"Free Dress"

My daughter's school (yes, school. How demode, hmm? I never did this "school" thing. The teachers dressed badly. And why should I be around people I don't like, hmm? Why should I?)
Anyway. Jane's school had a "free dress day" which when in my day indicated going to school naked. Not that I went to school. So I went to the studio naked instead. We all did. All the beautiful people, naked and beautiful. How chic!
But at Jane's school "free dress day" means that they can dress however they want, which implies some sort of uniform. I refuse to look at Jane when she is in uniform. It could hurt my eyes. It would hurt my eyes.
Frankly, I don't know how she gets through the day wearing that thing. And having to look at other people in the same uniform, too! It's inhumane. It's an atrocity.

So, she dressed well for "free dress day" as she always does. But her school won't let her wear heels! What sort of freedom is that? What sort of freedom is it, when one cannot wear heels? What sort of WORLD are we coming to, hmmm? I realize that the world has some pretty horrible things in it, but this is simply oppressive.

Now, I think we should take action. And when I say "we" I mean the chic people who read this blog. I want you to get your best pair of heels on, right now. Go, do it. Go into your shoe closet (which is ideally located inside your bigger closet) and get them out, and put them on, and stand up and say "I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!"
Scream it out of the top of your little lungs. Thrash your Chanel purse around as you say it, beat your sugardaddy with your Chanel purse. Get your heels and stomp the damn ground with them, break your Italian tiles with your itty-bitty pin-like spikes of your heels, and write with your lipstick on the walls of your house: CHANEL.
Say it. "CHANEL CHANEL CHANEL CHANEL."

It is outrageous that Jane may not wear heels. It makes me almost feel emotion. Almost.

KARL TRICK OR TREATING

So tonight Anna and I went trick-or-treating. It's Halloween or something? Anyway. We went trick-or-treating. Here's how it went:
ANNA KNOCKS ON DOOR:
Soccer Mom: Hey kids! Want some cand-
Karl: TRICK OR TREAT!!
Soccer Mom: What the fu- I mea- WHAT ARE YOU.
Karl: I am Karl Lagerfeld!
Anna: And I'm ANNA WINTOUR.
Soccer Mom: Oh you CRAZY KIDS! Pretending to be world class fashion designers and a magazine editor. C'mon, where's your Nintendos...shouldn't you be dressing up as a witch or something?
Karl: Witches are demode.
Anna then makes a screeching sound like a penguin being ripped apart by Anna's bare telons.
[Anna and I run away]

Karl: HELLO! TRICK OR TREAT!
Rei: Oh hi Karl
Karl: Oh it's just you.

[after a cup of tea/diet coke]

Anna: TRIIICK OR TREES{Pasf=9wakAAT
Karl: You're drunk.
Anna: Um...
Karl: You're not even at a door. That's a tree.
Anna: Ohh..

Talking Clothes

You know, Jane's best friends are clothes. She told me so.
We were hanging upside down in the closet today and I said "Jane, do you ever talk to your clothes?"
And she said "Yes. They're my best friends."
"Oh you are like me, aren't you?"
"Of course"
Then the Junya jacket spoke up and said "Jane, want to wear me today?"
"Mm...Maybe. I thought you wanted to go to that Ball with the Comme des Garcons top?"
"Yeah...but I think that plan might be off" said that said the jacket.
"Ah", says Jane.
"I love you" I said to Jane and then I felt guilty....my hands started to sweat in my little leather fingerless glove; what was this sensation I was feeling? Is it....is it chic?
The Tom Ford suit I was wearing said "Yes, it is chic Karl!" It's so enthusiastic.

I thought back to that time where I ate a potato chip with my dear friend Patsy; how did I feel then?
I felt GUILTY.
But Jane talks to her clothes, so surely this......"love" is chic?
Gosh, her best friends are her clothes...so it's chic.

Of course it's chic. Love for people who talk to their clothes; and whose best friends are their clothes is chic.
I am Karl, therefore I am chic.
See that? Philosophy, right there.

The most Chic t-shirts ever

Hello chic and not-so-chic ones.

FakeKarl is collaborating with a label to produce the most chic Karl t-shirts possible (they're very chic). They are limited edition and handprinted. They will be sold in the webshop of the label, and possibly elsewhere...

Keep your sunglasses peeled!

CafePress; Demode

I have found CafePress to be demode, and therefore there is no more Karl's CafePress. It is gone.
I did say they'd be limited edition. So congratulations to the people that got something from there whilst it was still up, hmmm? It's like a pop-up store!

Something else will be coming soon....

Karl you got it goin' on

Anna: Karl?
Karl: Yes?
Anna: Your last post...I think you showed a bit of emotion in it?
Karl: A little.
Anna: It happens to the best of us
Karl: I think I had 14 followers, hmm?
Anna: And?
Karl: Now I have 13
Anna: So?
Karl: Unlucky number
Anna: Let's throw those plastic cupcakes at people
Karl: Could you....lace my coke?
Anna: Anything for you Karl
[CUE LIGHTS DIM]

This is not satire

Rei's very annoyed at some of you people, you know. She's been smashing plates all over the place; how demode. She even deleted her post. Somebody said it wasn't "amusing", hmm? What do you people think this is? An amusement blog?A humor blog? Satire, maybe? Gosh.
This is Karl Lagerfeld's Guide to Life, and it is very serious, hmm? Very serious. I am not joking around with this. It is a serious guide to life. I don't know what some people are thinking...saying it's "amusement". It's bizarre, no?

So. This very serious blog is not in fact, racist. That's a very serious allegation, right there. All we (and it is we) are trying to do is to make the world a slightly less demode place by use of my chic instructions. I have never, ever, made a joke here and never will. This is not a joking matter; life, hmmm?

However. We shall give you one last chance. Please imagine that sentence in my thickest German accent possible. For the tools that read this blog; go away. You are demode. There's only a few of you but if you can't take a guide to life seriously, and IT IS SERIOUS (see: I even wrote it in caps to show how serious it is), you should go look at Anna's little magazine.

This is not satire. I am not joking, hmmm?

Gosh. Emotional whores. Gross.

Emotions

You know, emotions are so overrated.
"Ooooh I feel this! Ooooh I feel that! Oooh I feel you!"
They're demode, hm? You can't do anything with them. I don't care what you feel, either. Unless you are feeling me, in which case take your hands off me (that includes you Tom Ford).
Don't take the doctor's advice; go on and suppress your emotions, like me. Put on sunglasses and you'll be fine. Hoist up those skinny jeans and you'll be fine. Don't eat and you'll be fine.

I function perfectly. You see this perfectly chiseled face? No, not mine- Brad's. That's the sign of a perfect life. I dole out emotion sparingly. Emotion is not free. When I'm sympathizing with you I could be sketching another collection. You'll be fine: you know that, I know that. Don't be an emotion whore, hmm? I mean...prostitutes earn money from whoring, but you do not.
So. Being emotional is like being a whore. Go and sketch or something when your boyfriend breaks up with you instead.

Emotional whores, eww.

Secondly, there is this "Love" thing. Where you might love someone and they might love you but you're too scared to say anything to them. This is a problem. Just wear the black glasses.

That is all.

Karl Facebook

So it is young and hip to get one of these Facebook things, and it makes people think you're their friend or something. I'm not sure what it does....but Jane told me to get one, hmm?
So here is my "facebook". Add me if you want. It is modern, hmmm?

KARL'S IPOD MIX no.1

Hello Children, here is KARL'S IPOD MIX no.1, off my 325th ipod.

"Am I Demode?"

Karl: Hello there, little Jimmy.
Jimmy: Hey Uncle Karl!
Karl: I hear you want to know if you're demode or not, hmm?
Jimmy: Gosh gee, yeah
Karl: Well Jimmy, why aren't you wearing a Chanel skirt?
Jimmy: Mommy said not to wear a Chanel skirt.
Karl: Oh, but Brother Marc does.
Jimmy: Gee, he does?
Karl: He does.
Jimmy: So Uncle Karl, am I demode?
Karl: Yes.
Jimmy: But doesn't my gosh-darn-all-American cuteness win you over?
Karl: No.
Jimmy: Gee Karl, what if my Mommy cooks you a nice apple pie?
Karl: I do not eat plastic, hmm?

Jane (my daughter): Am I demode?
Karl: No.
Jane: I love you, daddy.
Karl: I . . . love you too
Jane: ...?
Karl: This "love" thing is weird. I feel my temperature rising a little.

I'm baaaaack.

I apologize for the absence, adoring public.

I was on holiday in the South Pacific with Bee and Karl's beloved Brad.  He makes an excellent cabana boy.  As a result, Karl is rather angry.  But I'm sure he's moved on to some other pretty face.  He's been ranting about some new young thing or whatever.  I really can't keep up with his obsessions.  If I did, I would be as crazy as he is.

I would like to talk about this.  Of course I went to the debate.  I adore that Obama chap.  The issue of my lack of a front-row seat simply has to do with the fact that McCain smells like a nursing home and simply thinking about it makes me retch.  I had to be several rows back in order to not vomit all over every single demode person there.

BRING ME ANOTHER BOTTLE OF PELLEGRINO BEFORE I BEHEAD YOU IN FRONT OF YOUR PARENTS.

Also, let's have a quick chat about this Palin woman.  How in Karl's name did she manage to spend $150,000 on clothes and still look so utterly demode?  That much money could buy me about five or six dresses (when Karl gives me the friends-and-family discount), however I realize some must, how do you say, stretch their money a little further.  She could have shopped at H&M and been better off.  She looks like she went through Hilary Clinton's trash two years ago.  And don't even get me started on her accent.  It makes me gag.  Anyone who works at Vogue who has any sort of accent gets sent to London for two months to unlearn the horrors that the Midwest (and apparently Alaska) does to the English language.

Brad's accent is fine, though.  His delightful Missouri drawl lulled me to sleep... uh. Lulled me to... Whatever.  I can't really come up with an excuse.

KARL'S IPOD IS SOON TO BE LICKING YOUR EARS NOT LIKE A DOG

KARL LAGERFELD: THE IPOD IS COMING. KARL'S IPOD CONFIDENTIAL. THE IPOD LETTERS. WHAT IS REALLY IN KARL'S IPOD? WHAT CHIC MUSIC IS KARL LISTENING TO TODAY? WHAT IS CHIC? WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE (well who cares anyway, hmm?).

ALL WILL BE REVEALED IN THE UPCOMING: KARL'S IPOD MIX. IN A FEW SHORT HOURS! WAIT, CHILDREN, BEFORE YOU BURST WITH ORGASMIC PLEASURE.

Selling my Soul, again

Hello Humans.

I've been asked by this person called Naomi to plug some new shopping website. Now, this Naomi is not the model Naomi who most of you know in some form or the other- she may have had a one night stand with you, chucked a telephone at you, chucked a television at you, chucked a bank-safe at you, chucked a refridgerator containing fudge and only fudge, chucked a supermarket at you containing at least 250 packets of cigerettes, chucked an H&M store at you containing five different versions of Kate Moss, the Sweedish chef, and plastic Mr. Rogers. Or you may be friends with her.

Anyway. She's not that Naomi. Nor is she Kate Moss, although I think this is evident as her name is "Naomi" and not "Kate Moss", or even "Kate". She's some other Naomi who emailed me because well, this is Karl Lagerfeld's blog and I'm pretty important in fashion, really. Actually I'm pretty important full stop. Really important. I'm why you're wearing leather fingerless gloves, and why you're having fantasties over a Chanel jacket, and why you think white hair is cool. So emailing me is like emailing the President of the World, expect I'm more important. Like emailing the president of the universe, except I'm more important. Uhh.

The website is cocosa. It sells-- clothes and things, or something. You can sign up using the "invite code", "fakekarl". There's my bit of free publicity for the day. I sold my soul to the devil years ago, anyway. He dresses well. He does not wear Prada. Only gay male lawyers wear Men's Prada. Really. They look a bit like Nazi SA uniforms, hmm?

Next, of course, is to sell this blog to Anna's magazine or something. I think this thing's worth more than Vogue, no? I already have a pile of invites. So maybe I should buy Vogue. Apart from I don't really want it. Maybe I'll give it to my daughter for a birthday present or something. She can edit it. But then what will Anna do?

Skinny Jeans

Do you know what I hate?
Well, I hate many things, hmm? But what I really hate is mediocrity.
I was sliding into a new pair of super-uber-skinny jeans today (I have one a day, then they're disposed of. This is why the homeless population of Paris is so chic. They're photographed frequently by those websites that do that sort of thing. There's an entire movement called "Le Skinny Jeans Society de France" which is founded upon the principal of my disposal of jeans. No, really. There's over 500 homeless people who are in it- many of them lost weight- all that cake they were eating- to fit into them. And at exactly 8.AM every morning in Paris, I throw my old pair of jeans out of the window it's like a bridal bouquet: they all lunge for it and one of them gets it and then they celebrate by going "Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! Darhling!" They're heard those words from the fashion week people, you see. And they see the fashion week people as disciples so they copy them: "Mwah", and "darhling" are sacred words. They are the Bible of the "Skinny Jeans Society de France." It's obviously a very short bible, since it consists of only two words. But this is chic. Anyone can learn those words, but only the true believers can utter them properly. It's like sex with a Chanel jacket: not just anyone can do it. It is not accessible....like your humans are obsessed with.)

Anyway. I was sliding into my brand new pair of black skinny jeans as I thought of all the people in the world who cannot slide into skinny jeans like I. I thought: How sad it must be for these people; they have my pity.
Then I thought: No, they don't have my pity. They are mediocre! Skinny jeans are a test, and passing it is like achieving a doctorate of some kind. People don't think: "Oh, I have pity for that person: they're not a Doctor.", or "Oh, I have pity for that man. He is not a billionaire."
And skinny jeans are like that. You don't have pity for those that cannot fit into them, just as you don't have pity for someone who isn't a Doctor of philosophy. That, would be wrong. Yes, it would be wrong children. Wrong like how you feel when you eat that stick of celery: "Ooooh, I feel so bad now. I just had a calorie."

So I managed to equate fitting into skinny jeans as having a doctorate, which is all perfectly fine, I thought to myself as I ordered a goblet of diet coke and soaked in the bath (wearing my suit as per usual.)
And then I realized that demode people are beyond help and maybe Anna should have a charity dinner for them or something.

Chanel Jacket

I asked an assistant to transcribe the following conversation:
Karl: "Hello dear Chanel jacket, it is I, Karl. Do you remember me?"
Chanel jacket: "..."
Karl: "Oh yes, don't you like it when I run my fingers down your fabric like this?"
"..."
"Mm, and when I place my teeth that haven't seen food in over 20 years onto your collar. Your oh-so-delicate collar that I designed myself"
"..."
"Coco only did the armholes, hmm? Anyway...she's gone now."
"..."
"And then I'll rip apart your well sewn fabric and ravish you."
"..."
"Listen. I have a great idea. A genius idea. As typical of a genius such as I. Can't you tell? I have a pulled back pony-tail. That's genius, no?"
"..."
"What I'm going to do is make Kurt Cobain the new face of Chanel."
"...?"
"Yes, I know he's dead. So is Yves!"
Yves: "Karl?? Is that you?"
Karl: "Oh...Hi....hello.....dear Yves. How are things, hmm? I'm just discussing expressionist German cinema."
Yves: "You were seducing the jacket again."
Karl: "..."
Yves: "You know, this pretending-to-be-dead-thing isn't so great. I'm not invited to many parties anymore."
Karl: "You never went to parties anyway."
Yves: "But it was nice to get the invite which I could decline: "Monsieur Saint Laurent regrets to decline your invitation."
Karl: I just turn up and they act like they invited me: "Ohhh! Hello Karl darhling! How are you? Can we get you a diet coke? We just adored your last collection....which one? Why, the one you did in Paris....Which one in Paris?...[awkward silence]......aren't they all fabulous!"

Trip to this American Place

We went on a trip with my daughter today. A father-daughter trip, hm? She wanted to go to the Rodarte show..you know, that label run by the sisters who knit. I went to one of their shows once, and the two sisters just sat on rocking chairs knitting, backstage. And they stared at me when I came on to stare at them and intimidate them with the "KARL STARE". They're like these characters out of a Virginia Woolf novel or something, hm? And the fashion people who were surrounding me like a swarm of vicious little bees said "they're not from these parts". I almost expected these sisters to add "a-" to their words. As in "we've been a-designing the collection, and a-selling it to those city people. And a-riding the horse into town."

Actually when they started speaking (after staring at me, they starred and starred for almost an hour, slowly turning their eyes into slits like a clock slowly turns one hour into the next. It was actually unnerving. I wonder if they come from a planet near mine). And they spoke in LA-accents, and that ruined the whole Virginia Woolf thing which I was quite enjoying.
"So you're not Virginia Woolf characters" I said to them.

I think maybe I scared them a little, but it's all character building, huh?

So I'm in Texas. That's where the Rodarte show is. Tom Ford's here as well, and naturally he's stalking me. "Oh Karl, Oh Karl, Lick my phone. It's an iphone."
He's not a very good stalker. He's basically been yelling at me when he sees me; like some Japanese manga-addicted man-child.
"Tom. This is very boring" I say.
"But I don't have anything better to do."
"Go pluck your eyebrows or something?"
"AREN'T MY EYEBROWS PLUCKED ENOUGH FOR YOU?"
"It's something to do."
"Oh, Karl, Karl, Karl. You know I love you." And he gives me a little "punch". Like...the American drunk people who watch the games with the ball? The males who watch this. Very demode.
So I run away, because what do you do to this sort of thing? It's not very chic.

Le Boyfriend

I tucked the daughter in with a Karl teddy bear tonight. Anna said to me as I tiptoed out of her room in my little Lanvin shoes which squeeze my feet so nicely (- is this a little fetishistic? No, what Tom Ford does is fetishistic.)- Anna said to me "isn't it a little odd, your daughter sleeping with the teddy bear version of you?" and I said "you sleep with the Teddy bear version of yourself, Anna".
I think she made a "Hmph" noise or something- I guess that's meant to mean something but my Karl-vision beneath my sunglasses did not detect anything so I continued: "Anyway, Karl bear is a separate being. He is a teddy bear and I am not- not matter what Tom Ford says. I'd rather Karl bear be he boyfriend than one of them demode ones."

"A boyfriend!?!?" Anna said, her mouth turning into two interwoven pink snakes revealing her not-so-good teach forming a sort of black hole of Vogue-ness.
"Ja."
"Karl bear, Karl, is a bear."
"But have you seen the boys around her? So demode with their giant ten-gallon hats and Coach purses"
"Boys with Coach purses?"
"All the rage, apparently
"Do their ten-gallon hats contain alcohol of any sort?"
"Possibly. By the way they dress..."
"Ah...well..."
"Non, non. They're too young for you, Anna."
"I can drive, know. They'd think I'm cool. Hip."
"They ride horses I think. At the ranches."
"She needs a good boyfriend, yes?"
"Mm. I wonder if I....have someone that age, hmmm?"
"You were going to say son, weren't you?"
"Ye-- that'd be incest. Illegal, and too royal to be Chic."
"Someone else, then."
"Like me. Chic."
"And not a bear."
"So do they have alcohol underneath their hats or not??"

Le Conversation

Karl: "Fashion is so boring"
Anna:"So demode"
"It needs a good murder"
"No, Karl- it needs a good war"
"War's been done to death....it is so dull now. Russia invading Georgia? Demode. Who'd heard of Georgia?"
"Genocide?"
"We're doing that already. The thin thing."
"Yeah. Hilarious."
"Mm. An evil plot?"
"YES KARL AN EVIL PLOT IS WHAT FASHION NEEDS"
"Yes, hmm? Fashion is so nicey-nicey. So goody two shoes. They're all so nice to each other. Especially you Anna; the way you speak to people in that ice-maiden tone. They must adore you"
"Especially in the summer months"
"Yes, mm? Cools them down"
"Soooo...evil plot"
"Destroy world economy?"
"Don't be ridiculous, some media people are already pretending that's happening. Marc was talking about it as he hung his new Warhol he brought for a few million the other day"
"Imagine them: "Ooooh we are poor people in recession! Look at us in our grey Margiela coats! Oooh give us money! Give us money because we are poor and can only afford one Chanel Couture piece!"
"Tragic"
"I know, hmm? I know"
"Where did I put my Hermes scarf tissue box?"

Karl Lagerfeld: The Children's Book

A while ago I mentioned a children's book. It has been written, hm? It is being published soon. You will be able to get your little fingerless-gloved hands on it, and drape your tights that you steal from the Chanel shows, and read it with your dark sunglasses on at 1.40 AM. Yes, you can get your tiny sweaty hands on it, and give air-kisses to my children's book. "Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!" as you place KARL LAGERFELD: THE CHILDREN'S BOOK (Karl-Bear's adventures! Fun for all the family...chic ones only....others excluded..stand up to the tape measure, the chic tape measure, and it will determine whether you're chic enough) on a pedestal as you look yearn to lick the cover of the book, but you don't dare for fear that you'll ruin the complex biological system of the book itself.
"Non, non, non!" you will go to yourself, slapping yourself in a vaguely Tom-Ford-Bondage-like way, making sure you put it in a perspex case, just in case temptation overcomes you.
"OOOH KARL BOOK! I WANNNT YOU!" you might say to yourself, working yourself up into a state of lust and excitement. Then, if you go down this path, you'll probably put on some hot red lipstick and some Prada heels which unless you are my daughter, you'll fall over in. Then you'll pick out some lingerie and get ready for a night in bed with your KARL LAGERFELD: THE CHILDREN'S BOOK.
At which point you'll feel very dirty and repent, by making sure you go by the atelier and buy some couture.

ATTN: Anna

This is Andre Leon Talley's replacement.
No, I did not take that photo.
He is not a fatty, hmm? Clothes need work....but, better than Hawaiian shirts.

Bee took the picture.
Who let her out of The Closet? Wait...Anna was out of the closet? Breathing un-chic air? Being surrounded by the demode? The untouchables? The dirty? The poor?
I must go call emergency services...let the decontamination process begin.

Wrong place, Nic

So it's 3AM in the morning and Nicolas Ghesquière comes in; and even though Nic might say he likes all that Martin Margiela stuff (oh, he was here a couple of days ago too. He knits.)
Anyway, even though Nic says he likes Martin Margiela what he really likes is Star Trek.
Yes, children; you're adorable, much-worshiped designer is a trekkie.
He comes in with the funny pointy ears and the flattended down hair and the funny Star Trek uniform and does the Star Trek salute.
And then he shoves a stocking over his head when he realizes that Karl Lagerfeld's Very Chic Closest (TM) is not the Star Trek convention. Not even a comic book convention.

So he rings up the Balenciaga people, and they come in their brown cars, with their silly little handbags, and say: "Come on dear, time to go. Have a little cup of tea and you'll be alright".

And then there was 2.

Just my daughter and I.

"So, hmm? What do....people do? Do you ummm, play ball or something?"
"Shoes."
"Good."

King Karl

Has anybody noticed that Anna's magazine isn't...um...that good?
I haven't read it since That Maven edited it, but I picked up a copy of it yesterday as I was walking to my secret closest hideout.
It....doesn't have anything in it, hmm? Maybe it was a dud. Yes, that's it. It's a dud Vogue from my enemies- the evil assistant designers at Valentino who've been promoted to be the lead designers for actual clothes. Yes, I know what you look like..don't think I didn't see you....you were disguised as a wall. Karl sees everything.

And then I stalked that wall all the way back to where it was, where I realized walls didn't move. Then I thought: I might be in a dream. But there was now plastic Andre Leon Talley's so I thought I was safe. Then some sicko- some crazy- comes up to me and wants my autograph.

"MY AUTOGRAPH?!"
"Yesir, you're Karl Lagerfeld, the famous designer?"
"CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT THE WALL IS STALKING ME!"
"Aha ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Very funny Mr. Lagerfeld."
"Listen: if you see or hear of any plastic figurines, I want you to use a telephone"
"A telephone?"
"Yes, hmm? A telephone. Grab the apparatus and call the telephone people at once"
"...Ok"
"This is a little too surreal now, hmm? Gosh, just go buy the new totes. Queen Vivianne and King Karl."
"That sounds like a plug sir"
"It is"
"Ohh! Shameless!"
"Totally"
"By the way.."
"Here's your autograph"
"Thankyou"
"Don't lick the phone, and dirty jokes only after 8 PM"
"I heard you tell one before..."
"Are you Karl Lagerfeld?"
"Nosir"

The Dream

Well hello there, chic ones.
Hello to the vacuum cleaner, the telephone beret-maker, the king of the united group of monocles, the dogs barking down the street (please shut up), the man takes out my old telephones that have evaporated, the doll maker--

Dolls.

Last night I had a dream about dolls. I was there, in the closet that we had in the 70's. Flowers everywhere. Terrible glasses. Hairy chests. That's enough to make a man lose his mind.
But then, in the dream, plastic dolls of the fashion crowd came out- they surrounded me. Little shiny human dolls; with cartoon voices. "Hello darhling" one squeaks.
And then.....and then the DEMODE dolls start to come out--

Fat dolls, ugly dolls, poor dolls. Fatties! Obese dolls! And they come to get me...walk into the closest and...and....and...they melt into a big pile of demode plastic.

And then the big Andre Leon Talley comes in; life sized, but plastic. And he's wearing this hideous Hawaiian shirt.

Chic

So my daughter writes this blog called "Sea of Shoes" where she posts pictures of her adorable self, and people tell her how adorable and stylish she is (quite rightly so).
So, I'm going to try the same here. Comment and tell me whatever, hmm? How chic Uncle Karl is looking.

Picture of Karl's Daughter

So this is my daughter, hmm?
Isn't she adorable? So chic! So Chanel! So Karl!

Fake people

See this.
I'm going to give these people who criticize me in the comments the privilege of my criticism. Lucky people, hm?

One person writes: "I don't get these. And, why are the magnets available in 100 packs? Who wants 100 of these things?"
Darling, you are obviously poor and bourgeois. We rich people prefer to buy things as little as magnets in 100 packs because our houses (and we have multiple ones) are so big that one or two simply will not do. It is beyond.

"Poptart" writes: "I must be turly elegant---I can indeed refuse all of this stuff !!!"
Has nobody told this women that being a tart is so 70's? No dear, you are not elegant. You cannot afford all of this stuff, or any of it.
(And it's "truly", rather than the fairground-ride-sounding "turly".)

"revolution9" who I assume to be a Beatles fan, and one of the tacky t-shirt wearing ones at that who weren't chic enough for the mosh pit and had to stay and home making brownies with their mother writes:
"So a blind guy is supposed to make you consume less?... by purchasing this product?"
Dewdrop, I am not blind. If you do not get the Margiela reference you're obviously..below the audience I design for.
If we revealed my eyes though, even on a mere 2D picture, you would be burnt. Remember this.

"J", who is obviously not as chic as "little J" off Gossip Girl says:
"Either the producers of such crap are stupid, or they think we are."
No my little toilet cubicle, we just assume you're rich. I did an H&M line for people like you-- the poor, the homeless.

Finally, "amiencc" writes:
"A photograph, a little bit of fiddling in Photoshop, and I can recreate this same image, on the same product, for 1/3 of what this person wants. A $25 mug? $40 for magnets? With an image that no one would get? BWAH HA HA HA!!! Who would buy this??"
My minuscule glass of Diet Coke, I would not dare to do that. I have these people called "Lawyers".

What I think is that these women are all lonely housewives; middle-aged; with bad stringy hair and bags under their eyes. It figures.

I am Karl Lagerfeld and you are not.

Lots of Love to myself, hm?
xoxox

I'm setting up camp in Vermont

Yes, it's true. You've probably heard about it on the news; on the lips of the gossips; in those "blogs" or whatever they call them that people write. I'm buying a place in Vermont.
It's all very Emily Dickinson- I'm sure you heard that quote from me in the article, of course. I spent all morning, from 3 AM to 4 AM thinking it up. I don't sleep.
I paced the room muttering outloud. Eventually I decided Dickinson would be the best reference to make. How very Proustian.
And I spent all of the Chanel show whilst I ate an M&M (an M&M! How could I?) thinking up the Proust reference. How very Genghis Khan.
And I spent all of my time in China where I hid in closets from the Communists thinking up the Genghis Khan reference.
Oh dear, I could go on with this for hours.

I didn't really actually spend any time thinking any of those up. I just wanted to say that. How chic. How very now.

What I'm going to do in Vermont is put on my Emily Dickinson wig and pretend to be "Karl Dickinson" and romp through the countryside with Brad dressed as my loyal manservant "Albert". That is the intention. I might write some poetry too. In the wig, of course. The wig is key.
When I design my Chanel collections I wear my Coco Chanel wig (the one she wore herself), and when I design the Fendi collections I wear hair I cut off the tails of the most chic horses. When I design Karl Lagerfeld it is fine; I wear my normal hair. Extra dry shampoo for that extra-white effect.

I could have a commerical:
"IN ONLY FIVE MINUTES YOU TOO WILL HAVE HAIR LIKE KARL LAGERFELD'S!"

Apart from commericals are so commercial, hmm? The problem is that they are ruined by being stacked with bad, tacky commericals. Imagine a KFC commerical after a Karl Lagerfeld's Chic Shampoo for White Hair commerical.
Not so chic, huh?

The people with the cameras

Why is there so many of them, hmm? They're everywhere! They go to the fashion packs, and take a picture. There's hundreds crawling around Paris. I think they're a new sort of species; the take photos of unimportant people who dress badly-tons. (Obviously, I am not so unimportant.)
They just come up to you and go BANG and run away, run away into their little photographer hovels.

Chanel

Oh my Chanel, I just ate.

Don't tell Anna..

?!?!?

WHO THE HELL DESIGNED THE YSL COLLECTION THIS SEASON.
FIRE THEM.
I DON'T CARE WHO OWNS YSL NOW, I'M FREAKIN' YVES SAINT LAURENT AND I'M NOT DEAD...WELL ACTUALLY I AM...BUT..JUST FIRE THEM.

ANNA, I'LL HAVE ANOTHER.

Spot the difference, hmm?

Givenchy actually made me vomit. Anna's still drunk.

Does anyone notice the similarity of the bags in my Spring collection to the ones in the fakekarl shop? Merely advertising for the fakekarl shop, hmm? And a bit of a laugh...it's amazing how serious Paris is.
Have you seen the people who try and ignore the fact that Anna's stark raving drunk?

There she is, throwing glasses and such at them- and they just sit there in there chairs pretending she's sober. They're like dummies!

Anna is belligerent.

Assistant's note:  Anna is absolutely plastered right now.  She hit the champagne bar at the Lagerfeld show very hard.  I've tried to transcribe it exactly as it was said...  Lord, I'm probably already fired.  Anyone hiring?

Karl.  Karl.  Karl.  Karl.  KARL.  KARRRRRLLLLL.

Wheeerrre iz he.  I need him to...  Karl hazzzztooo.  Can't rememeberrrrr.

Bloodygossipgirl.  They DONNKNOWMEEEEEEEEE.  They willpayyyyyyyyyy....

GET MY FENDIIIICOATTTT NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

YOU YOU.....  GIRL YOU.

Findmekarl.

MOREBUBBBBBLLLLYYYYYYYYYYYY.

Where iz Beeeeee?  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.  Sounds like BEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

It's going to be a long night, I believe.

Karl Lagerfeld show

I spent the entire show observing this broach that some lady had. It was fascinating. I didn't even see the models go on, hmm? Well that is boring anyway. The collection's already designed! It's just a show for the carnival to see.
So I stalked the lady back to her hotel room. Then I realized that I had to go to some silly show with Anna and co, so I flew out of the hotel room and back to the cafe where Anna was.

Then we were accosted by some horrid person from "thefashionspot" (they actually say the name like that, with no spaces. Is their hardware broken?) who asked us the most dull questions.
"What was your main inspiration for this collection?", "What is your favourite brand of jam?"
(I made up an answer for the inspiration: "The NOW, hmm? My fear of being touched! Superheroes in drag disguised as housewives!)
(And for the 2nd question, I just starred at them. Then I said: "You know your website is the worst fashion-related website ever created? It is so boring, so dull.")
The "fashionspot" person turned out like that intern did and started to burble this and that about "trends" and "voice of a generation" and "Mahler". I think she went insane. She tried to touch me anyway so I slapped her and that was the end of that.

Really, have you ever read "fashionspot" articles? They're like Anna after a fridge-full of Vodka. Passed out. Dead to the world. Anyway; don't ever go to that horrid site. Of course, since you're chic (if you're chic) you'd never contemplate going near a "forum". Everyone knows the real dealing in Rome wasn't in the forums, it was behind the forums; in the little exclusive cafe with the bouncer named "Chuck" which I will admit is a weird name for a Roman but he wore his toga well.

Balenciaga and Comme

Balenciaga was funny. Back to The Future, hmm? It made me hungry, and I do not like this.
And the models looked like they were wearing casts. Do they need casts to keep their thin little legs moving?
By the way they were dressed I thought they were off to a Comic Convention. But then I though "this is Paris Karl! No comics in Paris! They're BANNED during fashion week."
So...it was not a joke. It really was the Balenciaga show.

Rei showed today, too. Plastic rubbish bags and so on. Designer rubbish, of course. When's someone going to work out that Rei's actually playing a huge practical joke, hmm?