I love him so much

Karl Lagerfeld may be an unapologetic anorexic narcissist, who employs a nanny for his million ipods, but the man is also undoubtedly a genius, and I love him.  I want him to live forever so every generation from now on can enjoy him.  His responses to women asking for fashion advice in Harpers Bazaar has made my shitty week almost bearable (yes, I’m aware it’s only Tuesday).  His answers are so fucking good; he’s almost a parody of himself, and yet it’s that which is so effectively scorns the women who have dared ask him a question (or who are passively asking for his approval).  Example:

“Please, your question is childish. Don’t drink when you wear stilettos. I can’t advise you to get drunk at home to find out if you would be able to walk in them at a party.”

That is the genius of Lagerfeld: he may at times be a caricature, the poster boy for everything that is ridiculous, excessive and frivolous in fashion, but he manages to subvert this every single time, because what makes him such an amazing designer is his abilty to spot bullshit, to intelligently be able assess what’s in front of him.  Then he lambasts it with the appropriate level of scorn or admiration.