Vulgar Italians

So. We will not talk about Milan. Actually, we will- there was this dinner Donatella had last night, and I was invited of course. You will remember that Donatella is the one who tries to imitate a Greek monster of some sort- a Medusa with very large lips (one look at those lips and you'll turn to leopard-printed stone). She has little assistants that make clothes in the style of her late brother. I never saw much of her brother, because that was in the 90's. I never saw anybody in the 90's really. Anti-social was very chic then. The dinner itself was very boring, and nobody ate anything. I mean- nobody ever eats anything anyway, but the restaurant didn't even bother with the pretense of having food out. There were two buffets: one marked "FASHION" with nothing under it at all, and another marked "VEGANS" with under it a cross (the religious kind, the one they put that fellow on- John Lennon I think), a Buddha, a Star of David and all manner of religious items. There was also a pear that was made by Julie Anne. If you went outside you'd find a trashcan marked "FOR PEOPLE WHO EAT". A certain well-known fashion personality was found there.

Off to Paris now- where the only vulgar Italian that roams is that dreadful socialist Prada woman.

Notes from Milan (1)

In Milan. Everybody's fat or anorexic, there's no in-between here. Armani just made a fool of himself at a bar last night; danced on tabletops. Raf Simons sulks in the corner, muttering to himself- wondering where his "boys" are? Donatella- shall I even get onto her? I think her lips are due for another injection- they're sagging. Valentino's been lurking about- mysterious. Saw the Prada woman going through trash bags- next seasons collection? She was wearing a barrel; smelt like they'd shot the fish inside said barrel a long time ago. Too much Pasta. I often wonder what use Italy is to fashion these days- it's like one of those useless parts of the body- like the heart or somesuch. Must be off now; Fendi calls.

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.

Milan

Anna and I are in Milan, and Yves is disguised as a large moving piece of luggage (yes, he does read Terry Pratchett).
Went to the Jil Sander show. How pretentious can one be? No no- pretentious is not the word- the word is how basic can one be, and still be considered "genius". "It was a minimalist affair, no? Minimalism with frills. Anna was upset because Andre showed up. Yes, the Andre from Vogue that I fired. What was he doing there? She spent half the show giving him the evils.

Prada was hilarious. The heels! Brilliant. Finally the Prada women has learnt how to be funny. Maybe we shall invite her to the portable closest we've set up here. I spotted the models wearing the Karl t-shirts. So far, no undesirables have purchased the t-shirts- I've instructed Anna to throw acid on any that do.

(Spent the Jil Sander show watching the battle between Anna and Andre actually. I guess someone looked at the clothes)