Interview

This was an interview I recently did for Scanlan's Monthly, reprinted here.

1. What would you call yourself, a poet or a singer, or do you think that you write poems and then you put music to it?

Of course everything is erotic to me; if it isn't erotic, it isn't interesting.

2. Do you know any Swedes?

How should I know? In any case, one must not be serious. Not only is it absurd, but a serious person cannot have sex.

3. Does the large amount of money you get now mean much to you?

Certainly not! I think that any artistic product must stand or fall on what's there. A chimpanzee can do an abstract painting, if it's good, that's great.

4. How are your friends?

Very religious. Very. But now she is crazy. She lay on top of me when I was tied to the bed. She writes me all the time begging me to return. Why must we speak of my mother?

5. You've said you think message songs are vulgar. Why?

Make love to the police. We need highly trained squads of lovemakers to go everywhere and make love.

6. Do you think Lincoln wore his hair long to keep his head warm?

Many dirty hands have fondled beauty, made it their banner; I'd like to chop off those hands, because I do believe in that banner . . . the difference is that art is beauty, which the Beatniks naturally lack, hm?

7. do you find that people who call you a genius have any influence on your writing?
No, I don't, but that's not my wish. That's Merce's wish because he's involved with a large company of dancers and a school, so if his name were in the phone book, it would be awful. Anyway, people find out what your number is whether it's in the book or not.

8. If a young man considering a career in the arts wanted to meet a lot of women, would he be better off learning to paint or to play guitar?

That's the trouble, of course, for any individual. There is the rest of society and the rest of history. I think we have to take that circumstance as the means upon which we work to help us discover the nature of the next step, rather than taking it as something to lament. That's what my father would have done.

9. Can't dreams also mean hopes about the future?

Now, it's those two things: the cockroaches on the one hand, and the mosquitoes on the other that brought about, didn't they? The DDT?

10. Who's that playing with you here?

He was a student of Bonnie Bird. Yes. And he was absolutely remarkable. In fact when Martha Graham saw him, she took him immediately in her company. He was a creature of the air. And no one knew it at the time that he would come down to earth as he has in recent years. (laughs) He's been forced down to the earth, but he refuses to stop dancing. I'm sure he'll dance the day he dies.

11. What's your take on politics?

Well, I think this is why Buddhism is so important to so many people now, is that the -- One of the principles of Buddhist philosophy is that everything causes everything else, and that there is nothing that is not caused by everything else, and that each thing is at the center of the universe, and these centers are in interpenetration and non-obstruction

12. Like a locomotive, a pair of boots, a kiss or the rain?

People ask what the avant-garde is and whether it's finished. It isn't. There will always be one. The avantgarde is flexibility of mind. And it follows like day, the night from not falling prey to government and education. Without the avant-garde nothing would get invented. If your head is in the clouds, keep your feet on the ground. If your feet are on the ground, keep your head in the clouds.

Maude and Fish

Golly, as my my Vermont neighbor Maude often says. I like Maude. She's a good hunter, and she's taught Anna how Not To Shoot people (a relief for the Vogue PR dept, let me tell you. How many more excuses could they come up with- "it was just a Government weather balloon that fell on the poor dear, so sorry!", "Terry Richardson's massive lack of talent and taste fell upon Mrs. Salome, she died instantly. There was no pain, but we do send our commiserations to her husband. Enclosed is a free DVD of Sex And The City 2: Uncut. We do hope you enjoy!")

Another phrase of Maude's: "I have fish to fry!" Well, I have fish to fry too, Maude. Slimy fish. The kind that sit on the bottom of the ocean feeding on their own filth (and the filth of others). The kind of fish who get fake tans. I am, of course (you hadn't guessed?), talking about "InStyle" magazine, who contacted me some months ago wanting to feature me in a "best blogs of all time"-type feature. I laughed about it with certain associates- "haw haw haw", we went, because this "InStyle" magazine is- how do you say- for the tanned ones and girls who watch that JuicyStar person on you-tube. It is not very chic. However, I thought about it some more and thought, well, maybe this could be charity work. After all, Bono is doing Africa and the Geldof person is doing Ethipopia and Neil Young is doing the farms. I thought: ah, I will help the needy, the unfortunates, the tanned-and-sprayed ones. I must admit though, I did this for selfish means. Sometimes I look outside Rue Cambon and I see these awful orange girls with terrible leggings that make them look like German sausages. They say things like (in a heavy American accent): "THIS IS WHERE COCO CHANEL LIVES!" "DO YOU THINK SHE'LL INVITE US IN FOR TEA AND CRUMPETS?", and then someone else, from behind a street lamp (they are very thin) says: "That's the queen of England, you superficial twats." And then the American girls say: "OH! IS THAT WHAT COCO CHANEL DOES?", to which the person behind the street lamp sighs and mopes off to a cafe.

Now, these "InStyle" people required a t-shirt. A demode shirt. I discussed this with the seamstresses who make these, thread by thread, and they said "verra well, if you must." I thanked them and emailed "InStyle" back with "If you return it by sundown." They replied with "Oh! But there is a boy in the office who says your t-shirt would be the jewel in his collection!" I was feeling a tad generous, and said "Mmmph" or something of the sort. I found it funny (as did the associates), because we were joking that this is all "InStyle" wanted from us- that it was an elaborate hoax rouse to obtain a t-shirt. (By the way, those hacks claimed they couldn't afford to spend the money on buying a shirt- apparently it costs too much to shoot Miley Cyrus or Rand Paul or whoever they have on their covers.)

Of course, a day later or so, I received an email from the assistant who was in charge of "picture finding" or something similarly ridiculous. She said the editor pulled the piece. The editor, who I looked up, is one of those demode and unfortunate tanned ones. More's the pity. My associates agreed with me that this was their plan from the start: to obtain a t-shirt, with no intention of doing the story (for this fabled "boy", whoever he is. I like my boys visable, and preferably naked.)

So to use another phrase of Maude's: "Nuts to them!"- she does have good phrases. I can think of more explicit ones, but I'd feel like I was making fun of those starving Africans, such is the plight of the tanned ones. I thought about this for a whole minute, and I thought- well, maybe I should help them even more. And this is my plan- I am going to start a trust. I call it the "SAVE THE TANNED DEMODE", or STD for short. Please donate generously (checks can be written to Mr Howard Ques, 56 Rue Saint Colette, Paris.) With your help we can give them a better life, and provide white makeup for them to cover up their tans. 

How to Use Traffic Lights and Other Stories

I trust you all have mastered the art of supermarket shopping by now. It's very difficult, of course, and some of the slower (and more inbred) of you may still be struggling with the finer aspects- using a credit card is particularly bothersome. As a reminder, you use a credit card by passing it through a small slit on a machine with numbers. If you have enough "money" on your "card", one will be able to press "OK" and purchase what one wants.

Anyway. I wanted to talk about a couple of other things today. First of all, appreciation of photography. Many of you have been writing me letters telling me how much of an artist Terry Richardson is, and what a swell fellow he is, really. It's often the practice of the rich to determine the tastes of the rest of the world in art. The Medici's were particularly good at this. We now have people like that advertising fellow- the one who was married to Nigella Lawson (the food pornography actress). Saatchi. There's also that awful investment banker- the one who bought Damien's shark. What an investment banker knows about art, well, I don't know- the general consensus is that money equals art, and the more money something costs, the more art it is. Here's a system for you to use, which is what all the big art buyers use. It is called "Is it Art (By Awful Investment Bankers International)". If something costs between $50,000 to $100,000 it is minor art. The leeches- I mean, the art dealers, will term it "work by an interesting up and comer". If something is between $100,000 to $250,000, it is major minor art, to which the art dealers will declare "A very strong work by an unappreciated artist". And on it goes, until we get until the millions, where the work will be undoubtedly a Work of Genius. 

This is all very well and good, except that from you newly bourgeois, formerly wealthy people to whom I'm addressing this post don't have millions to spend on Art with a capital A anymore. Meaning, by your system, you can't declare Terry Richardson's work art. It never was art anyway, you dull-witted Armani-suit-wearing morons. What is it? Well, it's misogynist porn that doesn't turn me on. Do you know what turns me on, hm? Dishwashers. I love the sound they make as they churn around and around. But that's not the point- my point is that Richardson's work is half the problem, because it's inherently misogynist, made by a creep who enjoys taking photographs of women on the toilet. It's an absolute indictment upon the fashion industry that magazines like Vice, Vogue, Purple, etc continue to publish this predator's work. Here's Vice magazine proving it's run by people who probably make rape jokes all day long and have the taste of a insurance salesman turned tax collector turned realtor who has been doused in the sweat produced by executives rubbing their hands together in glee as they go to murder a batch of kittens. My Coco, haven't you done well, Vice. (Also, here I'll point out that Vice published an interview with me a couple of months ago by a sycophantic...creature who asked incredibly boring questions).

What I am doing is giving a good spanking to all those in the fashion industry who have encouraged this charlatan and given him work. How pro-women of you, hm? How responsible of you, placing Mr. Richardson in power, hm? And that's not to mention the photographers "inspired" by him. How original- having a penis in a woman's mouth, no? That hasn't been done before!

In case you didn't read the above because you're illiterate and only read twitter: If you support Terry Richardson, you are anti-women. If you publish his work, you are anti-women. If you think him using his position of power to rape women is chic, you are anti-women. For an industry that makes an awful lot of money from women, it's not exactly a profitable stance, hmm?

That is the first thing I wanted to talk to you about. Secondly, I would like to give you a guide on how to use traffic lights, as you'll surely encounter these when you attempt "walking".

Now, "walking" is support the ordinary prole participates in daily, often with other proles. They do this on "streets". A street is a place which has buildings and a road. You will be familiar with these, as you probably had to climb out of your luxury automobiles and cross a "street" in order to get to the Chanel store, or something similar. (Of course, you won't be going into Chanel stores anymore, but you needn't worry for me. We have plenty more clients where you came from.) A traffic light governs the space between the cars and the people. They are very tall and have three lights on them. The colours are yellow, green and red. Yellow is a useless light and nobody knows what it means, so it's best to ignore that light if you see it. If you see green you can walk across the road. All the cars will stop and if they keep going you will be okay, because the green light will protect you (or so I'm informed). If it is red, you must wait for it to go green, because crossing the "street" on a red light will result in immediate vaporization.

Finally, to use a traffic light one must press a large metal button. This "activates" the traffic light and it knows you are alive and so on. The large metal button is the most important part, because if you don't press that the traffic light will never know you are there. 

Once the traffic light turns green, do the "walking" we have practiced and you will get to the other side. There is an old German joke that my nanny used to tell me:

Q: Why did the formerly rich bourgeois person cross the road?

A: Because TIME magazine did an article on it, and the New Yorker also did an article on it, and their neighbors were doing it, so they wanted to see what it was all about and they heard it'd won an Oscar too...and one of those Nobel prizes, whatever they are. It seemed pretty reputable and they have a greatest hits album coming out. 

An Email

Hi,

I’m about to launch my website and I was hoping perhaps you might consider very briefly mentioning my site? I would very gladly send $55 via paypal. I’m starting a fashion store with guides on comfortable fashion and ugg boots. I was hoping to get support of fashion bloggers like yourself to help me get things off the ground. I could also create a $30 gift certificate for 100 of your readers as well?

Hope I haven’t wasted your time..

Best Wishes,

Naomi Sanders

--

Hello,

Comfort is always secondary. Style should not be sacrificed by wearing such atrocities as "ugg boots".

Regards,
Karl

This Post Has An Awful Lot Of BlackAdder References

I haven't written anything about the Terry Richardson thing ("thing", meaning "raping young models using his position of power"), because Jenna over at Jezebel was doing a fantastic job with it. She still is, and an assistant actually pointed this quote out to me while he was reading Jezebel. As well as that, it's not the sort of material that I normally put on this "web-blog"- obviously, rape isn't a thing that one should do in life- if one is desperate for sex, one can always hire a prostitute. There's no shame in that. One of my favourite movies is "Belle de Jour"- a gloriously erotic film if there ever was one. But I digress. The subject at hand is Terry Richardson: A terrible photographer and sexual predator. I loathe this man's photography, because it has all the intelligence of a four year old and the sexual sophistication of a donkey. It is as thick as a whole omelette, and it's as dirty as a dungbeatle who has lost interest in his career and really let itself go. I also loathe the actions of this man, for more or less the same reasons. Several models (and I love models, especially on Tuesdays) have come forward, accusing him of essentially taking advantage of his position of great power (that of photographer well-respected in fashion, for Coco knows what reasons) to force young girls, some underage to have sex with him. This is known as "rape" in many countries around the world. Rape is illegal. 

I'm inclined to believe these accusations, especially since Mr. Richardson's well known for sexually-charged shoots (that is, the shoots themselves are sexual. "Uncle Terry" has admitted so himself. I wouldn't go as far to say his photos are- they're merely vulgar. Helmut Newton he's not). Some people have used this as a means of justification- to quote one blogger, Jen "Gnarltude"- "Has no one seen his photos before? What’d they think was gonna happen? All good clean fun and maybe some prayer circle after?" (the full quote is here). I'm afraid this doesn't justify it at all- just because this is common practice in Mr. Richardson's world doesn't mean it's right. In fact, it terrifies even me that this is considered "normal" by some people. Normal is, you know, buying some couture in the morning and perhaps having some champagne for lunch and burning one's old clothes in a bombfire in the afternoon. That's normal. Rape is not.

Here's a quote from Olivier Zahm: "It's totally ridiculous and embarrassing for them. The women who attacked Richardson, it's really sad...I can't understand how people can be so mean. I don't even see their point."

The point, Mr. Zahm, is that Richardson most likely had non-consensual sex with these girls. That's rather a big deal, no? With my models, I'm very protective of them- they're like my children, but very tall and sometimes mistaken for trees. I have a lot of affection for trees. Some of my favourite conversations have been with trees. Anyway- the quote made me lose a lot of respect for Mr. Zahm, who I didn't always agree with before, but I didn't dislike either. He will not be coming to any more tea parties.

Coping in A Recession, A How-To Guide For The Rich

Although many fabulously well-to-do economists are claiming the recession is over, I've noticed many of my wealthy friends have fallen on hard times. Fortunes have been chopped in half: what was 6 billion dollars is now a mere 3 billion dollars. Many of my friends can only afford 5 yachts a year, rather then 10 or so. Dire straits indeed.

Yet, there is no need to worry- I have a solution. I was thinking of this as I was shooting Lara, Abby Lee, et al today, and I was thinking that this "blog" originally intended to be a guide to life. Then I thought: who do I care about the most? Who is most in need? Why, the rich of course. The wealthy. Those with a silver spoon in their mouth, born or purchased. Without the rich there'd be no poor- the poor would simply cease to exist. They would vanish in a "poof!" of air. There would be no middle class, either- because without the rich, the middle class would have no job (ie. serve the rich), and therefore they'd turn into the poor and then vanish in a "poof!" of air also. Without underling classes, there would be no rich, and therefore there'd be no humans at all. Without humans, animals would cease to exist also because their job, naturally, is to provide food and furs and such for humans. In essence: the universe would collapse.

Then I thought: how can I best the rich who are not as fortunate as I? Well, I thought about this for a while, and then I realized the best way would be to write a Guide To Doing Things For The Rich. We'll start with supermarket shopping. I personally went to a supermarket and discovered how they work, so you can be assured that this is all correct.

How To Shop At Supermarkets (For The Rich), by Karl Lagerfeld.

The first thing to remember about supermarkets is that they don't have a doorman. However, most of them do seem to have "auto-matic doors", which open when you step close to them. You can experiment with different techniques for doing this: the most common is simply to walk near the door, stop, wait for the doors to open and then walk through. It's also possible to hold your hands in front of the door, say "OPEN, PROLETARIAN DOOR!" and it will open. In fact, one can say as many things as one wants to say, and the doors will open. I think they're a wonderful invention.

Once you've accomplished Walking Through The Door, you can move onto the next step: moving through "The Gates". You'll discover once you pass through the door, there is another set of doors- generally metal barriers, although they're sometimes plastic. These are to stop thieves from getting away too quickly, I think. There is one set of "gates" for you to walk through, and another to walk out of. Once you've been to the supermarket a few times, you'll get the hang of it. (TIP: Don't wear couture to the supermarket, it could get damaged, and often won't fit through the "gates". I went to the supermarket with my friend Daphne Guinness the other day- she wore the Yohji Yamamoto "wedding dress" which requires several people to hold it up. It was a challenge getting it into the store, as you can imagine.)

You'll also notice that there are things which the supermarket staff will call "trollies". These are large metal baskets which I believe are for putting the goods which you obtain in "the store" (supermarket slang) in. Models also fit in there nicely, but it's generally accepted that you give the trolly back after using it. One works the trolly by pushing it from the front- you'll notice that there's a sort of bar with which one can do this. They're wonderful machines, and quite useful when one doesn't have a bevy of assistants to carry things.

The supermarket is divided into sections, similar to how a boutique is divided, except for "perfume", "clothes", "luggage" etc is replaced with more mundane titles like "vegetables and fruit", "meat", "beverages". Do not be fooled: they function more or less the same way, though there are no fitting rooms to try a carrot on, or see if a toothbrush fits. Normal people don't have these luxuries. You can make your selections by wheeling the trolly around the store and placing the selection in your trolly. Once you've finished that, there is one final step. This is the most important step.

This most important step is to maneuver your trolly into a narrow space know as a "counter", manned by a pimply youth. They will say "Hello, sir/madame". The normal response is "Greetings, Supermarket Worker". Then they will give you the price of all your purchases, and you will be expected to pay for them. One should never say "Darling, charge it to my account" because supermarkets do not do this. Instead, one should offer the money- normally in the form of "cash" or "card". Finally, the youth will say "have a nice day!" half heartedly, and you will be expected to say "thank you" in reply. This is the etiquette.

Once one has done that, one can unload one's purchases into the rolls, take the trolly back to where you obtained it, and drive away. Congratulations: you've completed a successful trip to the supermarket.

Any questions on this how-to, please send them to fakekarl@gmail.com. I am always there to help those in need that blow their noses on Hermès scarves.

Oh Gee

I was reading this morning's New York Times when I stumbled across an article about our favourite pint-sized blogging wonderkid, Scott Schuman. Young Schuman has a number of interesting things to say about the internet, the medium which has made him famous in some circles. “Now everyone feels the Internet is a free-for-all,” he said, while presumably munching on his bag of candy whilst taking a break from riding the Brand New Red Bike he received for Christmas. What Master Schuman doesn't understand is that the internet, well, is a free for all. I'm well over the age of youngsters such as him and even I understand that. Besides that- I find his lack of humor disturbing. The article refers to a site called the "Fake Sartorialist" which parodies the outfits- mostly old men- shown on young Scott's blog. He is upset with this, because his photos are high art and are not to be parodied, satirized, or anything like that. The internet is not a free for all! It is a venue for Scott Schuman to show his high art! And perhaps photos of his Brand New Bike. My butler told me that if you hurry, you can catch Scott and some of his pals playing basketball at the local court (beside Mrs. Brown's house). Afterwards they intend on watching Star Wars and talking about girls they have crushes on.