Karl Lagerfeld Archives - Pure Film Creative

Brits and Boobs: Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show 2013

Gentle reader,

It’s been a taxing day, what with finding the perfect Christmas tree and carting it home tied to the roof of the car while a faint grinding sound reminded me that having the brakes looked at was that very important thing I was supposed to do this morning. We made it home, nevertheless, and Scott immediately set off to make Palm Springs a less wrinkle-y place while I stayed behind in Hollywood to transform said tree into a veritable wonder of Chinese Christmas kitsch.

By James Tuttle

June 12, 2013

We Had to Resort to This: Cruise 2014

Gentle reader,

I’m sitting by the pool in Palm Springs where it’s 108 degrees today and thinking about what I’m going to be wearing this summer besides these four year old swim trunks. I finally went for the shorter-but-not-too-short khaki shorts, have my eye on a couple pair of amazing cotton Brunello Cucinelli trousers and am still wondering what happened to that white nearly sheer cotton shirt that I wanted to wear to the Pride parties on Sunday. Of course, this being June, I’m rather far behind the rest of the fashion world if I’m only thinking of what to wear for the next few months.

By James Tuttle

March 7, 2013

Imagining Lagerfeld: Symposium in the Sex Shop

Whenever the Paris collections roll around, I’m reminded I haven’t touched base with my imaginary best friend, Karl Lagerfeld. As some readers may recollect, he and I have had our discussions—none of which have ended well, sadly—first over a gourmet sandwich, then at rock-n-roll Ralphs in Hollywood (during which he tried to brain me with a canister of Ajax), and over a workout at Golds Gym.

October 2, 2012

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?”

June 7, 2012

‘True Blood’ Runs Thicker

TUTTLEMODE
by James Tuttle

Tuttle attends the TRUE BLOOD premiere in Hollywood, and then takes a trip through Versailles with the Chanel Cruise collection.

By Pure Film Creative

May 4, 2012

KILLOUGH CHRONICLES, THE INDIA FILES

Ashton to Ashes

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

by James Killough

It hasn’t been a good year or so for my ideal younger man, Ashton Kutcher. This breaks my heart because I do wish him all the best, in a concerned, fatherly way. First came his split with Demi, then his stint on Two and a Half Men, a show he is being credited with killing, although I see that more as a kindly act of euthanasia; I agree with Charlie Sheen: TAAHM kinda sucks. Now he has managed to outrage some members of the Indian community by appearing in “brown face” in an ad for PopChips, and he has been roasted alive on Twitter, a social media platform he in no small part helped to build.

This poses something of a conundrum for performers in general and the people who create material for them: at what point does satire become offensive and racist? Are actors, comedians specifically, only allowed to appear as their race or, in the case of repeat-offender Sacha Baron Cohen, as something other than their real sexuality?

March 27, 2012

Supermarket Lagerfeld

Ten years or so ago in London, when I was even less self-aware than I am now, I was in the middle of some rant with my friend Ben Ingham when I referred to myself as “slightly eccentric.” Ben guffawed in a remarkable way, which is saying a lot because he is a consummate hearty guffawer. “‘Slightly eccentric’? Hah! You’re barking mad, mate.”

This was the moment I realized that my fascination with mental illness is somewhat self-reverential; I am on a quest to find my own pathology, mainly because I have never been diagnosed with any disorder, but when close friends like Ben say there must be one, there must be one. I am not a hypochondriac when it comes to physical illness, but I am forever testing myself online for mental ones, and begging passing shrinks for their opinions. To no avail.

February 20, 2012

Imagining Lagerfeld

Over drinks the other night with Dame Bea and Tyler Kimball, my roommate, the psychic medium Gil Alan, was asked if I disturbed his peace at all, seeing as we both work from home. “Not at all,” Gil replied. “Except sometimes I can’t tell if he’s talking to me and mumbling, or just talking to himself.” The scary truth is I am becoming more of a Hollywood schizo every day and having lengthy conversations with myself, utterly oblivious as to who might be watching me.

As long as I am displaying the outward signs of incipient mental illness, I’ve decided to embrace it. In true American post-Oprah fashion, I refuse to be the victim and want to take charge of what’s left of my destiny by choosing my hallucinations before they choose me. Therefore, I have decided that my inner muse, my mentor, my political advisor, that invisible large white bunny who shall stand beside me for a chat in the condiments section of Ralphs supermarket shall be none other than fashion kingpin Karl Lagerfeld.

December 14, 2011