Nosebleeds No More: The End of the Platform Shoe

Gentle reader,

Since Scott was away on New Year’s Eve, I pulled my velvet blazer on over my plaid pajamas and spent the evening at home with my elderly widowed friend, Mrs. Clicquot.  A new year was upon us and I was thinking about what we’d be doing differently in the coming months, especially about a couple of articles that I’d read recently—one in Harper’s and the other in Vogue—that seemed to toll the death knell

Imagining Lagerfeld: “There Is No Excuse for Fat.”

“This is absolutely ridiculous!” huffed my imaginary best friend Karl Lagerfeld when I conjured him up to meet me for a workout at Golds Gym Hollywood this afternoon.  I immediately thought he was pissed because of the outfit I’d dressed him in: little black tennis shorts, knee-high white socks, black patent leather Nike high tops, a tight white tee shirt with CHANEL emblazoned across the chest in black, and of course his signature black aviator sunglasses.

“Sorry,” I said.  “I thought you would feel comfortable like that.  Much more showy than a tracksuit.  Or is it too showy?”