L-A: Okay Karl.
Enough’s enough.We need to talk.
Sure, your ridiculosity amuses me. The fingerless gloves. The constant sunglasses. The bows. The jewels. You’re ridiculously awesome. You are the Don Cherry of Fashion. And I actually mean that in a good way. I was even amused by your teddy bear.
I’ll admit, I put up with the larger than life Persona with a capital P, because I usually love what you’re doing over there at Chanel. You bring the pretty. But dude. Sporting goods? Really?
I’ll give you the tennis. Tennis can be a stylish sport. The country club set would probably maim to get their hands on this. Miffy von Mifflesworth III can’t wait to use that racket to lob a ball at Tippy Smith-Plunkett’s head next time she’s on the court. She’ll be thinking “take that bitch” and doing it in style.
I’ll even give you the bike. Bikes as a luxury goods? Sure. Why not.
I want to ride around Paris with baguettes on that. I want to ride about the Hamptons on it and show Tippy Smith-Plunkett who’s boss.
But a zodiac style boat?
Is outboarding really the haute sport these days? I know the lifestyles of the rich and famous can include deep sea diving off the coast of somewhere fabulous, but I’m pretty sure the non-Chanel boats are already a luxury item.
And what I am guessing is a rugby ball? (sports are not so much my thing. It could be a football).
Karl? Dear? Have you ever seen a game of rugby?
My cousin used to tape his ears down for rugby so that, you know, they wouldn’t get torn off. And I once knew of a girl who broke both her arms. Possibly during practice. Rugby is not the place for Chanel anything. (Also, from what I recall of the rugby girls back in my undergrad days, they were not so much the Chanel sort of girls).
And this? What is this?
Is that fishing? Because if it involves hip-waders and fish that hasn’t been lightly grilled or served with wasabi, then it should not involve Chanel.
If Coco Chanel isn’t rolling in her grave, then I’ll just take on some extra righteous indignation at this crap. Stick to pretty clothes and expensive accessories, like purses and sunglasses. Do not bring me this crap and call yourself haute couture.
p.s. all the Chanel images found at the Chanel site.
AllyG: It’s interesting that you raise this, L-A. Mostly because I want to ignore it and talk instead about a festive holiday that took place yesterday. Yes, it was L-A’s birthday yesterday. And like the awesome co-blogger I am, I completely ignored it on the blog. No golf claps for me today. So, in celebration of L-A’s birthday, I have selected the following (fake) presents for her. If she doesn’t like them, she can always lend them to me!
We all know that L-A loves her some ballet flats, but how about these babies?
The fab blog, Season Five tells me that, “for spring 2010 Italian shoe designer Giuseppe Zanotti has created black ballet pumps with cartridge holders holding rhinestone bullets”. Whee!
And, L-A needs a purse. How about this Marc Jacobs Sasha Shoulder Bag?
I recall on my birthday, L-A thoughtfully selected music videos that she thought I would appreciate. I’m going to do something a little different. I’m going to provide L-A with music videos I think she would find terribly poor in quality. The best one I could find was from the teen sensation, Justin Bieber. Now, I love me some crap music, but this is some serious crap on an outstanding level. After watching the “intro” I nearly shoved my laptop up my nose to find pain so intense that it would remove this shit from my eyes. I know, I’m an awesome friend!
That little brat just made a million bucks today and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet. Sad fact, friends. Sad fact.
I love you, L-A. Thanks for being born. Your parents rock.
L-A: I’ve finally watched that video (I couldn’t watch it when I first read it at work. That video is so much crappy that it is NSFW). I honestly don’t know what offends me more: kids with braces hanging out with Usher, the use of auto-tune or this smug shit move from the end of the video:
WTF?? Is he some kind of Bart Simpson/Macaulay Culkin for the new millennium. Gag me with an effing spoon. (to be fair, my embarrassing twelve year old self is probably all over this shit, while my fifteen year old self is shooting her death rays for being such a loser).