the reports about his life. "Revolutionized fashion" blah blah blah.

It's pretty funny. Yves is like "what are they going to say about you when you die?"
Oh, I don't intend on dying Yves, I say. It seems pretty boring.

Okay, this is a surprise

So they tell me that oompa loompas don't really exist.

I got to on the plane that was meant to be taking me to Africa and one of my people handed me a phone. "Hello. This is [unpronounceable African name]. I'm sorry but there aren't really any oompa loompas in Africa".
"What about Brazil?"
"No."
"Australia?"
"Sir, there isn't really any oompa loompas anywhere."
........
"But there must be! It said in this book I read..."
"Which section did you find the book?"
"Oh, it was just on the floor where I put all my other books that I intend to read sometime"
"I don't think the book is real, sir"
"How do you mean it isn't real!"
"It's fictional"
"You're fired."
"Sir, I don't work for you."
"Are you wearing clothes?"
"um. Yes"
"Then you work for me. You did anyway. I order you to get undressed"
"You're nuts, man"
"I do no not hear undressing!"

The phone cut out at this point. So I threw it at the nearest person.
I'm still pretty sure oompa loompas exist. They just won't tell me. I mean, I exist- and my existence is as improbable as oompa loompas. (Who knew people would buy clothes the cost a few dollars to make for thousands? The great mystery of fashion, hm?). Therefore if I exist so must oompa loompas.

The other "designers" must be paying the Africans off so they can get the designs I throw out my window again. I will find the oompa loompas!