Birthday

Birthday tomorrow. And the next day. We're having one for the southern hemisphere and another for the nothern, hm?

Guests are already arriving in the closet....there's Martin Margiela, or it might be. Yohji came back, apologizing profusely. Rei's already drunk and being all zen about it. Raf Simons is drawing on the walls in the corner...trying to keep him away from Anna, they don't get on. Marc's back from his show, and he's serving drinks. I kind of feel sorry for him, hmm? Old Issey Miyake is yelling at a wall. Alexander McQueen's outside banging on a window. Yves is singing.....attempting to. 

Tom Ford's even here. He keeps saying "how chic! how chic!". This is only the pre-party closet...

"KARL, WHERE ARE THE UNDERWEAR MODELS?"

That's Anna, of course. Her poor daughter. Actually, I think she's still in the closet. Um. So chic, hmm?

I expect good birthday gifts. Good children.

A package

I just got a package from Louis Vuitton. It's in a brown box, with "LV" stamped all over it and what appears to be Marc Jacobs' drool somehow managing to stick to the packaging. How do I know it's Marc's drool, not some employee at Louis Vuitton who's in love with me? Not the postman who delivered this suspicious package? Not my butler who received the package from the postman?
Elementary, my dear vultures. Marc has blue drool. No other person in the world has blue drool.
After a Marc Jacobs show, you might go backstage and find pens that Marc has sucked on covered in blue.

I've not had an assistant open the box yet, of course. I suspect this is some sort of scheme to infiltrate the Lagerfeld lair. I mean, it is a scheme to infiltrate my humble abode. So I am hiding in the closet with Anna and Toshio Iwai, some Japanese artist I found wandering outside my house.
Actually maybe he was just walking past. But I grabbed him with my gloved hands, and said "come inside, young man". And then I put him in my closest and gave him some tea. I have a whole lot of Yohji Yamamoto suits from the days...erm..the days when I was..erm....
Anyway! I gave him some of those as blankets, and he turns out to be a pretty nice guy. So, we had some more tea and Anna sat on the ceiling with Bee, but eventually Bee had to go to a "sleep-over". What is she sleeping over? Anna is rather worried at this.

So now we have called in the bomb squad, who are investigating the package. As is common knowledge in Paris, the bomb squad is owned and paid for by Chanel, hmm? And we sit in this closet. I think I need some new doorhandles for this.

I just like Tanqueray, that's all.

Hello adoring and somewhat annoying public,

I will be addressing some issues in today's post.

1. Everyone keeps whining and asking about whether I'm going to be fired and whatnot. No-one can fire me. I am Anna Wintour. I do the firing, thank you very much. And who cares if Teen Vogue's sales are down? That trash barely makes enough to cover my wardrobe expenses (that's obviously why I started it, as the only teenager I like is my gorgeous daughter). The word 'teen' makes me nauseous.

BEE, GET YOUR MOTHER MORE ICE.

2. I am not an alcoholic. Donatella drinks twelve bottles of champagne every day, and no-one thinks she's an alcoholic. I think it's because she's Italian - everyone expects Italian people to drink a lot. Armani can empty a bottle of grappa in four minutes. I just enjoy a little gin-and-tonic or a little Veuve once in a while. I mean, it comes free in cases from the people who make it, so why not enjoy a little of it?

3. Andre Leon Talley is officially on my do-not-speak-to list. He showed up to the offices wearing a skin-tight black tshirt, black wide-leg cargo things-

I JUST SAID THE WORD 'CARGO.' SOMEONE CALL MY DOCTOR - I FEEL LIKE MY STOMACH IS GOING TO BURST.

I apologize. Anyway, these hideous pants, a large beaded African necklace, women's lavender Tom Ford sunglasses and TURQUOISE cowboy boots. The visual combination of all of this caused me to lose my appetite for three weeks, which explains a lack of attention to this little project of Karl's. I promptly took away Andre's expense account, which accounts for his little mishap while trying to purchase man-thongs at Maky's... Masy's... You know, the demode store that starts with an 'M' and interrupts my Thankgiving drinks- um, dinner with their god-awful parade. Mr. Talley is demode.

4. Karl hasn't been around the office in a while. I think it's this Brad person. I am rather worried, as Karl tends to get obsessive easily. I got a call from his assistant-in-charge-of-calling-me explaining that Karl had rented Versailles out for a week for a shoot with Brad. The connection was terrible, but before the call was dropped I could make out the words 'naked,' 'velvet,' and 'Napoleon.' I am terrified.

5. That is all. You may depart.

BEE, GET OUT OF THE CLOSET. I SAID, NOW! FINE, FIVE MORE MINUTES. IF YOU TOUCH THE NEW PRADA STILETTOS, YOU'RE GOING TO YOUR ROOM FOR A WEEK - YOU HEAR ME, YOUNG LADY?

Why Anna was (is?) hungover

Anna: "Look Bee, it's Karl from Champange land!"
Bee: "Why are the Flowers on my dress moving, mum?"
Anna: "Or am I pointing at how demode someone is today? I really can't see too good"
Bee: "Are you a BUSH, mum?"
Anna: "Oh it's Amy Winehouse. Where's Karl??"
Bee: "I'm in love with a bushhh."
Anna: "I think my bob needs redone. Like a stamp"