Magical Fashion Island

A lot of people have been asking me why The Magical Fashion Island in Dubai isn't going ahead. "Lack of funds", I said. "People aren't made of money these days."

"They were before?" said the people.

"Some of them. The Rothschilds were- that's why that had umbrellas, to stop themselves getting soggy. They always had umbrellas, those Rothschilds. Now they use plastic money."

"Does Bill Gates use plastic money?"

"Ah, well, he's not the sort to have a melting cesspool of credit cards all over him- he uses imaginary money. It works just the same, if everybody believes in it. It's like that Tinkerbell person, you know."

"-Off Peter Pan."

"Quite. If you believe in anything enough it'll be true. That's why I'm still alive- because I don't believe in death."

"Oh?"

"I don't "do" death. It is not for me. Other people, maybe- if they're into that sort of thing. The problem with death is that it's very hard to undo once one has done it, and what if death goes out of fashion?"
"..."

"Well, then one would be demode. You can't reinvent yourself either. Elvis did- he lost weight. I didn't have to die to lose weight. In any case, why The Magical Fashion Island didn't work is because people didn't believe in it hard enough."

At this point the people were escorted outside by my butler, and I sat down to read the newspapers. In The Guardian there was an article with the words "Are women hard-wired to enjoy cupcakes?"

"Stunning journalism", I muttered to myself. I called Anna. "Do you like cupcakes?"

"No," she replied. I called Diana. She did not like cupcakes. I called Carine and she vomited on the mere premise of cupcakes. Finally, I talked to my friend Gertrude Stein, who pointed out that the article was as ridiculous as saying "are men hard-wired to enjoy meat?"

"The article asks that probing question too", I said. Gertrude rolled her eyes. I wondered how on earth anybody would come up with the assumption that Women Enjoy Cupcakes. What about staplers, hm? Are office-workers hard-wired to enjoy staplers? Are pizza-makers hard-wired to enjoy pizza-slicers? Why is there so much wiring, anyway?

I threw The Guardian on the floor and stomped on it with my one-size-too-small shoes. Hard hitting journalism indeed. I asked Helmut if he wanted to take a photo, and I asked him how death was working out. He mentioned an orgy.

Above: Artist's rendering of Magical Fashion Island.

A Victory For Edith Head

I should shoot down those tiresome rumors about me retiring, again- they seem to crop up every six months or so- the same rate as Cher farewell tours and Neil Young albums. This time the rumors seem to be being dispensed by anonymous news sources, as opposed to Ms. Pernet, who I actually like. It is a lot less interesting when the rumor is being whispered by greasy bits and blobs. Do the bits and blobs have a vendetta against me? I asked my butler, who was sewing up the back of my head- it needs to be tightened daily to keep me looking as I do (I almost wrote "young and fresh" there, but I am under no illusions- I do not pretend to be the fresh lamb of the day).

Anyway- I am not retiring, and I intend to design Chanel until the end of time. Even then I will carry on, because time doesn't affect me. Time is relative, and I have no relatives. Well- all my relatives that I'll admit to liking are dead. Anyway, this means I am free of time itself. You can ask Einstein if you don't believe me. Of course, Albert ended up marrying and thus died. If you want to live forever have no relatives. Everybody these days is too concerned with starting a family or getting married. I see men and women carrying engagement rings down the street on their open palms, running in that fashion that you only see in black and white movies. Colour movies don't do it, because colour changes how people move. This was the main idea for the last Chanel show- to change how everybody walks by using a black and white set. I once had a whole house in black and white, too- even the butler was in black and white. Edith Head designed it. Skin tones look a lot better in black and white. Ms. Head once told me that she wore her special-black-and-white glasses (which made everything black and white) all the time, especially when heading out into the general public. "Otherwise, darling, it is hideous!", she would say. This is my tip of the day, in the style of children's television programs.

Karl's Tip Of The Day:

Why don't you wear black and white glasses all the time?

I realize I'm stealing from Diana here- my apologies, D. I couldn't help myself. I urge all my readers to go out and try it- if everyone did it, everybody would look at least 50% more chic than they do (or don't). I imagine this situation would work in a way similar to the emerald glasses in The Wizard of Oz. Except, of course, black and white is a lot more interesting than emerald. When you go to see your lawyer, or your private detective, it will be as if one is in film noir, or a Raymond Chandler novel. Streets will be like a Cartier-Bresson photograph, or something out of Breathless. Everybody would look far more attractive, and the Wal Mart Generation would be neutralized.

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 Karl Lagerfeld Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame Nominations

Hello, people-

I trust you have all met Diana. Turning up dead to a party can sometimes be too convincing- I have done so many times myself, although since I tend to dress like a dead German aristocrat, nobody actually notices. When I first started sporting this look, people did presume I was dead. They gathered around me like swans (the most vicious of creatures, let me tell you) and said "The Kaiser is dead! Long live the Kaiser!" I would blink behind my sunglasses and say "no, this is simply my new Hedi Slimane suit. Divine, isn't it?" They would all look rather embarrassed.

Once somebody called in an ambulance, and I decided that if the ambulance was there in the first place, I might as well take a ride in the ambulance anyway. At the hospital I met Alber, who wasn't sick or dead either- he just likes the atmosphere. Frankly, I found the atmosphere too reminiscent of Warhol's factory. The group of young people I keep in my pocket said "oh darling, I'm so over hospitals." I patted my pocket reassuringly, letting the young people in my pocket know that we would be out of the hospital soon.

The group of young people in my pocket has since been...disposed of. Do not worry (though I trust if you are a True Reader Of Karl, you will not be worrying anyway)- they have gotten work in television. Nobody can tell the difference in size.

Where was I? Well, fashion month is not interesting yet. That's partially why I've asked Diana to write here- fashion is not about clothes as so much as ideas, fantasy, all that sort of carry on- Diana is good at that. A lot of the young people these days don't understand that- I'm not sure what they're interested in. The 70s, apparently. You know, the 70s have been and gone. They are in the past- and the 1770s are more interesting, anyway. Do you know what the problem is? Things are not ridiculous enough. Clothes are not ridiculous enough, objects are not ridiculous enough, and the only ridiculous things we do have are people like young Sarah Palin, Glen Beck and the lady who doesn't approve of sex. Everything else is far too rational. And when things are rational, things get rather dry, and people do not dress up- one must always dress up in order to buy something ridiculous. What happens when people do not dress up is that they become bored- their eyes become bored- and hence we have people like Palin and The Chaste Lady, who exist solely to entertain us. Who knows if they're real? I am sure if everybody dressed up in their finest outfit Palin, et al would disappear into a puff of illogic.

Anyway, I am going to dress up the New Young People I have. They will be wearing couture. I expect nothing less. It is like having dolls, apart from they have these "feelings" and so on. But you know, if you throw down enough pairs of skinny jeans (pocket-sized, of course) the people in your pocket will be quiet. I think that is the solution to People With Feelings.