Kanye opened his Yeezus tour in Seattle last night, and frankly I couldn't care less, BUT he did get my attention when he managed to grab his crotch so firmly that he in fact ripped his pants:
Take as long as you need to let that get firmly stuck in your brain. In the meantime there are a few other things I need to point out to you, dear reader, such as:
1. That epic gorilla titty manboob flapping in the wind.
2. Stomach rolls (seriously, dude, put on a fucking undershirt. No one, not even Kim, wants to see that.)
3. Am I crazy or does it look like he has the smallest feet in the world? Like I don't exactly have canoes for feet but DAMN.
I'm going to ignore the Margiela mask because that is FASHION and because something else very important happened: Kanye communed with Jesus Christ last night.
I can only imagine what they talked about, but I hope Jesus told Kanye what he's been meaning to tell the Christian Right for a long time: shut the fuck up.
Thank you for being such a dickhead, Kanye, and I hope the Jesus-actor felt really bad about himself after this.
And here to cleanse the palate is Martha Stewart dressed up as Glinda the Good Witch/A Pink Dementor.
You may or may not know this about me but I have something of an affinity for the Dutch. I don't know if it's because I had a dutch au pair growing up or because there's something about wooden shoes that just gets to me or because they were one of the first countries to have legal weed and gay marriage, but either way I'm super down to go frolic with windmills in fields of tulips.
Another great thing the Netherlands gave us? DJ Bakermat. I heard his song Uitzicht for the first time this weekend at a rooftop bar (conveniently located on top of my apartment building) and I haven't been able to stop listening since. I KNOW it's a funny word and I KNOW that this song came out like three months ago but I DON'T CARE because it is AMAZING and you need to listen to it right now and dance out your feelings in some fancy wooden clogs.
Le sigh. It's Sunday night. The cat's being an asshole, the fire alarm is going off across the street at the Neptune Hotel, I only have one alcoholic cider left, and I ate an extra serving of cheese which I now regret. C'est la vie. Until Mars enters my rising sign of Virgo this week on the 15th I'm allowed to be low energy. Maybe that's what is going on with the government shutdown. Maybe the senate is collectively a Virgo, too.
In the spirit of that-and my hangover from last night which will just not give up-please enjoy these pictures of a young Karl Lagerfeld and remember the days when he and Yves Saint Laurent were in the bitchiest feud ever.
Here he is telling the model to lose five pounds.
Working on his fitness.
Having a Baywatch/Sports Illustrated moment.
This is a thing.
Who knew he was such a bear?
From his Mr. Universe audition tape.
I really can't form an opinion on this.
Channeling his inner Dali, or something.
Right before going on stage at the opening performance of the Mikado.
And then there was this super awkward 90s phase...
What a fabulous queen. We salute you, Kaiser Karl.
Earlier this week my body succumbed to a bout of illness. Don't freak out, everything is fine now and I'm alive, so no need to contemplate a world without Patty. That being said I didn't leave my loft much and ergo had time to go through my Netflix queu and catch up on what I'd been missing, namely this masterpiece:
This movie is the most stylish thing to come out of France since Catherine Deneuve came out of the womb with a full head of side-swept luxurious locks and a cigarette dangling from her lips.
Catherine Deneuve's younger self, played by bottle blond Ludivine Sagnier, become a hooker on the side in order to pay for her growing Roger Vivier habit...totally understandable.
She "falls in love" with a Czech doctor...
They have a lot of sex...
And then they have a kid, because that's something that happens to straight people.
Move forward twenty years and that Charlotte Gainsbourg knock-off has become Chiara Mastroianni, who is actually Catherine Deneuve's daughter IRL, btw.
Chiara Mastroianni falls in love with a gay Paul Schneider. We've all been there, don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.
And then they sing about it because it's a weird gay-ish romance.
And she also does the kind of choreographed bar dance that only French women can pull off...and me when the moon is illuminating my fifth house.
The clothes are amazing and enough to make one want to go retro for the day and actually consider wearing a polyester blend. Okay, not really.
There's also a bunch of old people having sex, which normally isn't my thing but the French just make it work. I guess when it comes to Catherine Deneuve it doesn't really matter what she's doing as long as we get to watch her do it.
I'm not going to tell you any more because I don't feel like typing, so just take my word that this movie is gorgeous, chic, depressing, erotic, AND includes some great musical numbers that, again, only the French can pull off because they can say the most banal things while still being chic. Watch the trailer here if you still aren't convinced:
Oh and on a totally random side note I found Clay Aiken's OkCupid profile this morning, so there's something.
You guys. You guys. Seriously. You guys. I know you think your lives are important but something MAJOR has been going on while you have been busy "working" or "living" or whatever it is that you do...GWYNETH IS ON INSTAGRAM.
Of course her first picture is a selfie with Jason Wu. Judging from Gwyneth's tousled locks and dopamine-filled expression, I'd say it looks as though they just had some rough afternoon sex because what else are you going to do between 2-4pm while you wait for happy hour to start.
I think the most inspirational thing about this is the copyright insignia in the corner, because you never know who might be trying to regram without giving proper credit. Way to connect with the plebes, GooP.
"I can't pretend to be someone who makes $25,000 a year"
And we never would ask you to, Gwyn. Never change.
Okay now I have to go back to getting my Paris roundups ready for you poor bitches.
