Showing posts with label the rich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the rich. Show all posts

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Coping in A Recession, A How-To Guide For The Rich

Although many fabulously well-to-do economists are claiming the recession is over, I've noticed many of my wealthy friends have fallen on hard times. Fortunes have been chopped in half: what was 6 billion dollars is now a mere 3 billion dollars. Many of my friends can only afford 5 yachts a year, rather then 10 or so. Dire straits indeed.

Yet, there is no need to worry- I have a solution. I was thinking of this as I was shooting Lara, Abby Lee, et al today, and I was thinking that this "blog" originally intended to be a guide to life. Then I thought: who do I care about the most? Who is most in need? Why, the rich of course. The wealthy. Those with a silver spoon in their mouth, born or purchased. Without the rich there'd be no poor- the poor would simply cease to exist. They would vanish in a "poof!" of air. There would be no middle class, either- because without the rich, the middle class would have no job (ie. serve the rich), and therefore they'd turn into the poor and then vanish in a "poof!" of air also. Without underling classes, there would be no rich, and therefore there'd be no humans at all. Without humans, animals would cease to exist also because their job, naturally, is to provide food and furs and such for humans. In essence: the universe would collapse.

Then I thought: how can I best the rich who are not as fortunate as I? Well, I thought about this for a while, and then I realized the best way would be to write a Guide To Doing Things For The Rich. We'll start with supermarket shopping. I personally went to a supermarket and discovered how they work, so you can be assured that this is all correct.

How To Shop At Supermarkets (For The Rich), by Karl Lagerfeld.

The first thing to remember about supermarkets is that they don't have a doorman. However, most of them do seem to have "auto-matic doors", which open when you step close to them. You can experiment with different techniques for doing this: the most common is simply to walk near the door, stop, wait for the doors to open and then walk through. It's also possible to hold your hands in front of the door, say "OPEN, PROLETARIAN DOOR!" and it will open. In fact, one can say as many things as one wants to say, and the doors will open. I think they're a wonderful invention.

Once you've accomplished Walking Through The Door, you can move onto the next step: moving through "The Gates". You'll discover once you pass through the door, there is another set of doors- generally metal barriers, although they're sometimes plastic. These are to stop thieves from getting away too quickly, I think. There is one set of "gates" for you to walk through, and another to walk out of. Once you've been to the supermarket a few times, you'll get the hang of it. (TIP: Don't wear couture to the supermarket, it could get damaged, and often won't fit through the "gates". I went to the supermarket with my friend Daphne Guinness the other day- she wore the Yohji Yamamoto "wedding dress" which requires several people to hold it up. It was a challenge getting it into the store, as you can imagine.)

You'll also notice that there are things which the supermarket staff will call "trollies". These are large metal baskets which I believe are for putting the goods which you obtain in "the store" (supermarket slang) in. Models also fit in there nicely, but it's generally accepted that you give the trolly back after using it. One works the trolly by pushing it from the front- you'll notice that there's a sort of bar with which one can do this. They're wonderful machines, and quite useful when one doesn't have a bevy of assistants to carry things.

The supermarket is divided into sections, similar to how a boutique is divided, except for "perfume", "clothes", "luggage" etc is replaced with more mundane titles like "vegetables and fruit", "meat", "beverages". Do not be fooled: they function more or less the same way, though there are no fitting rooms to try a carrot on, or see if a toothbrush fits. Normal people don't have these luxuries. You can make your selections by wheeling the trolly around the store and placing the selection in your trolly. Once you've finished that, there is one final step. This is the most important step.

This most important step is to maneuver your trolly into a narrow space know as a "counter", manned by a pimply youth. They will say "Hello, sir/madame". The normal response is "Greetings, Supermarket Worker". Then they will give you the price of all your purchases, and you will be expected to pay for them. One should never say "Darling, charge it to my account" because supermarkets do not do this. Instead, one should offer the money- normally in the form of "cash" or "card". Finally, the youth will say "have a nice day!" half heartedly, and you will be expected to say "thank you" in reply. This is the etiquette.

Once one has done that, one can unload one's purchases into the rolls, take the trolly back to where you obtained it, and drive away. Congratulations: you've completed a successful trip to the supermarket.

Any questions on this how-to, please send them to fakekarl@gmail.com. I am always there to help those in need that blow their noses on Hermès scarves.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Nobody Ever Called Pablo Picasso an Asshole

Often I sit in restaurants by myself with my ponytail down. You expected me to say something zany and witty like- "I was disguised as a lampshade" or "the lobster soup" or something along those lines. But the simple truth is that my costume is so well-made that if I remove an element of it, nobody thinks it is me. I look more like a German writer or intellectual, well-educated and read but like a million others who sit in restaurants by themselves, but perhaps with a better jacket. On other occassions I have disguised myself as the lobster soup that's neither here nor there, on this ocassion I was simply sitting there ignored by the waitstaff, listening to the conversation going on.

-What I've come up with is a butterfly tattooed on her cunt! said Damien Hirst
-That's so radical and zany! said the woman sitting near him. -Who would've even thought of putting a butterfly on a woman's vagina? I mean, a flower, now that'd just be unoriginal. But a butterfly? Think of the metaphors! It's just...it's just so deep. She put her hands up in the air.
-Think, Damien. A woman's vagina is a beautiful butterfly.
-And, said Damien, and I've come up with an idea for the cover. There could be a butterfly on the cover, another butterfly, one that you can peel off! He put his hands together on his lap and looked rather proud of himself. The woman fawned at him, looking rather a beaming streetlight that'd had too much lemonade. -Brilliant! she said.
-I thought so, said Damien. You see, I'm referencing Andy Warhol. Do you know The Velvet Underground?
-Oh, I love their artwork. It's so po-mo, so real. I love that one painting, "Heroin".
Damien clutched his hands together a little tighter. -Yeah, he said. Well, on one of their...artworks, choosing his words carefully, because this woman spent many millions on art, his artwork, and the customer is always right, even when they possess all the brilliance of the price of their shoes (Prada, of course).
-Well, on one of their artworks, he said, they had a sticker of a banana that said "peel it and see". Really brilliant, he said.
-That's so true said the woman. You are so ART.
-I am art, darling, said Damien.
The woman still could not get over the idea of a butterfly on a woman's vagina and the metaphorical implications it involved.
-I mean, nobody has ever thought of that before! It's just so original! so INSPIRED! Every woman and her dog will want to get her vagina tattooed after that. The SYMBOLISM. You truly are the greatest living artist said the woman. Whatever will you come up with next?

I stopped listening. There is only so much of High Art that one can take. Whatever was Damien's next idea probably would've made my poor little Franco-Germanic head explode. I couldn't even think of what it could be- couldn't begin to imagine. I went back to my meal of air prepared by Thomas Keller and went back to my petty fashion world concerns- nothing as groundbreaking as a butterfly on somebody's vagina, I assure you. Simply another collection. I am but only a humble dressmaker, hm? A man came up to me, asking for an autograph. Mr. Süskind? he said.