Notes from the Gilded Chairs

D: Darling, isn't this ... internet-thing fabulous?

K: Diana, dear- It's beyond, isn't it? Do you know that you are on The Google? My assistants tell me that being on The Google is all the rage- some sort of new hip studio space, I expect. That or a nightclub. K

D: You know, I went to a night club once, in the 80s. It was full of light in the most unexpected places. The youth in the room was palpable. I find youths gamey these days, their musk is occasionally so physically overwhelming I topple in the street. They were not always like that, not in my day, at any rate.

D: I almost got run over today and I thought - of course cars stop for me. They wouldn't dare run me over, I would burst their tires.

K: The 70s are made of orange, no? But not oranges- fruits are far more exotic- the colonies. Aren't the colonies divine? I wonder who ever thought up the idea. Here is a new idea- a Chanel Colony, like a giant boutique- a whole island of goods. After all, isn't shopping what the rich and bored like best? Buy a Chanel hut! A Chanel missionary's bible! A Chanel igloo! It would get my heart pounding, if I hadn't sold it to the fellow made out of tin. Russian oligarch, I believe.

The French Blue

Today, I strolled into the Chanel HQ, and upon arriving at Karl's office, I found myself dumbfounded. There was no office, no entrance, no perfectly emblazoned Chanel logos on every single cut of the magnificent blue diamond door. (Yes, Karl's office door is made of what you all know now as the Hope diamond. The Hope is just whats left, Karl thought the scraps were demode, so he gave them to the French, as was born, The French Blue). Anyways, the office was gone, instead, in its place, stood a giant closet. The only sign of it was a small wooden closet door with those little knobs and shutters, there wasn't even light on the other side. It was all quite creepy, scared the life out of me. I opened the door to find Karl hanging upside down from the giant closet's ceiling, like... a bat. I swear, he was drinking tea, upside down, I know, you're thinking. "Yves, this is not possible", oh, but it is, this is Kaiser Karl we're talking about here, anything is possible.

I tell you, my little pretties (I assume that since you read this blog, you are pretty...apart from that horrible anonymous person Karl told to go away. He is Karl, and is always, always Karl-like. In the words of the American cartoon character "homer simpson"- "doh!"). Karl has taken this closet thing entirely too far. Now, excuse me, I have to go find that door Karl has carelessly disposed of, For France!

(the man has no sense of attachment, I once saw him literally throw an assistant away. Into the bin with him.)