Paris so far

There's been a lot of celebration going on in Paris. All these "20th anniversaries". Martin Margiela's been doing what they do for 20 years- Martin, of course, is actually not human and hence why he does the whole "invisible" man thing. Logical, hmm? Of course, someone like myself isn't human either but I look kind of human, so it's okay.
The International Herald Tribute lady- Suzy; the one who Marc has a dartboard with her face on it which he throws cigarettes at when he gets angry (she gave him a bad review, once). The New York Times critc- Cathy someoneorrather- I can never remember their names, they're all so alike- she got pretty rowdy and started yelling insults down the street and poor Tom Ford.
Of course, Tom just wiggled his eyebrows and she stopped.
Anna provided the drinks for that party, and the Margiela one.

The actual clothes haven't been too interesting. I wonder what John's been drinking at Dior; I thought Anna had a policy of not-making-designers-alcoholics? Nina Ricci I kind of liked, despite the backlash from the so-called fashion press. There's only 3 good fashion critics anyway, and one of them writes somewhere totally out of the mainstream. The rest are a pack of liars and sheep who follow whatever.....well, whatever I say it right. How boring!
They're so horribly dressed, too. They think being a fashion critic makes them better than fashion. It's like some of those male designers who are incredibly tan and wear jeans and a tight t-shirt (I wonder who?). Non, a fashion critic should live fashion. Should eat fashion which obviously means not eating at all!

On second thoughts Nina Ricci was kind of demode. Everything, save Martin Margiela and Yohji Yamamoto have been so far. I guess everyone's waiting for Chanel? Again.
Don't get me started on Gareth Pugh. If I wanted bad architecture for clothes I'd go to middle-class America! Is this an aesthetic now? It is, but so are Hawaiian shirts, hm?

There was one show that was very Rock and Roll. Maybe my daughter will know. She is into that sort of thing. The rock and the rolling, the stones and the banging, the hip and the hopping. I am too, but I don't take notice of collections that happened in the 60's with Sgt. Pepper's Lonely hearts club band. These fashions have been! They have gone! I was alive then!
Ah, yes, the daughter. I will post pictures of her soon! It is more like, the 90's.
The 90s, hmm? I didn't even think I had sex then. I don't remember the 90's anyway. Kurt Cobain and all that. He's dead now, ja?

The daughter is adorable of course, hmm? So chic! Not mediocre at all. You will see more of her later. I think I'll tell everyone to destory the Chanel set and start over. Fun, huh?

Gareth Pugh

Non, non, non. This does not mean I approve. I just thought Mr. Pugh could use some flowers to brighten up his day, hmm? Especially after his show..

What just happened

"Karl, there's a visitor"
"Hm?"
"She says she's your daughter"
"But I'm gay."
"The 70s.."
"Oh"
"Should I bring her in?"
"Beam her up"
[she is beamed up, by the power of Karl]
"Hello father"
"My, my, my. You are chic, hmm? I hope you are not mediocre"

Are you all mad?

This woman is Aliona Doletskaya.  She is ugly.  She runs Russian Vogue, which as far as I know, consists of vodka adverts, ratty fur coats and articles about 'how to reinvigorate your Soviet workwear.'

I shall prevail, as usual.  Karl has already sent out Chanel operatives to Moscow to...  um...  'investigate.'  Yes, investigate.  (When Karl wants to, he can be quite frightening.  It's like a skinny German dictator in Dior Homme, wielding a Shu Uemura eyeshadow pencil - well, maybe not frightening, but you get the idea.)

GET ME A GIN AND TONIC IMMEDIATELY.  AND YOU TELL THAT BEAUTY EDITOR THAT IF I DON'T SEE NEW IDEAS BY TOMORROW, SHE'LL BE WORKING AT SALLY BEAUTY SUPPLY IN BROOKLYN BY THE AFTERNOON.

Got to go, adoring public.  Much to do as I AM EDITOR-IN-CHIEF of VOGUE.  AND WILL BE.  FOREVER.

Anna being replaced? Non, non, non!

See this. Let me tell you that Anna is not being replaced by some silly Russian.
Russia is esentially LV land. So is Dubai. But there is no "designer" labels in Russia- there is only Louis Vuitton. It is what Disney Land is to Disney. I don't know who this Doletskaya is but she's banned from Chanel stores from now on. She will not be coming into Paris anytime soon, either. My security forces have managed that. It is disguisting that some fat Russian would even be considered to replace Anna. It doesn't matter what American Vogue is like, hmmm? It just matters that Anna is the editor of it. American Vogue could be blank pages for all I care, hmm?

Nobody else can do what Anna does. Nobody else can hiss like she does. Nobody else can teach Andre a lesson.

I didn't even know Russian Vogue existed anyway. I assume it's a bit like the in-flight magazines that're on the planes where you buy a "ticket" and there's other people beside you.

Back in Black: Milan

I do rather like the man who takes these photos. He's like a well-mannered, well-cultured paparazzi. Imagine what the people on the left are thinking "Magnifique! Monsieur Karl!"...oh, wrong language. Try "Magnifico! Siˡgnore Karl!"
I'm on the street there hunting down Andre. Like the terminator, but chic-er.

KARL CHIC MUSIC COLLECTION, no. 1

I compiled a list of the most chic music, the most of the moment music. It is here. It will be known as "KARL CHIC MUSIC, no.1". There will be more!

I have designed a bag of Marc. You can see it above, both sides. I think it is truly witty, hmm?
You can buy it here. Chic for $25.99! As with all the items in the shop, it is limited edition, hmm?
Anna keeps going "Fat Marc, Hot Marc, Fat Marc, Hot Marc". It is time to lace the diet coke.

I'm going to a nude photoshoot now. Hedi's taking the pictures. I'm going to be nude but wearing my Dior Homme suit.

So-Called Teen Fashionistas

Teen fashionistas. The sort that say "Oooh, I love fashion". And then proceed to tell you about their giant Dolce and Gabbana belt and Louis Vuitton bag. The ones that go "what?" when you mention dear Martin Margiela to them. The sort that go "who?" when you mention Anna to them. Anna Wintour. This women is demi-god of fashion; and the so called "fashionista" does not know who Anna is.
I hate these sort of people. This blog has genuine teenagers interested in fashion reading it. I know this because the fakes and phonies I had banned from the blog.

Unfortunately Chanel's acquired a status of "desirability" among the so-called "fashionistas" who've never heard of Comme des Garcons. I am very upset about this. I do not want ugly girls who wear jeans-and-a-disgusting-white-t-shirt carrying a Chanel bag. I do not want some celebrity wearing Chanel sunglasses. It disgusts me. Chanel is not for everyone. In bold, hmm? Chanel is not for people who are fat, despite what the motivational T.V speakers say. You're getting fat watching the speaker on T.V anyway, hmm? Go out and run to Paris! From New York, from LA....oh, LA. LA the land of the "casual". LA the land of fat women, fat women like Paris Hilton and Mary-Kate Olsen. These fatties are worshiped there! Mary-Kate is adorable, but when was the last time she wore Chanel, hmmmmmm?
No, Mary-Kate is wearing Balenciaga and Marc. Disgusting.

I just sent a memo to Brad at security- all the security guards are called Brad. We're going to run Chanel with bouncers now. Who cares about the money, hmm? We have one trillion dollars in assets. We have more property than McDonald's (cue vomit) and the Catholic Church combined. We own a Tardis. We can time travel. We're bigger than Andre Leon Talley!

Anna and I went to a resturant today, by the way. Andre was there. They had a 3 hour long staring match. Through sunglasses.

Full of Mirth

This is hilarious.

I was trying very hard to not laugh.  I guess everyone must have thought I was bipolar, because I kept alternating between glaring at the fat black man I fired ages ago and laughing at the models falling all over themselves.

I particularly enjoy the comments at the link above.  My assistant kept reading them out loud and I was laughing so hard I fell out of my chair twice.  I may have also been the gin and tonics, but I am pretty sure it was the comments.  And since I've been so mirthful lately, I need to make it up by eviscerating a few of the commenters.

'I was SHOCKED at the skinniness of some of the models (Yulia Carmack) at the Prada show.  Those girls look ill and designers should not be encouraging sick models.  Such an outrage.  - Katie'

Katie - 

Kindly lose twelve pounds immediately.  I can feel your fat face staring at my assistant who is reading your comment to me.  And I would like to define comment in your case as misguided and uninformed idiocy.  Who cares if Miuccia likes them skinny?  This reeks of bitterness - were you not picked to walk at your Barbi... Barblizon... Babizone...  (you know, that fake money-laundering 'modeling school') graduation in 5th grade?  Poor dear.

'Hey Prada - why no black women or Asian women or Hispanic women? Is the entire world full of white, blonde size zero women?  I didn't think so. - Chicagoexhile'

Chicagoexhile (spell 'exile' right for Karl's sake) -

Really?  I had no idea.  My world is full of size zero women.  White and blonde notwithstanding - there are plenty of tan brunettes around Vogue.  Miuccia is a former Communist, dear.  She loves uniformity.  And it's not chic to be politically correct all the time.  It's called stirring the pot, I believe.

And with that, I must get back to stirring my gin and tonic.  I do love Tanqueray - it brings out my viper tongue.

Hissssssssssss.

Milan

Anna and I are in Milan, and Yves is disguised as a large moving piece of luggage (yes, he does read Terry Pratchett).
Went to the Jil Sander show. How pretentious can one be? No no- pretentious is not the word- the word is how basic can one be, and still be considered "genius". "It was a minimalist affair, no? Minimalism with frills. Anna was upset because Andre showed up. Yes, the Andre from Vogue that I fired. What was he doing there? She spent half the show giving him the evils.

Prada was hilarious. The heels! Brilliant. Finally the Prada women has learnt how to be funny. Maybe we shall invite her to the portable closest we've set up here. I spotted the models wearing the Karl t-shirts. So far, no undesirables have purchased the t-shirts- I've instructed Anna to throw acid on any that do.

(Spent the Jil Sander show watching the battle between Anna and Andre actually. I guess someone looked at the clothes)

Karaoke night

Children. Karaoke. Never do it.
Let's just say Anna isn't a dancing queen, hmm?

And I'm sick of all the "darhling's" that the mediocrities in the fashion pack give out. Do you ever here Anna saying darling? Do you ever hear Rei say darling? Do you ever hear Rei at all?
Using the word "darhling" too much is now demode. In fact all of you people copy my use of demode, too. That is désuet. Désuet! Désuet! Désuet!

Tips for Catching the Girls/Boys

Anna and I are sitting on the couch discussing this, so I thought I might help my readers by putting up these tips, this advice for catching the boys/girls.

1.) Start your sentence with who you are. "I am obviously Karl Lagerfeld, hmm?"
2.) Buy a fan, and fan yourself constantly when you see them.
3.) Have Vogue encoded with anagrams for this person: for instance, "I love you" becomes "Olive You"; as in "Olive You, the new designer at Dior showed a stunning collection last Thursday".
Of course, "Olive You" is really yourself under a pseudonym, and if necessary you may have to...bump someone off at a company in order to give "Oliver You" a place.
4.) Buy a large Chanel people catching net, and catch other potential suitors of this person. Don't try and catch the person you desire, hmm? Anna has found this makes them most agitated.

I've never really had any problem with all this, hmm? But maybe this is useful for those of you who do. Anna thinks being beautiful helps, and of course it does. Also being rich. Don't you read Vogue?

Well actually I don't read Vogue. I have it printed onto wallpaper and give the wallpaper out as presents. How terribly Andy Warhol! Does anybody read Vogue? I figure someone must do.
Well. It gives Anna something to do anyway and you do not want to see Anna with nothing to do.
Two words: Vandalizing delinquent.
Nobody remembers teenage Anna. Why? Teenage Anna does not exist. That is the official answer.

The other answer entails you going to abandoned factories in England and reading the graffiti on the walls. She was known as The Editor. How ironic, hmm?

Also, collection 2 has been released in the shop. See it here.
Some of the items are tres chic. Marc Jacobs brought all the totes. He came into the shop (don't ask me how he came into a shop on the internet) and said "I'll have all of them" and spent all his ciggy money on the totes. Then he sort of disappeared into blips and dots because he realized that he probably shouldn't physically be in a virtual shop anyway. He was found in his office with a Russian Folk dance troupe.

Shoes

Yesterday I was in NY at some boring dinner that Anna was hosting. Is it possible for a more boring guest list? There were all these 50ish women who thought they were 30 and dressed like they were 20. They all look the same. Blond hair, tight face, lips painted a ghastly shade of red; wears a dress with too many frills by some dullard who saw a couture show and said to himself "right, couture=frills". They talk like they're perpetually happy in this stilted manner. "Hello! Karl. How, are, you?".
Really- a comma is too long for their pauses between words, it needs to be a half-comma. But each word is pushed out with a kind of forced happiness which is dreadful to watch.

So I was at a table with all these women, and their husbands (who aren't even worth mentioning. They all seemed to be named "Henry" or "John". I'm not even sure if they were real. Maybe they're cardboard cutouts). And I'm fuming behind my glasses, so I decide to play games.

"Heheheh", I think to myself.
"What was that?" says one of the blond women. Anna calls them socialites. I call them the living dead.
Anyway, it seems I said that outloud and the blond women looked rather mortified like I'd just committed some great faux pas or something.
"Heheheh" I say again. It's a sort of sinister chuckle. I do it when viewing the new bags at Chanel. It produces good results.
"Oh...erm" says the Living Dead Woman..."do you like my shoes?"
"They're delicious. I could eat them up with my bare hands, rip them apart with my tounge and have Martin Margiela re-assemble them into something else." I say.
"Te-he-he-hee" titters Living Dead Woman. Like she knows something's happening but she doesn't know what it is.
"Could I see your shoes closer, hmmm?"
"Sure."

And she actually takes off her foot with the shoe on it, and gives it to me.
She takes off her foot.
"Hmm?"
"Oh, detachable feet. They're all the rage here in NY. A different set of feet for every different pair of shoes. One for the Jimmy's....one for the Prada's....you know" says she.
"Ah."

"So what do you think of the shoes?"

ANNA KNOWS BEST

Anna is very angry. Very very angry. Today she threw five assistants out the window. She keeps ranting about this "recession" and then realizes that she's wearing clothes worth more than most people's houses.
And then she forgets that and starts ranting again.
And it goes on and on. In a cycle.

So I designed the bag above just for you, Anna...darling. If worse comes to worse we can put all the chic people in the closet and that will be that, hmm? We'll stay there for centuries, being effortlessly chic, like the Japanese did. Isolated from the demode world.

You can buy it here. Anna's assistants have already brought ten. I would too, if I was them. It's a very chic bag anyway.

The Lagerfeld Top 50, Part IV

This is not shocking. It's McDonald's, hmm? But I would like to say that I support chic intellectual women. Obviously. Anyway, on with the Top 50.

I had Isabella on the Chanel Intercom (we have a world-wide intercom setup at Chanel. If I want to start talking in one of the New York Chanel stores, I can.
"what are you doing Dave?"
"....who? me?"
"YES YOU"
"Where is the sound coming from!? And I'm Natalie, not Dave!"
" WORK LIKE THE CAMERA, HMMM?"
*Worker runs out of Chanel store, probably screams to her boss that there's ghosts or somesuch*

It's worth it though. Maybe Yves should do this next time, he'd be a real ghost.
The sound comes from the Chanel bag that nobody ever buys, by the way. Ever wonder why nobody ever buys it? That's why.

So Isabella was on the phone trying to tell me about when we were great friends, and I said:
"No! Do not remind me! It is the past! Demode!"
But she really wanted on the list, and she's still very chic- so here she is.

Yes, here she is. Vodka. Coke. Laced. Karl BYE!
hmmmm?

(Oh, the CafePress is fixed. You can now get Anna and Alber and Yves and Karl things, for everyone, hmm? It's here.)

But really, I must tango.

rei film

karl has bath in suit
i make film of one of his ipod's
i cheat in this haiku

NY fashion week

So, I had Marc do a show for me from the closet, since Anna and I couldn't be bothered going to see his show. Alber was over and Alber's just too fascinating to miss. Lovely man. Good designer. Stunning work at Lanvin, hmmm? Don't tell him I said that- don't want him getting a big head now, no?

Marc's show was pretty good, delicious. Very edible, hmm? In fact, there were two good collections at NY fashion week.
Marc's and Calvin Klein. The Rodarte girls are lovely, they send me Christmas cards every year- hand made! But their show tried a little too hard, hmm? Nice girls anyway. Nice shoes.

For Calvin Klien we actually went out of the closet to see it and dressed up as a Zebra. A horse is not so fashionable, hmm? So we just marched into the show and sat in the front row. That's the explanation for the Zebra at the CK show- not that it was reported. Anna is powerful, hmm?

Anna, Alber and I have been watching "Gossip Girl". Before we had it acted out in front of us, but now that the closet's uber-exclusive, we cannot let just anybody into it. So Anna got an assistant to go out and buy a television set. Then we threw out a few because it is fun, no? So the assistant had to go back and get more.
"Gossip Girl" is very chic. Serena- she needs to visit the closet sometime.

I've been in the closet for a week now.

(note: we're having a bit of trouble with the shop- some items are coming up as others. ie. the text may say one thing, but the image is another. I've told an assistant to fix this and it should be fixed by tomorrow, hmmmm? Most of the items should be fine. But if an item says it has something to do with Alber, and it has an image of Rei, it's not right, hm?)

Pictured is a tote from the Fake Karl Lagerfeld Cafepress Collection number 1.

Anna is alive.

Hello adoring public.  I am back at my desk after a weeklong sabbatical, spent in Karl's new closet.  The Chanel sofa in there is very comfortable.

Anyway, one of my assistants told me that there were photographers all over my stand-in at Fashion Week.  With telephoto lenses and such.

Obviously, I am not using her again.  You might say she almost looked...  mortal.  How demode.

I am, of course, perfect.  Immortal people never wrinkle.

I fired everyone involved.  It felt good - I haven't fired anyone in a week.  That's a new record.  The longest time had been six days, after I fired the assistant that runs between the Art Department and my office.  You see, the idiot tripped on my new Chanel rug and beautiful half-finished pages of Vogue flew everywhere.  Vogue is not permitted to touch the ground or any unclean surface.  I was simply doing my duty as protector of the realm of Vogue.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to tell an assistant go to Hermès and buy 500 white scarves.  I use them to blot my lipstick.

(Fashion) People

Sometimes I go to a fashion district- in whatever city I'm in, and I get Nico from my personal makeup team to make me up as a homeless vagrant.

Yes, you heard right dear readers. A homeless vagrant.

And I sit on one of the seats that are provided wherever you go, and sometimes I comment on the people going past:
"You look chic, hm?"
"Dear, why are you wearing fake Chanel? That is so demode"
"Why are you eating?"

And the reactions are entertaining enough: "Ew, you smelly old man!", "gross!", "I wonder what Karl Lagerfeld would say about you? I know Karl you know!"
No- you do not know me. I've never seen your face in my life. (This is a common thing in the fashion industry: saying you know me. Some people even create photoshop images of them and I, together. )

And I'm saying this all in my normal voice. Yet nobody knows that it's me! Hilarious, hm?
(Apart from Rei. I was once in Japan, and Rei came up to me whilst I was dressed as a homeless vagrant and she said "Karl, why are you dressed like that? I thought you hated John Galliano?"
I said "shhh!" and Rei decided that it would be fun to join me as a homeless vagrant. So we went to the Comme des Garcons store and were kicked out. Rei had a sort of spasm-like laughing fit, and Anna came and fired the staff in that Comme des Garcons store the next day. "YOU DID NOT RECOGNIZE DEAR LEADER! SHAME ON YOU!")

Sometimes I don't say anything at all, and I just watch all the fashion people walk around.
They studiously ignore each other, with their noses upturned. Like they're trying to say: "I'M MORE FASHION THAN YOU".

P.S
The collection will be updated next week. Every week! That's true fast fashion.
(So go buy the collection now, hmm?)

COLLECTION

I have no time to be hungover, hmm? We have already got the first Karl collection ready.
(and thanks to secret agent Kolette*)

Here it is:







...And there is more, hmm? More more more! So new! So now!
Clothes for the babies and women and the children and the men and the dog!

So chic. Go get them.

*the reason Anna was not sick all over me after her 100th bottle. The women is not going to be in her office for a few weeks. Which is why she has a stand-in actor.
Tom's still here too. He's not actually drunk. Or hungover. He's just hanging around, I'm not sure if he knows where he is. Maybe he thinks it's a fitting, hmm?
And Yves has gotten a boyfriend, so I've got the flowers for the boyfriend ready already. They'll be sent off in a week. They're in the freezer. I think that'll keep them from dying, hm?

NEW COLLECTION COMING

Hello Children,

The party is over, Anna is hungover, and she's lying on the ground next to the 500 seat Chanel Couch.

So time to start working! I have literally millions of photos from the party. And I deleted the last FakeKarl collection from cafepress. No more of last season's collection.

In fact, you might be able to buy the collection tonight, hmm? They're so chic, so now, so very me.

Live from the Party

Hello Children!
I am doing another T-shirt collection! With my protege Karoline. She also is a very good bodyguard, hmmm?
Uncle is also making a CD..."Very Chic Music", and DJing, very soon.

Someone's yelling out "SECRET TIT" and some Russian women is saying "I PAY MUCH. I PAY MUCH!"

So two questions:
1.) Where is the secret tit? I have often mused on this, when I do model fittings and the models don't appear to have any...
2.) Who let this Russian women in here??
3.) Why are the underwear models on fire?
4.) Why is Anna's hair peroxide blonde?

That's actually four. The party is so chic, hmm? So now.

Somebody tried to touch me!
KAROLINE! ANNA! KICK THIS....TOUCHY PERSON OUT!

L'Anniversaire - Live

I am going to be hungover for months.

We bought the entire remaining worldwide stock of Veuve.  Every bottle.  We had to build an extension onto the closet for this purpose.  Currently, we are halfway through it.

DRINK MORE, PEOPLE.

Tom Ford has already taken off most of his clothes and is trying to seduce a few underwear models - which ones, I am not sure.  There are hundreds of them.

Rei and Yohji are trying to figure out how to hang upside down from the chandeliers - and Karl is taking photos of them.  Actually, no-one has seen Karl's face for five hours.  He's been glued to his cameras.  His assistants hand him a new one every twelve minutes.

Everyone is drunk - the beautiful people, the beautiful people's assistants, the assistant's assistants, the waiters, the underwear models, the DJs...  simply everyone.

WHO LET THOSE GIANT BATS IN HERE- oh wait, it's just Yohji.

I'm sorry, adoring public - I must go change again.  I have thirty wardrobe changes, one every twenty-five minutes.

Birthday

Birthday tomorrow. And the next day. We're having one for the southern hemisphere and another for the nothern, hm?

Guests are already arriving in the closet....there's Martin Margiela, or it might be. Yohji came back, apologizing profusely. Rei's already drunk and being all zen about it. Raf Simons is drawing on the walls in the corner...trying to keep him away from Anna, they don't get on. Marc's back from his show, and he's serving drinks. I kind of feel sorry for him, hmm? Old Issey Miyake is yelling at a wall. Alexander McQueen's outside banging on a window. Yves is singing.....attempting to. 

Tom Ford's even here. He keeps saying "how chic! how chic!". This is only the pre-party closet...

"KARL, WHERE ARE THE UNDERWEAR MODELS?"

That's Anna, of course. Her poor daughter. Actually, I think she's still in the closet. Um. So chic, hmm?

I expect good birthday gifts. Good children.

What story are we on, anyway?

I'm here in the closet, as it were, and I must tell you, it's quite busy in here. Full to brim with people so stylish, so chic, they don't even exist... I am dead serious. If closets were military hangars, this closet would be area 5---

--oh no, here comes the short Japanese fellow, and he is drunk... more drunk than any Japanese man should be, no, scratch that, more drunk than any man should be. Oh, I think he's trying to say something.

"I--gjgigh. I l---guhhh".

*gurgle sounds*

"ahii"

No. He's out, out like a light. Poor fellow. He tried to do a karate kick, but hit tripped over a table and fell. He's spilled some tea on one of Karl's suit jackets, and Karl is furious---

--Karl is taking off the glasses

Wait, wha-

no, what is he doing?


my god....


Interesting, I didn't know there were windows in the closet.

Goodbye Yohji. We'll miss you.

(I wonder what story we're on?)

Thou shalt always buy Chanel.

"What is this recession?" I said to Anna this afternoon, as we hung upside down in the closet. "I don't know- some poor people complaining I think" she said. "Again?", "Yes, again". "How demode".

"So demode darling".

"We're still rich, hm?"

"I bet my Chanel logo encrusted skull that we are"

"Doesn't matter then".

In other news, I got a protege. Protege Karoline.  She is very good, hmm? Already she has provided high quality...material. Like this.

I want them at the next Chanel party. Actually I want them now. Can you arrange that, Anna?

I expect them in the closet in say....10 mins. About that. They're so hip, so me, so now.

Karoline also showed me this chic girl. Style, children. Style. If I had a daughter- she'd be it.

Wait, do I have a daughter? No- I don't. I'm gay. 

Marc Jacobs sent me an apology bag. "I'M SORRY" it says. I sent him some flowers saying "KARL" on them. The "I'M SORRY" bag is currently storing some rings on mine, no? 

We just had Yohji arrive in the closet. Someone give him some drink, quick. 

Bored.

I am so bored with fashion right now.  Everyone is talking about this 'recession' (which apparently means some people are now poor?  How demode.) and how people need to 'invest' in pieces that will last them years.

Years?

My adoring public, only jewelry should last for years.  That Marc Jacobs dress from 4 years ago should be dead and gone.  Burned, preferably.  It's like an offering to the Gods of Fashion - 'Bring me Alexander Wang this year, oh Gods!'  Of course, Karl thinks he is God.  He might very well be - I mean, how could we prove otherwise?

Hordes of worshippers?  Check.

Dictatorial control of hundreds?  Check.

Mysterious and elusive?  Check.

Oh dear.  I am proving him right.

Anyway, I need to go train my impersonator - she's not getting my disconcerting stare right quite yet.

NO, YOU NEVER SMILE.  NEVER EVER EVER EVER.  EVEN IF THE DAMN QUEEN OF ENGLAND SAYS HELLO, YOU NEVER SMILE.  UNDERSTAND?

Dance of the Hanged Men

Anna isn't actually bothering going to NY fashion week this year. Instead she's got a replacement actor to act as her for the entire duration of it. (How very Andy Warhol of her, hmm?).

So we're hanging upside down in the closet, drinking our respective drinks. We might venture out to see Marc's show, but I don't know about that. He's very milk-and-cookies. I bet he has his milk and cookies every night whilst reading this blog, hmm? Thinking: how can I copy Karl today?

And then he doesn't send me tickets to his show. No matter, though. We can just walk on in, and sit down. Maybe we'll sit on the runway and I'll listen to one of my ipods if the soundtrack's not good.

I mean, I'm Karl Lagerfeld. Nobody will stop me, hm? They'll just stand back and look scared as this defrocked priest, this pope of the stylish, this god of fashion walks past. Then, of course, the groupies will occur. They always do. I cannot have a bath without groupies coming up through the drainpipes! This will slow down the show by a couple of hours as I hold court.

I think it's atrociously rude that nobody sent me tickets to this "New York Fashion Week". Although, we all know the reason, hmm?

They're all scared of what the Kaiser will think. It's like a adult's tea party- you call them "charity dinners", I believe. This is really just an extension of this- with a bunch of adults playing dress up, hmm? "Oooh, what will Karl think if he saw this? Would he even allow us to call it fashion?". 

So the goal is to keep me away from the hideous atrocities the New York kids call fashion. 

This isn't to say all New York fashion is bad. Some of it is quite good, hmm? But since I have X-ray vision behind those dark French-government engineered glasses, I can see your underwear. I see everything. 

To quote Rimbaud's poem "Dance of the Hanged Men":

"On the black gallows, one-armed friend,

The paladins are dancing, dancing
The lean, the devil's paladins
The skeletons of Saladins. "

Which is how I think about NY fashion week, or at least when Anna's laced the Coke with something a little stronger, hmm?

Wanted:

Wanted: Genius Designer.
That's me, hmm? What a strange reporter...
Why didn't he just write "Wanted: Karl Lagerfeld"? Because really, that's who he wants. He wants me.

The French Blue

Today, I strolled into the Chanel HQ, and upon arriving at Karl's office, I found myself dumbfounded. There was no office, no entrance, no perfectly emblazoned Chanel logos on every single cut of the magnificent blue diamond door. (Yes, Karl's office door is made of what you all know now as the Hope diamond. The Hope is just whats left, Karl thought the scraps were demode, so he gave them to the French, as was born, The French Blue). Anyways, the office was gone, instead, in its place, stood a giant closet. The only sign of it was a small wooden closet door with those little knobs and shutters, there wasn't even light on the other side. It was all quite creepy, scared the life out of me. I opened the door to find Karl hanging upside down from the giant closet's ceiling, like... a bat. I swear, he was drinking tea, upside down, I know, you're thinking. "Yves, this is not possible", oh, but it is, this is Kaiser Karl we're talking about here, anything is possible.

I tell you, my little pretties (I assume that since you read this blog, you are pretty...apart from that horrible anonymous person Karl told to go away. He is Karl, and is always, always Karl-like. In the words of the American cartoon character "homer simpson"- "doh!"). Karl has taken this closet thing entirely too far. Now, excuse me, I have to go find that door Karl has carelessly disposed of, For France!

(the man has no sense of attachment, I once saw him literally throw an assistant away. Into the bin with him.)

Karl Says: listen to them

I always thought "Simon Says" was a terribly demode game. It was invented in the 80s. Now it was anyway, hmm? So; let's play Karl Says. Begin! (At this point Rei would bang her gong, but Rei's away playing on Harmonicas she stole from Bob Dylan. She hangs around his concerts, and picks them up off the ground. At this point I think he's given up on caring about who-the-freaky-Japanese-lady-in-black is, anyway. Hedi does the same with Kate Moss's old boyfriend. Can't remember his name. He stalked him, though. Took millions of pictures. Stuck them on his walls throughout his house. Made underwear out of them.)

Karl Says listen to these people: Rachael Please. They're chic, though myspace makes me throw up. So it's probably best if you get a piece of paper, and tape the piece of paper to the bit that says "MySpace" and then listen to the music, hmm? Maybe those of you who listen to "Hey there Delilah" and buy scented candles from K-Mart and are still freaked out my that young man Marilyn Manson, will not like it. (Marilyn's a nice boy. But someone like, say, Sarah Palin-- she really does scare me. How she dresses. I try to stay non-political, hmm? But she- well, she is an exemption. That and Barbie dolls. Barbie dolls are terrifying. The clothes they wear manage to be never ever chic. And Bratz. Have you people seen Bratz? The proportions!)

Right. And there's Stefano "I never wore sneakers apart from when I wear new balance" Pilati.
There's an article in the New York Times in which he comes off as too pretentious for words.
Yves is rolling in his grave. Actually, he isn't. He's rolling on the floor. But this makes him look- how do you say- a little puppy-dog-like. How adorable.
Stefano's clothes are.....wearable for around the house, perhaps. He just should not speak. Cut off his tongue, hmmmm?

I fired someone! Well, kind of

Anna and I are working on a line of t-shirts called "K Angry Anna". The K's just there because my name is Karl, and it starts with K. So therefore, a line starting with "K" for "Karl" is going to be chic no matter what. "Angry Anna" means Anna is angry, but not in a demode way- obviously.

I walked right up to Andre Leon Tally yesterday and told him "You're Fired, hm?" Then I quickly took photos of his face. Then I deleted those photos because his face was as bad as his full-length purple coat and turban. And he was like "Whuuuuut????"

"You're fired."
"You don't even work here"
"Work where?"
"This magazine"
"So that's what it is. I wondered what all those people were doing walking around"
"Yeah..."
"So you're still fired"
"Anna!"
"I'm Karl Lagerfeld, hmm? Get me a coffee"
"Yes sir"
(he comes back, with a coffee)
"Oh, I don't drink coffee"
"What the hell man, I thought you were my friend?"
"Your clothes are not possible"
"They're came from.."
"NOT POSSIBLE"
"Par-par-par"
"NOT POSSIBLE, HMMMMMM?"
"Par-par-par-par"
"Spit it out, hm?"
"You can't fire me!"
(in my best calm-voice)
"I am Karl Lagerfeld. Go pack your bags. Do you have bags? Well, I don't want to see you in this office again"
(muttering under his breath)
"old man....hair....fire eyes....woof woof....paris...amy winehouse...chic?"

Anna, can you sort this out please? Aren't you proud of me for firing someone, hmm?

I'll just go back to dear Brad....

More Designs, hmm?

What kind of CafePress things would you people like, hmm?
I'm going to design some more. So, tell me what turns you on, readers.
What makes you lick the phone?
What makes you want to put your money into my leather clad hands, whilst I grope you because I am Karl Lagerfeld and I can.