Adaptability:
I am now at least 70, depending on what reports you have read. Some reports place me around the region of 250! The truth is somewhere in between. In any case, I have seen a great many young up-and-comers become old-maid-one-hit-wonders. One day they are young and beautiful; the next they are alcoholics doing guest appearances in small towns at women’s conventions for a cheap make-up supplement manufactured in Peru. An old foe of my, Yves Saint Laurent, is in this situation. He is dead. I imagine you understand the problems associated with being dead- it’s a rather hard situation to adapt to. Yves could never adapt anyway, so I wonder how he’s going to get out of this one. Of course, one only becomes dead when one fails to adapt. Yves stopped adapting in the 70’s. I think he died last year, but it may’ve been 20 years ago- one can never tell.
I knew Truman Capote for a while, actually. We met maybe four years before he died- you know, nobody was paying attention to him at this time. He was just a sort of imploding star, stuck in the jet set. The sort of people who are wealthy, inbreed but are not aristocracy- rather an executive of some sort, a chairman. He was obsessed with the jet set- writing a book about them. There was no jet set by then, and there is certainly no jet set now! Times have changed! When times change, one must change too or one will became another fatality, hm? But I met Truman, and he was such a sad state- stuck in a time that didn’t exist anymore.
“You won’t believe what dish I’ve found out on executive so-and-so,” I remember him saying to me.
It took me five seconds to think of a reply- a long, drawn out five seconds where I umm-ed and ahh-ed (mentally, of course. Never show a sign of indecision) between saying “nobody cares Truman”, or “how interesting.” I just ended up with an “Mm.” He continued babbling on, whilst I blocked out his words by having a conversation with myself in my head.
Adaptability is paramount. I am like some vampire-esque chameleon, always absorbing the zeitgeist like fatties absorb grease. Where those plump creatures which weigh down the earth with their dinosaur-like stomping eat those pizzas and such, devouring them as if to create a world pizza-short; I eat the zeitgeist- designing it and throwing it away when I am done. I am not immortal for the fun of it; I am immortal because I am always up-to-date! The zeitgeist is my lover.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
A is for Accessories
Accessories:
Coco Chanel said that one should start with too many accessories and take one or more of them off. This is because Coco could not accessorise very well herself. When one puts on too many accessories in the first place, one risks somebody stylish walking in on them, and catching them with too many accessories on. Mon Chanel! How embarrassing! Imagine the look of this stylish person walking in on you and your overly-accessorised self, the shock in his or her face, the loss of whatever respect this person has for you. I myself sometimes do this at wherever I happen to be staying- I open every door of the hotel or castle or somesuch, trying to catch an over-accessoriser in the act. It is great fun for the catcher, but you don’t want to be the one caught!
More importantly- imagine your demode self, with one thousand and one accessories on. Imagine how trite and cheap you must look! Imagine how you might look like a goldmine to the men who may see you- not a goldmine they’re sexually attracted to; more like a goldmine where they’re going to approach the owner of wherever you’re staying at for the cost of the land rights to “that large heap of gold and silver that was laying in room one-oh-eight”. That large heap is you, over accessoriser. Non non non, that look is demode.
How is one meant to accessorise, in this case? What is this correct amount of accessories, hm?
I am not a mathematician- I’m not going to give you a formula. It is up to one’s own eye. What I do is I look at the person in question- in most cases it’s myself, occasionally a model. I observe their weight, their height, their hair colour, their favourite music and so on. Really eye this person up- is their neck particularly attractive- will a necklace enhance it? Is this person a fattie? Does this person have unattractive fingers? For instance, my own fingers are terrible- my mother used to tell me: “Don’t smoke Karl, because your hands are much too ugly for it and a cigarette will draw attention to it.” So I wear fingerless gloves and put many, many rings on my fingers. Yet if I had painterly fingers, it would not be acceptable to wear a million rings.
I choose to accessorise with high collars, sunglasses, fingerless gloves and rings- but I’m not going to tell you to wear this (I do hope you didn’t buy this book in order to justify your high collar habit- that’s your own problem.) However, I think everybody should wear sunglasses at least some of the time. Unless you are very stupid, or have very beautiful eyes, sunglasses act as a sort of disguise- a sort of eye shadow. Stupid people do not need a disguise because they’re too stupid to register anything anyway, hm? If one of the accessories you are wearing is sunglasses when your chic friend walks in on your overly-accessorising self, at least you can conceal an iota of your embarrassment.
Coco Chanel said that one should start with too many accessories and take one or more of them off. This is because Coco could not accessorise very well herself. When one puts on too many accessories in the first place, one risks somebody stylish walking in on them, and catching them with too many accessories on. Mon Chanel! How embarrassing! Imagine the look of this stylish person walking in on you and your overly-accessorised self, the shock in his or her face, the loss of whatever respect this person has for you. I myself sometimes do this at wherever I happen to be staying- I open every door of the hotel or castle or somesuch, trying to catch an over-accessoriser in the act. It is great fun for the catcher, but you don’t want to be the one caught!
More importantly- imagine your demode self, with one thousand and one accessories on. Imagine how trite and cheap you must look! Imagine how you might look like a goldmine to the men who may see you- not a goldmine they’re sexually attracted to; more like a goldmine where they’re going to approach the owner of wherever you’re staying at for the cost of the land rights to “that large heap of gold and silver that was laying in room one-oh-eight”. That large heap is you, over accessoriser. Non non non, that look is demode.
How is one meant to accessorise, in this case? What is this correct amount of accessories, hm?
I am not a mathematician- I’m not going to give you a formula. It is up to one’s own eye. What I do is I look at the person in question- in most cases it’s myself, occasionally a model. I observe their weight, their height, their hair colour, their favourite music and so on. Really eye this person up- is their neck particularly attractive- will a necklace enhance it? Is this person a fattie? Does this person have unattractive fingers? For instance, my own fingers are terrible- my mother used to tell me: “Don’t smoke Karl, because your hands are much too ugly for it and a cigarette will draw attention to it.” So I wear fingerless gloves and put many, many rings on my fingers. Yet if I had painterly fingers, it would not be acceptable to wear a million rings.
I choose to accessorise with high collars, sunglasses, fingerless gloves and rings- but I’m not going to tell you to wear this (I do hope you didn’t buy this book in order to justify your high collar habit- that’s your own problem.) However, I think everybody should wear sunglasses at least some of the time. Unless you are very stupid, or have very beautiful eyes, sunglasses act as a sort of disguise- a sort of eye shadow. Stupid people do not need a disguise because they’re too stupid to register anything anyway, hm? If one of the accessories you are wearing is sunglasses when your chic friend walks in on your overly-accessorising self, at least you can conceal an iota of your embarrassment.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Foreword to a book that might be posted whenever I feel like it
FOREWORD,
By Karl Lagerfeld.
One day, as I was taking off my quilted sleeping mask and ringing the bell beside my bed for my morning-butler, I felt an odd benevolent feeling surge within me. Non, it was not a surge- it was just a tickle. Now normally I equate “benevolence” with charitable old men, who are balding and senile. These old men probably are chairmen of a bank someplace, and they most likely have grandchildren whom they dote like a fashion designer dotes upon his mother. I do not have any grandchildren; banks bore me and I am most certainly not senile. Yet I felt slightly benevolent as I thought to myself: “I should write a book about how to live in a proper fashion.” Of course, this would mean helping people, as hardly anybody knows how to live these days. This itself led to a moral dilemma: do I really want to help people? Do they deserve my help, hmm? I debated this with myself for all of an hour, as I sketched out the latest Chanel collection. Yet this niggling charitable feeling simply would not go away, even as I practised my passive-aggressive face in the mirror. I pursed my lips, and eventually decided on a course of action. I would write this book, but only for the sake of posterity (like one might produce a great artwork, a great symphony or somesuch- I am writing this guide to living simply because it would be a crime not to.)
It is safe to assume that since you are reading this book you know who I am. On the chance that you’re some philistine who does not know who I am, some jam-brained sweat suit wearing fattie- well, just stop reading now. However, I’m going to introduce myself anyway. I did consider making one of my cohorts write an introduction- “Karl Lagerfeld is perhaps the most important fashion designer of the 20th and 21st centuries. Here is a man who is always relevant, who has produced more variations on the little black dress than Bach produced variations of the well tempered clavier…”- that sort of thing. I’d get someone people think of highly to write the introduction, whilst looking over their shoulder with a silver cane. Maybe Alber Elbaz, Anna Wintour- someone like that. In the end I couldn’t let somebody else write my introduction, I’m too selfish.
My name is Karl Lagerfeld (but you knew that, assuming you can read the front cover). I am the greatest fashion designer to ever walk this little planet- Chanel became a legend because of my designs, my genius. Before I came to Chanel, it was a near-comatose ugly stepsister, remembered by nobody. Coco Chanel was remembered primarily as the private call-girl to a Nazi and a decent businesswoman (I am not making this up, no joking here. You can look it all up if you don’t believe me). I revived Chanel solely through my own design genius. I also have designed almost every other collection worth noting, whether it is Comme des Garcons or Dior; every decent collection has been designed by me. Other designers put their names to these collections, yet I see the other “designers” scavenging around the bins outside my Parisian abode. They’re looking for the collections I’ve designed which are not good enough for me. Generally, they find them and take the sketches back to their teams who plagiarise my aborted collections. It’s rather similar to stealing a Picasso piece which Picasso himself does not like, or settling for a second-rate lover. All my collections are fantastic lovers, of course, yet I prefer to be incredibly fastidious with the collections I release. Some lovers are more Karl than others, hmm? And the Karl-lover is always better. Besides- if I released too many lover-collections upon the world, they would simply die of sexual ecstasy. Dead customers are deadbeats when it comes to paying their bills.
As you can see from the above paragraph, I’m rather brilliant. You’re probably awed, and your jaw has dropped so low that I must ask you to close it- drool is never chic. Imagine what you’re doing to my pages! It is a privilege to be reading this book, and you should thank your trust fund or whoever gives you money that has allowed you to afford this opportunity. You may never get to speak to me, but at least you can read my words.
This book- a guide to living, if you will- will be organised alphabetically. A, B, C, and so on, until we reach Z and as the children’s song goes, you may start all over again! Everything in here is my strict advice- it is no joke. If you follow these commandments, you will be living a far more chic life! You’ll never equate with I, of course, yet at least you will rise above those plebes not reading this book. Let us begin.
By Karl Lagerfeld.
One day, as I was taking off my quilted sleeping mask and ringing the bell beside my bed for my morning-butler, I felt an odd benevolent feeling surge within me. Non, it was not a surge- it was just a tickle. Now normally I equate “benevolence” with charitable old men, who are balding and senile. These old men probably are chairmen of a bank someplace, and they most likely have grandchildren whom they dote like a fashion designer dotes upon his mother. I do not have any grandchildren; banks bore me and I am most certainly not senile. Yet I felt slightly benevolent as I thought to myself: “I should write a book about how to live in a proper fashion.” Of course, this would mean helping people, as hardly anybody knows how to live these days. This itself led to a moral dilemma: do I really want to help people? Do they deserve my help, hmm? I debated this with myself for all of an hour, as I sketched out the latest Chanel collection. Yet this niggling charitable feeling simply would not go away, even as I practised my passive-aggressive face in the mirror. I pursed my lips, and eventually decided on a course of action. I would write this book, but only for the sake of posterity (like one might produce a great artwork, a great symphony or somesuch- I am writing this guide to living simply because it would be a crime not to.)
It is safe to assume that since you are reading this book you know who I am. On the chance that you’re some philistine who does not know who I am, some jam-brained sweat suit wearing fattie- well, just stop reading now. However, I’m going to introduce myself anyway. I did consider making one of my cohorts write an introduction- “Karl Lagerfeld is perhaps the most important fashion designer of the 20th and 21st centuries. Here is a man who is always relevant, who has produced more variations on the little black dress than Bach produced variations of the well tempered clavier…”- that sort of thing. I’d get someone people think of highly to write the introduction, whilst looking over their shoulder with a silver cane. Maybe Alber Elbaz, Anna Wintour- someone like that. In the end I couldn’t let somebody else write my introduction, I’m too selfish.
My name is Karl Lagerfeld (but you knew that, assuming you can read the front cover). I am the greatest fashion designer to ever walk this little planet- Chanel became a legend because of my designs, my genius. Before I came to Chanel, it was a near-comatose ugly stepsister, remembered by nobody. Coco Chanel was remembered primarily as the private call-girl to a Nazi and a decent businesswoman (I am not making this up, no joking here. You can look it all up if you don’t believe me). I revived Chanel solely through my own design genius. I also have designed almost every other collection worth noting, whether it is Comme des Garcons or Dior; every decent collection has been designed by me. Other designers put their names to these collections, yet I see the other “designers” scavenging around the bins outside my Parisian abode. They’re looking for the collections I’ve designed which are not good enough for me. Generally, they find them and take the sketches back to their teams who plagiarise my aborted collections. It’s rather similar to stealing a Picasso piece which Picasso himself does not like, or settling for a second-rate lover. All my collections are fantastic lovers, of course, yet I prefer to be incredibly fastidious with the collections I release. Some lovers are more Karl than others, hmm? And the Karl-lover is always better. Besides- if I released too many lover-collections upon the world, they would simply die of sexual ecstasy. Dead customers are deadbeats when it comes to paying their bills.
As you can see from the above paragraph, I’m rather brilliant. You’re probably awed, and your jaw has dropped so low that I must ask you to close it- drool is never chic. Imagine what you’re doing to my pages! It is a privilege to be reading this book, and you should thank your trust fund or whoever gives you money that has allowed you to afford this opportunity. You may never get to speak to me, but at least you can read my words.
This book- a guide to living, if you will- will be organised alphabetically. A, B, C, and so on, until we reach Z and as the children’s song goes, you may start all over again! Everything in here is my strict advice- it is no joke. If you follow these commandments, you will be living a far more chic life! You’ll never equate with I, of course, yet at least you will rise above those plebes not reading this book. Let us begin.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Yves says he's elegant, even when he's dead.
Oh, hello! I am so glad you came by. Cocoa is really nice in the afternoon, no?
You know why I like our little visits? They are elegant. Look, here is that darling Portuguese bringing the tray. Her name? Beach, I am sure of it.
Oh, and she sets up the tea table and goodies, Merriwether is following with the service de the and chocolatiere. Oh, and muffins. Can I interest you in an orange nut muffin?
Restaurants are not really chic. They are so awkward. And some unemployed interior designer barking “excellent choice” at each request. How people enjoy their meal in this environment? Chefs choice? Non, its my choice.
That’s why this economy, oh I keep saying this economy, don’t I? Anyway, this is an opportunity to create a beautiful dining room, enjoy your grandmere’s plates and to be really exclusive. Learn about food, experience it, rather than have some worker bee explain it to you. Do you have a lovely decanter, rimmed in silver with lovely little glasses?
Use the good china. Today is soo special. In my Algerian village, there is a girl who is Eucharistic minister, the one who helps at communion, who sneers when people she doesn’t like approach during mass. Do not invite her with great flourish. Invite instead, her sister who works at a coffee shop, so her children have insurance and a Tennis Club membership.
That wonderful Horyn woman is right. Let the celebrities have their own fashion weeks. We will entertain each other in private. Dinners, fashion, bookclubs.
Ahhhh, use this economy to refine your life. All those divorcees selling their Gucci bags and Rolexes. No, mon amie, you look sooo chic in your leggings and your fathers sweater, the plaid sneakers are charmant. Chic cannot be purchased. Let us sit back, and think of all the people we don’t have to invite, and then blame it on the economy! Vreeland was right when she said refusal is elegance!
Ooh! Ooh! Look! A pretty green hummingbird has joined us! She is over there, in the fuchsia baskets! A lovely guest!
Coco or cocoa?
Could you please pass the apricot cream bread, I think its still warm! Oh lovely!
Oh yes, we were going to speak of the 1970s, of beatniks, and plaids.
We’ll get to that. Those old folkies, they are like granite, we will always have them.
I am so glad you came by today!
Mail from SeoBlogReviews.com (you can contact them yourself at eunicesm18@yahoo.com)
Hello,
I'm Eunice from SeoBlogReviews.com.
I would like to know if by any chance you would be interested in getting paid to publish reviews of products and websites on your blog http://fakekarl.blogspot.com/.
If you are interested please let us know the amount of money you want in order to publish a review by clicking the following link:
http://blog.seoblogreviews.com/default/index/82ed83c6158bf1b292d4c0d3b9c05bc8
As soon as you do that we'll start sending you paid review proposals from our customers.
Thanks,
The SeoBlogReviews.com Team
--
Dear Morally Bankrupt Fatties,
You are terrible people and you should all be ashamed of yourselves. How on Earth do you sleep at night, you two-bit hacks? Do you have families to feed, hmm? How do your children feel, knowing that what you do is email glorious people such as myself with your worthless fodder? How do you live? Don't you feel soul-crushingly depressed when click the "send" button on your pre-written email? Don't you just want to jump out the window like your former and late colleagues have done? You are horrible, dreadful, unsavoury people. Unsavoury! Please, quit your job and become a taxi driver or accountant or stylist while you still can. I implore you! The life you're living is useless!
Good day to you, sirs,
Karl Otto Lagerfeld
I'm Eunice from SeoBlogReviews.com.
I would like to know if by any chance you would be interested in getting paid to publish reviews of products and websites on your blog http://fakekarl.blogspot.com/.
If you are interested please let us know the amount of money you want in order to publish a review by clicking the following link:
http://blog.seoblogreviews.
As soon as you do that we'll start sending you paid review proposals from our customers.
Thanks,
The SeoBlogReviews.com Team
--
Dear Morally Bankrupt Fatties,
You are terrible people and you should all be ashamed of yourselves. How on Earth do you sleep at night, you two-bit hacks? Do you have families to feed, hmm? How do your children feel, knowing that what you do is email glorious people such as myself with your worthless fodder? How do you live? Don't you feel soul-crushingly depressed when click the "send" button on your pre-written email? Don't you just want to jump out the window like your former and late colleagues have done? You are horrible, dreadful, unsavoury people. Unsavoury! Please, quit your job and become a taxi driver or accountant or stylist while you still can. I implore you! The life you're living is useless!
Good day to you, sirs,
Karl Otto Lagerfeld
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
K and J
K: Do you know what?
J: What?
K: All these models look like trees.
J: That's because they've turned into trees.
K: Very well. Do they still wear the clothes?
J: Indeed they do.
K: In that case I have no problem with models-turning-into-trees, hm?
X: You've already done the old models-turning-into-trees thing before, Karl!
K: Oh, so you think that models turning into trees is a joke, hm?
X: No, but if you go back into one of your previous posts..
J: This is a serious issue, X.
X: X isn't even my real name!
J: Then how come it's on the screen?
X: Because it's a totally arbitrary letter which could stand for anything!
K: It says your name is "X". I just read so, above. Where you come in with the line "X: You've already done the old models-turning-into-trees thing before, Karl!"
X: Oh...it does too.
K: And now you're going to vanish into a pair of rapidly aging- both fashion-wise and quality-wise, Balmain t-shirt.
X: No I'm not!
[X vanishes into Balmain t-shirt]
J: So you mean, by looking at the script we can see what we say next?
K: But of course.
J: But here it says "X reappears in a confusion of logic.."
[X reappears in a confusion of logic..]
X: This is really rather meta.
K: I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm Karl Lagerfeld, and you're just an arbitrary character.
K: Quite right.
K: I agree, Karl.
J: What?
K: All these models look like trees.
J: That's because they've turned into trees.
K: Very well. Do they still wear the clothes?
J: Indeed they do.
K: In that case I have no problem with models-turning-into-trees, hm?
X: You've already done the old models-turning-into-trees thing before, Karl!
K: Oh, so you think that models turning into trees is a joke, hm?
X: No, but if you go back into one of your previous posts..
J: This is a serious issue, X.
X: X isn't even my real name!
J: Then how come it's on the screen?
X: Because it's a totally arbitrary letter which could stand for anything!
K: It says your name is "X". I just read so, above. Where you come in with the line "X: You've already done the old models-turning-into-trees thing before, Karl!"
X: Oh...it does too.
K: And now you're going to vanish into a pair of rapidly aging- both fashion-wise and quality-wise, Balmain t-shirt.
X: No I'm not!
[X vanishes into Balmain t-shirt]
J: So you mean, by looking at the script we can see what we say next?
K: But of course.
J: But here it says "X reappears in a confusion of logic.."
[X reappears in a confusion of logic..]
X: This is really rather meta.
K: I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm Karl Lagerfeld, and you're just an arbitrary character.
K: Quite right.
K: I agree, Karl.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
This Plus-Sized Business
Goodness me, I woke up this morning to a deluge of mail regarding comments of mine that were published all over the world, even in Cat Lovers Daily, Cat Lovers Weekly, Cat Lovers Digest, Feline Fanciers Fortnightly and so on. I was talking about overweight women, not normal women. In other words, I was talking about the fatties. We know about those types, hm? And I was talking about the fatties in context of the runway, and you know, one time we had a "dry run" of a Chanel show with fatties and the runway collapsed! It's a health and safety risk, frankly.
Of course, you gannets- meaning the press- take my words out of context and think I'm talking about everybody! I am talking about models. I am not saying the fat mummy from Ohio who eats potato chips all night and watches "Project Runway", saying to her husband "These girls are just too damn skinny" (of course, Project Runway girls aren't proper models anyway.)
That's all. You may all proceed to continue eating your potato chips in front of your television-computer screen, or feeling superior to the rest of the readers of this blog because you aren't eating potato chips.
Of course, you gannets- meaning the press- take my words out of context and think I'm talking about everybody! I am talking about models. I am not saying the fat mummy from Ohio who eats potato chips all night and watches "Project Runway", saying to her husband "These girls are just too damn skinny" (of course, Project Runway girls aren't proper models anyway.)
That's all. You may all proceed to continue eating your potato chips in front of your television-computer screen, or feeling superior to the rest of the readers of this blog because you aren't eating potato chips.
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