I Should Be a Stylist

Long email string this morning with Pal Gina, who bemoans the fact that she has to get an outfit for a black and white party she's going to this weekend. Can she get away with jeans, she asks? I reply:

I think you should wear:

1) Black jeans, big-ass belt buckle of your choice
2) Black or white-t-shirt
3) Black blazer/suit coat/tuxedo jacket
4) Black and white chucks
5) Black eye (optional)

I cannot imagine why no one has hired me to be their personal stylist yet.

Sightings

This probably won't matter all that much to people who don't give a crap about fashion and/or New York, but I'm reasonably sure I saw Simon Doonan walking his dog near Washington Square Park on Saturday night. Evidence supporting this:

1) He was only about an inch taller than me.
2) Simon Doonan has a dog.
3) He looked a little horrified when he heard me and two of main gays hollering about his possible Simon Doonan-ness from the confines of our taxicab.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. That dude over there? I think that's Simon Doonan."

JC, who was closest, craned his neck. "It totally is Simon Doonan. It is either Simon Doonan, or a Simon Doonan impersonator."

Me: "It totally is him. Look how annoyed he is! Simon Doonan! Moss, hold my ankles."

Moss: "Hrm?"

"Hold my ankles, I want to lean out the window. Oh, shit. Now we're moving. SIMON DOONAN, I LOVE YOU. PUT DONATELLA BEHIND GLASS AGAIN."

It's possible that I am not well.

10 Reasons Karl Lagerfeld Rules

I love Karl Lagerfeld. I don't care how crazy he is: I love him because he's crazy. I love his weird powdered-wig George Washington hair, I love his super-tight collars, I love his fucking fan. But most of all, I love him when he says things like this:

Do you ever wish you had a son to pass on your wisdom to, to continue the Chanel heritage?
That's the last thing I want. I hate all children. For other people, it's fine, but not for me. I was born not to be a family person.

And, later:

Also I cannot go on airlines because people stare at me, you have to be touched by people. I hate that...I hate bespoke because I hate to be touched by strangers. It bores me to death.

Go read the rest at Jezebel. You're welcome.