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.