Where does he store the beautiful virgins whose blood he drains to bathe in every night?
There aren't enough drugs in the world to make living in that apartment a pleasure.
I'd rather spend the rest of my existence on Concourse D in the Atlanta-Hartsfield airport.
Boring. surprised he didn't cover his daily bowel movement timetable. I can just imagine that old crone on the can straining to drop a few kids in the pool.
And what the fuck is with all those toilet time creams and jellys. With all that crap he uses, you'd think he'd look a bit more alive.
But he lives in Paris so that is all that matters.
So he collects coffee table books?
And someone post the highlights, I'm busy reading a coffee table book about gnomes. It's called Gnomes.
I wonder if that hair just snaps off for safe keeping at night on his bedside table.
Oh shit, the whole thing is a highlight and worth the read.
It's hard to believe he's still alive.
I like it. I get what he's doing and if I had the money I'd do the same thing. He's still creepy looking though.
He's a hoarder. He's rich, he's famous, he's a hoarder.
Good thing for him that Paris isn't on an active fault line.
Kind of a letdown. The gofugyourself girls always made him sound like he'd have rotting meat sculptures, blister-pack walls, and ponds of sugar-free pudding in the living room.
[quote]I wear a long, full-length white shirt, in a material called poplin imperial, made for me by Hilditch & Key in Paris after a design of a 17th-century men's nightshirt I saw at the Victoria and Albert Museum.
I think I've found my spiritual soulmate!
Everything was bourgeois, as expected, but I do like that he has two homes...one for sleeping/private life and the other for entertaining. Seemed to hearken back to a different age.
Gee, one would have never, ever, *EVER* -- from his mere physical appearance alone -- deduced that Monsieur Lagerfeld is extraordinarily picky about every aspect of his daily life...
[quote]I have everything -- sheets and nightshirt and robes -- changed every day
Only *once* per day? Girl, you cray-cray! I have ALL of that steamed and starched THREE times before LUNCH!
[quote]Seemed to hearken back to a different age.
Yes it does. To his childhood,two or three centuries ago.
He is the king of book stackers.
I find him both odious and wonderful. And I kind of want to be his cat.
Cats don't really want to be washed every day, R23
I only use Klorane dry shampoo on my hair. I used to use the tears of dying doves to rinse my hair, but those Peta people were so picky about that. I mean, I still have two ermines skinned daily to wear as house slippers. But to do both... It was too much for them.
Grand Imperial Death Eater, Karl Lagerfeld
He looks like a smelly old man.
[quote]I have everything—sheets and nightshirt and robes—changed every day. I like everything to be washable, myself included. I like antique lace, antique sheets, beautiful quilted covers, but everything is white. In white you can hide nothing. Most people don't use this kind of sheets and things because it's very difficult and very expensive for the upkeep.
What bullshit. He sleeps on sheets that are over 100 years old AND he has them laundered everyday? Really, Karl?
The doctor made shakes and weight loss make me believe he had weight loss surgery. And having the kitchen in another house tells me he has weird food issues
An out of the way kitchen is only a sign of someone who will never set foot in it. He has a cook. And probably a long list of "no's" when it comes to food.
But I do agree on the probability of weight loss surgery.
Nobody in the fashion world could have a healthy relationship with food. That's no surprise.
[quote] And then I wear jeans; at the moment they are from my new collection. They are dark gray with my face, my profile, printed in black on them, but you really have to look at it to see it.
I've always wanted to sit on Lagerfeld's face.
Staring at Karl Lagerfeld's mug on somebody's ass is not my idea of a perfect day.
You have to give it up, Karl gets a high quality of men. Which he pays dearly for, but still...the man fucks models whenever he feels like it.
Ewww, can you imagine being Karl's guy, the hot one who showed up at the fashion shows, alone at night, just you and Karl, in the castle, the help having gone home. He's already taken the Viagra and is slipping out of his 100-year-old silk French robe as he advances toward you, eerily orange in the candlelight.
My 89-year-old gay Parisian friend wrote this comment after I posted OP's link on Facebook:
"ridicule personnage, aucune aisance, mais tout est artificiel donc vulgaire"
"ridiculous character, no comfort, but everything is so artificial vulgar"
I was lazy with the copy/paste - lemme try a translation but this is fancy French thundering down from high society so it's a bit coded:
"ridiculous figure, total lack of ease/grace/comfort in his style, it's all artifice so it's vulgar."
SNAP! from one of the greats - I won't air his confidences here but he has slept with quite a few names over the years.
He's always been annoying as fuck and needs to die.
[quote]SNAP! from one of the greats - I won't air his confidences here but he has slept with quite a few names over the years.
Would we know of your friend?
r52:You wouldn't know him by name, I just checked IMDB to see if he has a listing. He's a couture guy and did costumes for many films shot in France in the 50s and 60s. When I first met him, he said (in French) "Come sit next to me, I love hearing French with an American accent, it reminds me of Josephine".
Yes, he was talking about Josephine Baker. He was also pals with Cocteau, Garbo, Euro royalty, Hollywood royalty, it's just nuts the life this guy has led.
Pretty sure it's known he had lapband surgery R41.
Awesome, r53, such a cool friend to have. Loved his Karl assessment. Thanks for sharing with me.
R49, a French fry could translate that better than you did.
At first, there is the feel of his skin, wrinkled and bunched, yet soft as silk, burnished for over 70 years by the oil of mink. You have no choice. He takes you in his arms and as his cock mashes against your belly, you play your part. "Karl, my handsome stallion," you whisper in French, just as you've been taught. But there's no conviction in your words this evening. After all, it's been three weeks of this. Suddenly, he's on you. A little frottage. Over in twenty seconds. As you watch him walk off to his bidet, you can't help but think of overdone sweet potatoes.
We've often joked about the stacked books in the NYSD apartment pictures.
Apparently Karl has taken notice, and is determind to outstack the entire US eastern seaboard!