I'm Perfect

I was just thinking to myself about how much better Christ would've been if he wore couture. I mean, if I was around in those times, I could've done something about it! We've got some draping going on, of course- very Madame Vionnet. Hippy hair. It's all very nice, hm? But wouldn't he look better with a haircut and a nice Tom Ford suit? Think about it for a second. Seriously. He would've been immensely more chic, hmm?

You know, I don't design much menswear- it's boring and I prefer females anyway- at least socially. I think I could design some clothes for this Jesus fellow, though. He is pretty important after all. He'd look better in skinny jeans. Maybe give him a record deal- Jesus and the Stoners (everybody must get stoned, hmm?).
And of course, if I was born back...in the times before demode even existed, I could introduce Chanel no. 5. It would be more important than farming because everybody would smell good. In fact, if I was born around the time of Jesus, I suppose I would've became Jesus, given my god-like powers. Dressing well is better than being a good person, anyway. I know celebrities. Does Jesus know celebrities? Can he design clothes? No, I don't think he can. All he can do is these magic tricks- water into wine (wine contains calories anyway, and we can blame this little magic trick for Anna's, uh, alcohol problem). Magic tricks are demode. Of course, if I was born then the religion of Chanel would be a great deal older!

Alas, it seems being chic was not important then. Alas, it seems I was not born then. Alas, it seems magic tricks were all the rage then.

Actually, when I was little my mother (Coco bless her little cold clockwork heart) took me to this fortune-teller. Dior's fortune teller. Dior being the fat man that ate too much Italian food (not the current faux-Frenchie who hasn't designed anything new since 1999.) So my mother took me to this man, and he told me I was going to be a priest. My mother- my parents- could not have that! Those nuns that taught them at school were terrible people. Crazy people. Demode. So I became a priest of fashion instead. The priest, but anyway. My mother used to make fun of me, though. She said "Karl, you could've been God with a capital gee!" and I said "Well, I am God of Fashion." She would reply with "That's okay, but where are the lightening bolts?" She was very Greek, that woman. I'd tell her that it was all about love and compassion these days: "The craze in religion now is love, Mother!" I would say. She would slap me.