Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Banks, I

Now, with all this business about the economy hitting the news much like a high collar hits a member of the Le Skinny Jeans de Society; I though it would be a good time to talk about banks.

I have entered banks exactly two and a half times in my rather long life, because I simply cannot stand them. The first time was when I was 12, and I was in Paris (German banks are worse. They're guarded by terrible matron-like ladies who give you the impression that they've had 20 children and were most apt at running their household like a business. I assume these sort of people have quarterly reviews of their children, to see whether they're still viable to "The Family". Anyway, German banks are guarded by those sort of people.)


I was in Paris, and I had some gold to deposit. Because in those days we didn't have this paper money that you people had, we had actual gold. And I went into the bank, with my mother dressed as a raven reciting the poem "The Raven", and I with a couple of suitcases of gold. They were rather heavy, but I was a champion tango dancer at this time, so I danced with the suitcases and caressed their sensual leather bodies into the bank.


"Hello Karl!" said Anna, who wasn't born then.

"Hello Anna!" I said, "are you off to Hogwarts too?"

"No Karl! This is Karl Lagerfeld's Guide to Life, not Harry Potter! (TM)"

"Oh gosh, you are right, hmm? So what am I at this bank for anyway?"

"To deposit gold, m'dear."


I walked up the long cherry-carpeted aisle-- where the clerks stare from each side with their little golf-hats and pencils which they sharpen on their sabre-like teeth. They stared at us like we're crazy! And we go to the man at the front, who (presumably dressed in Armani), wears a beige suit and beige shoes and a beige tie. His hair was brushed probably with a toothbrush; and he did this extraordinary thing with his smile-- it was like the devil was smiling. It was as if his mouth raised itself slightly, yet the rest of his face wouldn't move an inch.

And that man now designs at a very famous fashion label which is not Chanel. I'll let you people guess who it is, hmm? It was a very demode bank, anyway. Part II tomorrow, on the second bank incident (it was an American bank).

4 comments:

powpow said...

I hate you Karl.
you're the best, and I want to be a girl to wear chanel.
Not that beign a girl is good, just because you're designing the best for them.
Tell Hedi to start designing for men.
my sixe is 46 and every body tell's me that i'm thin. and they force me to get big. yesterday the shop assistant told me that i'm thin and my body is njot goood for fashion.
I just wanted to kill him.
people in iran do not know any thing about fashion.
bye uncle Karl

Mo said...

The Raven? Wonderful choice Karl. Poe is the best

Bowzie Dubois said...

http://www.bleachblack.com/?p=2464

a tango dancer, hmm? very interesting

Anonymous said...

"And that man now designs at a very famous fashion label which is not Chanel."

Are you referring to Martin Margiela? Christopher Kane? Gareth Pugh? Initially I thought, "Yves!" but he's no longer here. He converted to pop art.

(HELLOOO! ANDY WARHOL? THEY'RE BOTH DEAD? UH YEAH)

-T