Sorry about the delay, I was in the Caribbean. Sometimes one needs a little vacation from life with a few attractive underwear mod- uh, people to hang out with.
I drank a lot of piña coladas, had many adventures (while wearing Chanel, nonetheless) and I returned to my darling daughter and beloved underwear mod- uh, houseboy- uh, maid... to see this.
None too pleased would be one way to put it. I threw a closet's worth of shoes down three flights of stairs. And when my assistant went to go get them, I threw them down again. It's like playing fetch with a dog, except more rage, alcohol and expense involved. You wouldn't throw a Rodarte heel for your bulldog to fetch, would you? I would. It would be an edgy new shoot. Maybe we'll get Weber to shoot it... Get some shirtless men playing fetch with puppies... Chanel heels...
Sorry, where was I?
Oh, right. Movie.
Well, I don't like it. Thus, it won't do well. Only chic people watch those sort of fashion documentaries, and I am like Jesus to them (Karl is God). What I say goes.
DO NOT WATCH THIS MOVIE OR YOU WILL NEVER SEE AGAIN.