The World's Longest Dinner (or, be careful of your waitress at the Tate Modern, she just might be an EEL)

I just came back from the World's Longest Dinner Party. It lasted for 8 days. These things do- they're either very long or very short. I try and make them about 10 minutes, people are rarely interesting after that. But this dinner party ended up being...an interesting social experiment.

The party itself was one of those social events that involve food and people and people wearing clothes. There's also "small talk" at these social events- the conversation generally goes like:
Person one: Mutter mutter OH YES mutter.
Person two: Flatter flatter flatter DON'T YOU LOOK GOOD flatter.
And so on.

If Donatella, Coco bless her plastic soul, is involved in the party it will go something like this:
Person one: Honour honour flatter flatter ITALIAN FOOD flatter
Donatella: Mutter LOOK AT MY MEDUSA LIPS mutter mutter

Meanwhile, if Anna is involved in a the party conversation with her would sound something like this:
Person one: Fear idol fear loathing fear honour-to-meet-you fear.
Anna: Hello.
20 minutes later.
Anna: BLERGddhdDSHSSIEYRDnhcsjcfscnscjscDDJDAcfbsjfbafbsjfbsoaiddhdbJCJNJNCSCA.

Which is why Anna does not go to many parties. She really can enunciate tha many letters than fast. It's something of a party trick. By 2 hours later, Anna will have mistaken most of the guests for deer and start shooting them. It's all that time she's spent at my place in Vermont.

If I were to sum up the dinner party I went to mathematically, we could say that it was 80% "You DO look good" and so on, 5% Donatella and 7.5% Anna- the rest being the people Anna shot at the party, with a tiny dash of Tom Ford attempting to direct a movie with his Sony camera.

The press clippings from the party probably would read something like this:
"Anna Wintour shot 12 people at a party recently, held by the fabulous Mr. and Mrs. So and so. When interviewed by the police about the incident, she claims that she mistook several guests of the party as deer, and proceeded to shoot them as she would do on Karl Lagerfeld's Vermont property. The people were not eaten, and are now in the good care of graveyards. Chef to the stars, Mr. Somesuch, worries about the waste of food: "Well in this resseccion, you've gotta take everything you can for food. When I was a little boy growing up in Scotland, we had to eat food out of newspapers. Nay, we had to eat it off the ground! Nay, we had to eat it at sea level!
Meanwhile, Ms. Wintour has entered into a plea bargain with the police about the unfortunate incident. She will make gun safety commericals to screen in September- "a faaaabulous tie-in to the "September Issue", Large Editor of American Vogue, Andre Leon Talley said. Ms. Wintour also said that she did not intend on shooting anyone else, although she believes guns will be a big accessory in summer 09. More on this exciting accessory story as it happens."

Of course, that story will never be published because here at Chanel, we have a certain power over the elite. It isn't good publicity to have editors going around killing people, you know. Deer or not deer. The fabulous Mr. and Mrs. So and So ended up holding everyone hostage for 8 days, where there was much chit-chat that went around the lines of "prison uniform is SO not chic," and "flatter DON'T YOU LOOK GOOD," as the fabulously well-to-do guests were not so much air heads as helium heads, unaware that Mr. So and So were holding them hostage. Eventually, everyone signed the criminal equivalent of a post-nup (a post-shoot?) and they were allowed to leave, air-kissing everyone until the only things left to kiss were themselves, which they did with remarkable dexterity. And that was dinner.

The Ballad of Andre Leon Talley

I'm the pimp to the master/She's the devil in plaid/I'm the spider eyed monster taking Alice to wonderland

Yes, that rap right above was written by I, Rap-Master Karl 5000. Shall I go on?

Look at my fur/and my cowboy hat/yeah I broke this chair/but I'll break the bank

In case you didn't know, this is Andre Leon Talley talking, not me, hmm? More, you say?

Just look at my gaze/It will amaze/you fools and you horses/who think you've got it made/'cause I have Anna/and she's the number one star/see her at tennis/in the backseat of my car

Rap-Master Karl 5000, signing out.

ATTN: Anna

This is Andre Leon Talley's replacement.
No, I did not take that photo.
He is not a fatty, hmm? Clothes need work....but, better than Hawaiian shirts.

Bee took the picture.
Who let her out of The Closet? Wait...Anna was out of the closet? Breathing un-chic air? Being surrounded by the demode? The untouchables? The dirty? The poor?
I must go call emergency services...let the decontamination process begin.

Back in Black: Milan

I do rather like the man who takes these photos. He's like a well-mannered, well-cultured paparazzi. Imagine what the people on the left are thinking "Magnifique! Monsieur Karl!"...oh, wrong language. Try "Magnifico! Siˡgnore Karl!"
I'm on the street there hunting down Andre. Like the terminator, but chic-er.

I fired someone! Well, kind of

Anna and I are working on a line of t-shirts called "K Angry Anna". The K's just there because my name is Karl, and it starts with K. So therefore, a line starting with "K" for "Karl" is going to be chic no matter what. "Angry Anna" means Anna is angry, but not in a demode way- obviously.

I walked right up to Andre Leon Tally yesterday and told him "You're Fired, hm?" Then I quickly took photos of his face. Then I deleted those photos because his face was as bad as his full-length purple coat and turban. And he was like "Whuuuuut????"

"You're fired."
"You don't even work here"
"Work where?"
"This magazine"
"So that's what it is. I wondered what all those people were doing walking around"
"Yeah..."
"So you're still fired"
"Anna!"
"I'm Karl Lagerfeld, hmm? Get me a coffee"
"Yes sir"
(he comes back, with a coffee)
"Oh, I don't drink coffee"
"What the hell man, I thought you were my friend?"
"Your clothes are not possible"
"They're came from.."
"NOT POSSIBLE"
"Par-par-par"
"NOT POSSIBLE, HMMMMMM?"
"Par-par-par-par"
"Spit it out, hm?"
"You can't fire me!"
(in my best calm-voice)
"I am Karl Lagerfeld. Go pack your bags. Do you have bags? Well, I don't want to see you in this office again"
(muttering under his breath)
"old man....hair....fire eyes....woof woof....paris...amy winehouse...chic?"

Anna, can you sort this out please? Aren't you proud of me for firing someone, hmm?

I'll just go back to dear Brad....