Oh, what fun.

The amount of money we are spending on Karl's birthday party is outrageous.  I feel like we could buy a small Eastern European nation for this sum.

That might be fun.  Voguelandia.  We'd just raze everything and build beautiful monuments to the greats in shiny black marble.  Me, Karl, Yves...  and everyone would have to move, of course.  To get Voguelandian citizenship, you'd have to prove that you eat nothing and own at least three pairs of Louboutins.

Anyway, we have a lot of people scurrying about.  Building a closet in the scale that Karl desires is quite an undertaking.  We originally had Zaha Hadid working on it...  but she kept hitting on me.  That beastly woman.  That and when she showed us pictures of what it would look like, we couldn't determine where the door was.  She then pontificated on what the architectural meaning of a door is blah blah blah.  I had her removed from my presence and then Karl and I shredded the pictures and had a confetti fight.

Karl has already fired thirty party planners.  I am very proud of him - usually he lets me fire people for him, while he takes black-and-white photos and plays ominous music from under the table.

I must leave.  Karl invited every underwear model in the fashion industry and I can't tell any of them apart.  Too many beautiful midsections.

BOYS, COME HERE.  IT'S ROLL-CALL TIME.  YOU - YES, YOU, OVER THERE.  YOU'RE WEARING FAR TOO MUCH CLOTHING.

Birthday etc

Those birthday gifts sound lovely. Of course, I would like a Karl Bear for my birthday as well, hmm? As always, email me at fakekarl@gmail.com if you can provide this. Good children.

I've been busy with Anna planning my birthday celebrations. We're going to build a really big closet to hold the party in. Yves has been moping about his broken heart. "Fall in love with a ghost!" I say to dear Yves. Ghosts will never break your heart! "Be asexual!" I say to Yves, and he drinks another bottle of whatever it is he's drinking. Then I look at whichever underwear model is standing at the corner. They supplement statues, hmm?

Rei shouts "H&M!" throughout the house.

So, that Karl Bear, hmm? Repay Uncle Karl for writing this...blog.

(I gave Yves my Karl Bear that I was given, I'm just too nice.)

Uncle's Birthday

It is my birthday soon!
70!

What are you all getting me, hmm?

No, that is not a smile you see upon my face.

Hm

Her smell was not possible.
"I haven’t bought anything by that designer since my interview. There’s nothing about him that I wish I could be."
No. You cannot be a genius like me, hmm? You shouldn't even wish to be a genius like me. How pathetic and human.

By the way, I was very gracious towards her. She just wants a story.

Reply to Vidal, NZ, and Chanel

Vidal- Anna is loyal. Look at the Chanel tattoo on her back. She would not dare to defy me. Some of my enemies read this blog, and they know how my revenge tastes.
I think she would be out of a job- she works at that magazine place- if she jumped ship to Prada. Of course, Anna will write a post confirming her loyalty to me soon. Won't you Anna (Yes you will).

I love all you readers. Maybe. Well, I love some of you, hmm? I'd love you more if you gave me plane tickets and tickets to the NY fashion week shows. My collar is ready, hm?

Especially the New Zealanders. How chic. Karen Walker scares me, though, hmm? She came to the Chanel HQ once and looked out of place so we had to remove her. We do this to anyone who does not fit into the Chanel look, hmmm? We have a human-forklift. To remove humans, of course. Not made out of humans. No, that would be boring. Plenty of other houses already do that.
We use quilted metal.

I will not die, hmmm?

Some of you are sitting in your closets, wondering "what will happen when Karl dies?"
I am immortal, hmm? I cannot die. Does Santa Claus die? I don't think so. So this is what they at Chanel say when they say "it is all taken care of".
They mean in 100 years, yours truly is going to be still designing Chanel, hmm?

Now- to the post I linked to at the "now". Because the "now" is where I always am.
Cathy says:
"Part of the appeal of the Wertheimer brothers is that they’re so private. I see Alain Wertheimer from time to time up at Chanel—usually after most of the editors have cleared out of Karl’s studio—and you can ask him almost anything, except about Chanel. Horses, no problem. But he doesn’t discuss Chanel and of course he doesn’t discuss Lagerfeld."
The truth is this: the Wertheimer's don't exist. They are played by actors. Clever of Karl, no?
They're English actors who can do a good accent, actually. That's why they know about horseracing. But not about Chanel.
I've said all this before, of course. I own Chanel. But you know this. Cathy knows this.
I do not know what she is doing fooling her readers like this, hmm?

Here she gets it right:
..."and I really prefer not to think of the fashion world without Lagerfeld. It won’t be the same when he decides to call it a day—not as fun, not as intelligent, not as historic-minded. In an era of multibrands and luxury conglomerates, just think what this one family has done to preserve not merely a business but also a way of working."

Good girl.

And then she gives us a recipe for pie and we will just not think about this, hmm? Excuse me, I think I need to vomit.

Oh, and Anna really is perfect. I love you....uuhhh...umm...what is the word?....babe. How bourgeois.

Excuse me, I shall wash my mouth out.

Very good. That's sorted.

ps. I work best in black and white, hm?

NY? Tickets? Where?

Where's my New York fashion week tickets?
Really.
Where are they?
I know some of you have tickets you can give me, hmm?

I am perfect.

There was some nonsense in New York Magazine blathering about the 'style' of the editors of the different editions of Vogue.

I win, obviously.

I mean, look at the others.

Carine looks like a whore, Franca looks like an old hippie, and Alexandra is so fat it makes my stomach hurt.

MORE CHAMPAGNE, IMMEDIATELY.

I look perfect.

I always do.

Okay, I made him cry

Look, I made him cry. I do not like the emotion. The display of it. So demode. I...I just told him to see Anna. It's not that bad. I said "go to Anna's office, hm". And he started babbling about "the PRADA! The PRADA!". Then he started crying, which was appalling.
I don't actually know who he was.

Paris too

One of the frequent commentators here, Tom Ford/Vidal Wu asked why didn't I ask for invites to the Paris shows. How true, hmm?
So as per the New York Shows, send the invites to fakekarl@gmail.com. Accommodation and plane tickets are required too (my house in Paris is occupied by all my books, I've kind of filled up every room).
Wouldn't it be so chic to read my reviews of all the shows, hmm? My encounters with the fashion people, and so on.

I am going to play with Karl Bear now. He's a great friend. So chic, so much like me.

Another Interview With Me

I agreed to do an interview with this person because she smelt good. Read it here.
Please smell good when you read this, hmm? This "blog" I mean. Otherwise you will have to be removed.

Karl Bear, a story for children

Once upon a time there was a very chic land that looked similar to Paris but was not.
In it lived Karl Bear, and Anna Bear. There was many other people in it too, hmm? But Karl Bear and Anna Bear were the most chic.
Karl Bear was wearing a vintage Dior Homme suit jacket, shirt, and tie with a pin that had a mini-Karl on it. The pants, however, were by Tom Ford bear.
Anna Bear was wearing one Prada dress, because last week Karl Bear went over to Anna Bear's office and burnt all her clothes because they were demode.

"Your dress is so demode" said Karl Bear, clicking his camera at passing teenager Bears.
"Why am I in a children's book anyway, Karl Bear?" Anna Bear said, as she only has one child- Bee Bear- who lived in a closest.
"Because Anna Bear, I have declared that children's books are very chic"
"But Karl Bear, you say you hate children"
"This is a story for children like me. Children who wanted to be adult bears"
"Do you think there is anyone else like you?"
"No, hmm?"
"So you've got no market really"
"I consult with the bears daily" remarked Karl Bear, in that cool way that the more obese bears wished they could achieve.

One day Karl Bear went to a dinner. "This dinner is boring" announced Karl Bear, and the entire room applauded Karl Bear. Karl Bear got that warm fuzzy feeling one gets when one is adored by the rich and well heeled.
---
This is all of the story you are getting, hmmm? You will get the complete version, not really suitable for normal children soon. It will be released in about a month. Well, you'll have to buy it. It may have pictures, hmm? Although I think perhaps I may have simply a different photo of me on each page, because I think this teaches children a valuable lesson.

Karl Teddy

Me, as a teddy bear.
Of course, you people have already noticed this. I've got an Anna one made too, and Anna and I are playing with them, leading little meta-lives. We need assistant bears made for us, hmm?

Passive-Agressive

So as you have noticed, Rei wants to post here.
I originally said no. But then she went all Japanese passive-agressive on me.
"Karl."
"Hmm?"
"Karl."

Then she gets out this gong and starts to bang on it.
(BANNNG)
Then she sits down after crashing the gong with her bare fist.

"Do you want some tea?"
"Diet Coke".
"Tea."

And then it's gong time again.

Eventually I said "Okay Rei, you can post on it." Otherwise, she'd simply have one of her large bodyguards carry around the gong and continue to serenely hit it. This is why Comme Des Garcons is so successful despite nobody wearing the clothes.
"You will buy the clothes".

Oh, and Anna had some man called Nic redesign the blog. He kept waving his hands about and saying "FENG! FENG! SHOOEY! FENG!". I was disappointed that he didn't do some magic tricks.
I think the blog looks very chic now, hmmm?

Brad is at the top of this post too. So chic. So now.

oh. i am rei

went to h&m
bought a top, was very green
karl ate all of it

Karl, stop confusing the interns.

Karl totally bewildered all of my interns.

I sent one to get me coffee and she came back with a piece of chiffon and a homeless person.  And she was muttering in German.

I really need to get him out of the Closet.  He's been sitting back there all day, drawing all over last season's Galliano with a permanent marker.  He says he's 'editing.'

Yesterday's Calvin Klein model fiasco is still apparent.  His name is Garrett.  And when he walked in to the venerable offices of Vogue, it was utter chaos.  All work halted immediately.  Every woman and gay man (which is basically the entire office) had thought of creative reasons to be in his presence.  One of the male fashion editors even tried to do an inseam measurement 'to double-check for the next editorial spread.'  I had interns falling out of bathroom stalls, hiding under desks...  it was ridiculous.

But the piece de resistance was Karl's reaction:

"Hello Garrett.  I am obviously Karl, hmm?  Now take off your clothes."

Love, A bottle of Gin, and underwear models

On my daily reading of everything-to-do-with-fashion-on-the-internet, I came across this, on the 568th page that my butler printed off.

"What’s funny is that today when we judge big designers for their level of creativity it’s a little misleading, because we’re actually judging the strength of their design teams."

I paused for a second. Bartok continued to play in the background.

These places have design teams? How does this work- do they schedule a meeting for their design to be creative in?
"Okay! Let's be creative"
"John says that we need to design some stuff"
"What label are we designing for?"
"Dior."
"Oh, Okay"
"Let's have uhhh, some colours"
"Yeah, colours. Sounds good.
"Purple"
"Didn't Karl do some Dior sketches at Anna's closest the other day?"
"Yeah but he was joking.."
"Let's use those"
"Do you want to go to Burger King now?"

Actually, that is how it works. Oops.
Rest assured, I design everything at Chanel. I bet you don't. Well, of course you don't because you're not me. So I know you don't. Ha.
Even the toilet was designed by me. Pencils, telephones, everything.
Doorknobs.

Anna says there's a new underwear model here (I'm at her Office, spinning around in her chair. There's...what do you call them...interns? Those people who work unpaid for "experience". Well the "intern"...it sounds like a computer part. Hang on, I'll just ask the intern if she's a computer part-

"Are you a computer part, intern?"
"Yes...no...yes...no....ChanelFendiArmaniGucci...yes?"
"You just mentioned Gucci and Armani in the same sentence!"
"I'm sorry sir...do I get fired?"
"But you're not being paid. In my mind that means you're not really employed here, hmm? Which makes you a stalker of Anna, probably. So really, you're a stalker of Anna. Is that right?"
"Who? What? Ummm...I think it's so chic right now"
"Go wash your mouth out, girl. Now. Do it."
(she runs away)
"With soap!"

Ah, yes, soap. It isn't very fattening but I don't like the fact that they call it a cake of soap. Cake implies fatty food, and we do not do that here. Especially not here, in Anna's office.
Why does she have an office anyway? What is this place?
There's all these...people walking around.

Oh right- Anne Slowey. I see you commented on this little "blog" of mine a while back. Something about that stalker of mine. Zoe? Rachel. Rachel Zoe, yes. Hello Anne! Do you want to come into my closet? I saw an article about you and Nina the other day. Nina, of course, being that women from the TV that bred Christian whatshisface. I won't even say his name. It is so unappealing, so latex, so tacky. This is the article.
I'm inviting her into my closest because she knows who Boswell is. To quote from the article: "There are probably a handful of people in the entire fashion industry—Karl Lagerfeld is another—who could tell you who Boswell actually was"
So in the fashion of the teenage girls: "omg me too!". So come into my closest Anne. Anna doesn't bite, much.

Now- I was going to close this parenthesis at some point. Anna says there's an underwear model here and I'm not going to be like Anna here and be all "erm gee", hmm? There is an underwear model here and I am going to watch him and take picture of him. Then I'll take pictures of my shirt collars, as I do every month.)

There. Parenthesis ended. So chic, hmmm?

And Yves, I feel for you. Love is such a complex thing. It's fine when the other person doesn't know you love them. Secret love is fine, hmm? But then...when they know you love them, it becomes very much out of your control, hm? I'll take off the sunglasses and give you a hug. I don't just do that for anybody.
Paula said it well in her comment on your post, Yves. "I love you as a friend" is hard to say.
Of course, you've never done too much of that- have you? It's always been you in love.

Okay, enough of Karl being vaguely human, hmm? Get back to work. Lick telephones. Take some of Anna's alcohol.

Heartbreak

I thought I was going to write something here but I can't think of what.
Well, my heart's been broken by the one I love. How many of you have heard "I love you as a friend"? I know some of you will've, although Karl maintains you are all robots, I know better.

I wonder if Anna has some of that drink...

Anna is my name, firing is my game.

I just fired half of Karl's assistants for him - he was still in the closet with that odd Japanese fellow swathed in Yohji. The one responsible for the 'aviators' comment now works at a store called TM Jax? ... JM Taxx? It makes my head hurt saying it, so you can just figure it out. The poor woman is probably swimming through piles of last season's Sean John-

CALL P.DIDDY / PUFF DADDY / SEAN JOHN-WHATEVER-THE-HELL HIS NAME IS AND TELL HIM HE IS SO DEMODE THAT IF I SEE HIM IN PUBLIC, I SHALL HAVE MY DRIVER RUN HIM DOWN.

Excuse me.

I would like to bring up this little tidbit.

HOW

DARE

THEY.

They obviously have underestimated my power. Do they know that if I say McCain is chic, the vast brainless demode mass of humanity in the center of the United States will turn into my little zombies and cast their votes for that ancient crypt-keeper? Do they realize that if I run an article talking about Obama's supposed demode footwear choices, there will be zombie fashion slaves up in arms?

I am speaking to his campaign manager this evening to do damage control, apparently. And that will not be a pretty meeting. Lots of fun for me, of course. Karl will hide under the table and cue ominous music when the time is appropriate - he loves when 'life has a soundtrack.'

Goodbye, adoring public - the new Calvin Klein underwear model just arrived. I must make sure he is... well... I have to watch him... well. Never you mind.

A package

I just got a package from Louis Vuitton. It's in a brown box, with "LV" stamped all over it and what appears to be Marc Jacobs' drool somehow managing to stick to the packaging. How do I know it's Marc's drool, not some employee at Louis Vuitton who's in love with me? Not the postman who delivered this suspicious package? Not my butler who received the package from the postman?
Elementary, my dear vultures. Marc has blue drool. No other person in the world has blue drool.
After a Marc Jacobs show, you might go backstage and find pens that Marc has sucked on covered in blue.

I've not had an assistant open the box yet, of course. I suspect this is some sort of scheme to infiltrate the Lagerfeld lair. I mean, it is a scheme to infiltrate my humble abode. So I am hiding in the closet with Anna and Toshio Iwai, some Japanese artist I found wandering outside my house.
Actually maybe he was just walking past. But I grabbed him with my gloved hands, and said "come inside, young man". And then I put him in my closest and gave him some tea. I have a whole lot of Yohji Yamamoto suits from the days...erm..the days when I was..erm....
Anyway! I gave him some of those as blankets, and he turns out to be a pretty nice guy. So, we had some more tea and Anna sat on the ceiling with Bee, but eventually Bee had to go to a "sleep-over". What is she sleeping over? Anna is rather worried at this.

So now we have called in the bomb squad, who are investigating the package. As is common knowledge in Paris, the bomb squad is owned and paid for by Chanel, hmm? And we sit in this closet. I think I need some new doorhandles for this.

Aviators?

Goodness me, Aviators?
Aviators??

I never said anything about Aviators. Someone did not translate my writing on the paper I write this blog on properly. Someone is getting fired.
ANNA!

"What shall we wear instead???"

It seems in my post on giant, obese, circular sunglasses attracted a lot of attention.
Namely, hoards of you have been asking the big question:
What shall we wear instead???

Children of the yak and Coco's arrows; do not despair. There are plenty of other sunglasses for you to wear. Somebody even mentioned "Chanel last season"...as if they were trying to prove that indeed large circular owl-glasses are chic. I point you to the words "last" and "season". It is now this season, and this is another thing entirely, hmm?

I know...it may be a pain, a great struggle, to remove those oversized circular sunglasses from your delicate heads, but it is do-able. Honestly. Uncle Karl never jokes. I am not tricking, hmmm?

Aviators are fine in moderation. Like food. But I don't eat so therefore my sunglasses are eternally chic. I bet you have to eat though.

Tick Tock

Karl is still waiting for his New York fashion week invites. Also for any other invites to things that are chic. Karl does not like waiting.

Fashion Owls

So Victoria walks right into my office, hands on what remain of her hips with those big bug-eye glasses. Giant circular...things that take up most of her face making her look not so much like an insect as an owl that's had it's fat sucked out of it and all that remains is the bones. Her mouth is in a quizzical "O" and she appears to be attempting to frown. Apart from she can't frown so she gets her assistant (can you believe she only has one?!) to frown for her. I didn't quite catch what she was saying- and that's not the point of this post, hmm? Nobody really listens to Vicky anyway.

The point of this post is to tell all of you to dispose of your oversized circular sunglasses right now. It is demode, as you fashion people like to say. Throw them out. Melt them. Burn them. Lick them. Cook them. Just do not wear them. Please. Yes, I just said please.

I am that serious. So serious I'm saying please. I don't really mean please, but I hear that you humans like to hear things like that to do things. "Manners", you call them. Like commands.

You fashion owls you.

Child Throw

Hello wilderbeasts!, Yves here. I haven't written in so long, I nearly forgot this existed (Karl will kill me when he reads that).

Fret not, I have been spending my time wisely. I've taken up a new hobby called "KinderWurf", or "Child Throw", it's great for stress relief and exercise. I think exercise is important, and why not toss little children while you're at it?

Now I know what you're thinking

"This child throwing business is rubbish."

Well, you're wrong. It makes me happy, and very little makes me happy--- on second thought, perhaps it isn't such a great thing. One should never be too pleased with themselves, lest they become lazy.

On another note, you will see that despite the fact that I hardly ever write on here (being dead and alive at the same time is very tricky, That pale man in the dark robe stalks me relentlessly. I think he likes me..), my name is still on the top of the contributors list. Yes... weird. I like it. Karl does not.

Oh.. I must go now, Karl is furious, something about his pencil. Here we go again.

Yo

Believe it or not, I write most rap. Yo Karl.

Those bags....

Why did my company release my shopping bags as "handbags"?. Please do not buy them. In fact, buy them because it gives me money, hmm? But don't use them.
A real space-age bag is my brain, or my mother, hmm?

They really are shopping bags. I put old sketches in them, throw them out the window, and the vultures descend on them....ready to pick at any morsel.

Filthy, filthy designers. At least the models are clean.

I guess this is an apology, but I'm not apologizing for anything. Because really, it should be someone else doing that kind of thing, hmm?

"The Dark Knight"

I do not usually compliment the bourgeois "films" that you people-- you dirty, dirty people see at the cinema. My tastes move in higher circles, hmm?
I will make an exception for "The Dark Knight". A film about a man called the Joker and there's a few other people in it as well. What was Michael Caine doing there? He just sort of was there acting like a butler or something. Now children, children of the dirty filthy un-Chanel clad streets, I know Michael Caine and he is not a butler. It is a well known fact that Batman is actually Christopher Kane (the so-called "designer" of that little London company. Blueberry or something). So they got those two facts wrong.

But in the Joker-- well, in the Joker I find a highly likable man, a man of class, a man who I would gladly share my diet Coke with. Can we hire someone like that for Chanel? Does anyone know? Hopefully this won't go pear-shaped like the Oompa Loompa fiasco..

Anna darling, you got it wrong with the whole "Superheroes" theme for that little ball the New York people have. (Why wasn't Andy there? Oh. He's dead, right. I wonder who was breathing down my phone the other day then. Maybe nobody rung me up in the first place. Did any of you ring me yesterday? Any stalkers in the audience?). Anyway. The little New York ball held in honour of the tanned Italian man.
What Anna should really have done is the whole "Anti-hero" thing. Which is what fashion is about really, hmmm? That's the point. To show how much better you are than them, whoever they are. Most of those people who don't want to be part of "them" are "them" anyway, because nobody wants to be part of "them" but "them" needs somebody or else it is a huge cosmic joke. Anyway, somebody needs to buy the Chanel paper clips.

So we know what a collection in the near future- maybe the Karl Lagerfeld one this season will be like, hmmmmmm? With Chanel, I already have a theme in mind, but I guess one can always move around things here and there because I'm Karl Lagerfeld.
Well actually, half the Chanel things are made already. Anna will buy them. She buys everything.

But I might re-do Chanel, hmm? The whole "V" phase is demode now. V for Vendetta, more like, hmm?

On second thoughts, maybe "V" is not so demode. We'll see. I can see Brad, myself. If you like Anna, I'll see you later tonight. Sniffing Coffee beans at 5 AM in your closest? Very chic.

Pencils and John

Hello Children!
It is Karl!

Today I rung up random people and shouted "CHANEL!!!" into the bit where you talk. Then I licked the bit where you talk forming the Chanel logo. Then I threw the telephone out of the window. THEN I got down to business:

This man:
Mr. Pencil-Stealer. Pencil Thief. My assistants captured him. He's in Anna's closet, locked up with that daughter of hers. Buzz. Queen. Bee- yes, that's it. Bee. I can't imagine that they're getting along too well, Anna says he pretends to be French these days. "Oh I amm zJohn zGalliano, yess". He designs for Dior or something. Dior is so out of date, so stuck in the 1950s. "KEEP THE WAIST IN! ZE WOMEN IS AN HOURGLASS." He forgot to mention that the customers of Dior are all over 50, hmm? For the couture, anyway. (Which I design- they're jokes I share with Rei. We send each other ridiculous designs and people like John pick up on them and steal them. This is the basis of most couture today, hmm?).

So after much interrogation "I do not have zis pencil you speak of", "what pencil??" "I do not speak zee English", we got the pencil back. In is now back in allied hands. The world can rest at peace again.

(And yes, astute readers. I have had my pencil taken away before-as you may notice if you read back far enough. The pencil is very important, hmm? Martin Margiela sells a replica of it for $5000, on demand only)

The Lagerfeld Top 50, part III

Anna Wintour.

(me)

For obvious reasons. I look fantastic, as always.

I just like Tanqueray, that's all.

Hello adoring and somewhat annoying public,

I will be addressing some issues in today's post.

1. Everyone keeps whining and asking about whether I'm going to be fired and whatnot. No-one can fire me. I am Anna Wintour. I do the firing, thank you very much. And who cares if Teen Vogue's sales are down? That trash barely makes enough to cover my wardrobe expenses (that's obviously why I started it, as the only teenager I like is my gorgeous daughter). The word 'teen' makes me nauseous.

BEE, GET YOUR MOTHER MORE ICE.

2. I am not an alcoholic. Donatella drinks twelve bottles of champagne every day, and no-one thinks she's an alcoholic. I think it's because she's Italian - everyone expects Italian people to drink a lot. Armani can empty a bottle of grappa in four minutes. I just enjoy a little gin-and-tonic or a little Veuve once in a while. I mean, it comes free in cases from the people who make it, so why not enjoy a little of it?

3. Andre Leon Talley is officially on my do-not-speak-to list. He showed up to the offices wearing a skin-tight black tshirt, black wide-leg cargo things-

I JUST SAID THE WORD 'CARGO.' SOMEONE CALL MY DOCTOR - I FEEL LIKE MY STOMACH IS GOING TO BURST.

I apologize. Anyway, these hideous pants, a large beaded African necklace, women's lavender Tom Ford sunglasses and TURQUOISE cowboy boots. The visual combination of all of this caused me to lose my appetite for three weeks, which explains a lack of attention to this little project of Karl's. I promptly took away Andre's expense account, which accounts for his little mishap while trying to purchase man-thongs at Maky's... Masy's... You know, the demode store that starts with an 'M' and interrupts my Thankgiving drinks- um, dinner with their god-awful parade. Mr. Talley is demode.

4. Karl hasn't been around the office in a while. I think it's this Brad person. I am rather worried, as Karl tends to get obsessive easily. I got a call from his assistant-in-charge-of-calling-me explaining that Karl had rented Versailles out for a week for a shoot with Brad. The connection was terrible, but before the call was dropped I could make out the words 'naked,' 'velvet,' and 'Napoleon.' I am terrified.

5. That is all. You may depart.

BEE, GET OUT OF THE CLOSET. I SAID, NOW! FINE, FIVE MORE MINUTES. IF YOU TOUCH THE NEW PRADA STILETTOS, YOU'RE GOING TO YOUR ROOM FOR A WEEK - YOU HEAR ME, YOUNG LADY?

The Lagerfeld top 50 (part II)

Bob Dylan:Bobby, Bobby, when you were in Paris with Yves and I, they were good times. Of course, not as good as the times now because otherwise there'd be no point in living, hmm? But I can't compare then to now, so fetch me a red telephone!
You used to sing my lullabyes, or at least that I think they were. As I lay in my big brass bed, you stood beside me singing some words whilst Yves got high on a lolipop, or cabbage.

Do you know anybody else stylish? Of course Yves, myself and Anna will be on here later...but you fashion people, you fashion people are hardly ever stylish. If you were, you wouldn't need to buy designer all the time to affirm you're faux-stylishness.
I know how you think:
"If I have my Chanel bag with my Fendi trenchcoat and my Karl Lagerfeld pants, and my bra, and my Chloe bra, and my Prada breasts....then I'll be stylish!"

No no no. Yes, it's important to own some Chanel and Fendi and Karl Lagerfeld. But not for style, darlings. No- you own these things for your soul. They are soul-food.
Style is something in the wind, in the sewers, in the shoehorns. You must build a style-net, like a butterfly net, and catch style and attach it to yourself. This is why I always wear something- a badge, a broach, whatever, on my tie. To keep my style attached to myself.

The Lagerfeld top 50 (I)

As I bathed in my bath of Champange today I started think of who would be on this list, The Lagerfeld top 50. Here's the first 3. Karl does not rank. The stylish do not bother with human tasks such as this.

Chan Marshall:
Oh Chan, the way you put your fingerless-gloved hand on mine, the way your fingers touch my leather, the way your soft young-people hands feel on my fingers. So Chic. So very monochrome. So very Karl-esque.

Andy Warhol:
I know he's dead. Very dead. But I can still hear him breathing down the telephone with his little glasses on. How did I know that he had his little glasses on? Well, you just knew.
Andy with his one word conversations. Chic.

Rei:Oh, nobody may wear your clothes darling but you're the robot-queen of black. I want to lick the black in that photograph. Black is best, children. I think I will have another bath, in black water with my sunglasses and suit still on.

Why Anna was (is?) hungover

Anna: "Look Bee, it's Karl from Champange land!"
Bee: "Why are the Flowers on my dress moving, mum?"
Anna: "Or am I pointing at how demode someone is today? I really can't see too good"
Bee: "Are you a BUSH, mum?"
Anna: "Oh it's Amy Winehouse. Where's Karl??"
Bee: "I'm in love with a bushhh."
Anna: "I think my bob needs redone. Like a stamp"

Love and the letter P

Somebody asked who I was in love with- I'm in love with a girl starting with P. I'm not going to say her name, because Karl thinks that she might see this because apparently lots of people read this- how do you say- blog? Mm, blog. I don't like the word blog. Let's say, journal. No- journal sounds not too chic. What would Proust call it?

Maybe I'm in love with her. You know how it is. You dress her in your clothes, you sketch pictures of her, you polish your shoes and get a wig for your pigs. I don't know what love is anyway, I invented it.
Before me, there was no love. I, Yves Saint Laurent created love and sold it to the masses, who now ignore my clothes and buy clothes that I won't even pronounce.

Anyway! Karl, Anna and I are going to create a top 50 list of the most stylish people ever.
You will see the start tomorrow, maybe. It's a reply to (as Karl likes to say) the demode Vanity Fair thing.
Oh, Karl says this: "Yves darling, it is not a reply to the demode Vanity Fair list. It functions on it's own, like a beatle or The Beatles, or myself!"

Granddaughter

I think this is my granddaughter or something. I can't remember why I was dancing with her. Where am I. Where was I? Does she dance well? Where's my pencil???

Fashion news

I have a complaint to make. About fashion news: namely that it's boring.
Please fix this. I can only do so many things to make it interesting; yet I see you fashion news people don't report on everything I do anyway.
For instance, what did I have for tea last night?
Of course, I had nothing. But I still had a desert made which I promptly had delivered to Bob Dylan's house. That's more interesting than "Karl Lagerfeld launches new perfumes".
Everybody does perfumes. It took me one night to formulate all those perfumes, have the bottles made, and take the photos. It was just a rainy day.

Uncle Karl needs to recharge now. Anna is hungover.

Has anybody seen this man?

Has anybody seen this men? He stole a pencil from me. I'd like it back. If you see him, please tackle him and find out the whereabouts of my pencil.
Just look at him.That unshaven face. The junk-store necklace. That greasy, freckled skin. Looks like a common criminal to me.

Some young designer

A young designer (or is this Yves playing games again?) has sent me his/her sketches. I personally approve. What do you readers think, hmmm? They're here.
Feel free to send me your sketches, "designers". Uncle Karl will put them up here for the, ahhh, judgement of you creatures.

But if I approve, nothing else matters, hmm?

The Fashion Time Interview

The excellent Fashion Time Magazine interviewed me and also gave me a wonderful introduction. Read the interview here, and read the rest of that site whilst you're there, hmm?

Love

I want to write something about Love, because that's something that's been on Uncle Karl's mind lately.
In an interview recently I said it means "everything" and before that I've said it means "nothing".

The truth is that "everything" is really clothes. When you break up with your boyfriend or girlfriend, as I'm sure many of you have had the painful experience of doing, you still have your clothes to hold onto.

I was sitting on the roof of the Chanel HQ today looking at my 2006 Dior Homme jacket, and said to it: "we've had some good times together, hm?". And then I looked at the stitching and saw a reply. An answer.
When you look at the Chanel logo, it talks to you. That's why people buy Chanel: not because of my perfect, impeccable design but because Chanel talks to people. I enjoy going to my current wardrobe and feeling the fabric, the seams, the logo of the pants and shirts and collars. I enjoy licking my sunglasses. I enjoy eating the old ties I do not need anymore. No calories.

So that explains why I put the Chanel logo on so much of the clothing I design: to be a friend to the customer, the wearing. I am a pimp whoring out his prostitutes to the general public, so they can have sex with Chanel. They can have sweet, hot, passionate sex with the Chanel clothes.
Isn't that great?

Now the problem with Love is that someone has to love you back, hmmm? Secret love is fine- I've had plenty of it. Plenty of you have it for me. You have Karl shrines in your houses I bet, in the living room- the centerpiece- so when guests come over they can admire your devotion to me. Sometimes, I creep around Paris at night and take photos of the shrines you build for me. I keep them in a little leather book in my underpants draw. Tres chic, hmm?

I've loved some, too. I am somewhat human! The secret ones will never know, of course. And the ones that I did- have a relationship with- well, they knew alright, hm? And then....they end.
I am so hip, so in the future, so blinkin' thinkin' sketchin', that it's never my fault.
I adore the people I fall in love with. I never do anything wrong, hm? Such a strange world we live on, and in.
(Note to self: get wigs for pigs).

When they said they adore me back, oh, Karl does love that. I miss that.

Anna thinks that it's because I'm not mean enough. To quote: "Karl, you need to be a bitch. Look at me- people love me! Because I create desire for them. Sparks, Karl, sparks".
Is that true? Am I too nice? Why am I asking you, anyway? Who is you? I can't even see what you're wearing! Never trust a badly dressed person, good advice for life there. So many badly dressed people in fashion.

Ah, love. The mystery.

Yet another interview

I'm "horribly offensive" now am I? Lovely.
A new interview claiming this is here.

Not Demode

At my "CafePress" you can now buy a mug that says "So demode", and a t-shirt that says "so demode". You should buy them, to avoid demode-ness.

So go, spend your money! And make Karl happy! Good children.

My Cafepress.

NY fashion week

Children, Uncle Karl wants to write about New York fashion week.
Send me invites, tickets...that sort of thing, hmm? Accommodation and plane tickets would be good too. Karl does not pay for these things.
Email me if you can help with this, creatures. And you will become one of the favoured ones, one of the beautiful. You will be free from being demode. And we will see posts about the shows and all that, hm?

fakekarl@gmail.com is the email, as always.

Love,
Karl