Happiness is a..

The Beatles said Happiness is a Warm Gun, and they're not far from the truth. Happiness is in fact not a warm gun, but a Chanel coat. Yes, yes; I know what you're thinking: "Oh, Uncle's out promoting his label again in the form of a post which may be semi-deep, or at least pertain to be."

But what if I said this well-dressed lady in her warm Chanel coat is lonely? What if I said that she's totally alone? What if I said she was betrayed by a peeping Tom; by someone she thought she could call her friend? Why, you'd probably laugh because that sort of woman is pathetic, hmm? Totally demode. Because you, like me; are totally devoid of a heart. In fact I am "cracking up" (as the kids say) right now, at this image of this woman in a Chanel coat who is lonely, in her Parisian apartment listening to the Parisian equivalent of Tony Clifton, weeping on her Dior scarf, and her expensive perfume made of the bodies of dead models seeping out the window.
What emotion are we feeling now? Well, I'm feeling no emotion. I don't have normal emotions! I have no emotion whatsoever. I refuse to be hurt. I am a robot and I love it. A devil-robot. I am FASHION.

But if you're not exactly me, you may be feeling a little jealous. Because this woman is obviously beautiful; and she's in black and white so she's ageless (most Parisians exist in black and white), and because she has perfume made from models. I mean, who cares if she's lonely and suicidal- she is beautiful! And probably rich! Because these days, inner feelings are worth nothing. Are you going to get another collection done worrying about the friend who doesn't reply to your handwritten letters? No! Are you going to get another ski-house built worrying about what people think of you? No! You should be whipping the architect for you ski-house instead! I whip mine, Nico, everyday. In a non-erotic non-Thierry Mugler kind of way. Do any of you remember Thierry Mugler? Sick bastard. Total fetishist. I went into his workroom one day and it scared even me. All the leather and chains...I thought it was a depiction of a prison run Elvis and a gang of gay, bald men. Maybe it scarred me for life, I don't know. I was scarred before then anyway, so it's OK. It prepared me for Tom Ford, at least.

Maybe happiness is a pair of le skinny jeans.