Friday, August 8, 2008

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?

1 comment:

Vidal Wu said...

Bee, take those Prada stilettos and RUN!