I got a call from my architect, Nic, today. He says we can't build the giant runway through the Vermont property. Actually my idea was to have a giant runway through Vermont; as in, all of Vermont. A giant, glowing, mirrored runway. Very glossy, hmm? Call it "LIFE'S RUNWAY" or something. I thought we could have models who walk down the entire runway, which would take a long time as you can imagine. We could have models that live on the runway, so they are Living Fashion, hmm? There would be no need for the chic to live on the streets. No, they would just live on the eternal runway. We could gather all the chic people; put them on the runway, and I could say "RUN DARLINGS RUN!" and they would never, ever have to get off that elevated peak; and therefore be cut off from the world and all of it's demode-ness. We would have planes drop off supplies-- new clothes for each season; etc etc. Diet Coke would be pumped through what currently is their "water system". The chic people would be able to have their own chic fights and bitchery; and Anna and I could laugh at them from the ivory tower built above the giant runway.
It's like the "GREAT RUNWAY OF VERMONT".
And then the models would get old and would be tossed off the runway to make room for new models; the old models would become wannabe members of the Le Skinny Jeans society, but of course they cannot be members of the Le Skinny Jeans society as you have to be in Paris for this, hmm? It would be survival of the chic-est, hmm? And tiny little sub-civilisations would appear: THE MASCARAS, THE EYELINERS, THE BERETS, THE WAYFARERS, THE TIGHTS, THE PROFESSIONAL MALE MODELS-- oh, it would be wonderful. The wayfarers would stare jealously at the tights, wishing that they had thighs as skinny; whilst the professional male models...well....let's just say Anna knows what to do with them, no? Effectively they would become a slave culture totally and utterly dedicated to trying on underwear for Anna, so the idea of wearing clothes will become foreign to them. They would stride 'round, until they turn 25, when they, like the male anorexic spider, are eaten by the queen Bee.
Imagine the entry in Vogue:
"In the beginning, Karl created the runway. And he said, "It shall be chic", and it was.
But Nic says that this plan is 1) illegal, and 2) would consume all the power in Vermont.
And I said: "Do they have power in Vermont, anyway?"
And he said: "Ummm. You were just in Vermont"
So I said: "But there is power no matter where I go; for the Chanel suit is chic."
So he assured me that the good people in Vermont have power, even when I am not there.
This is a problem. I want my giant runway. I WANT MY GIANT RUNWAY, GODDAMMIT.