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.