Karl Lagerfeld can afford to rebuild the Eiffel fucking tower – beam for beam, to scale – inside the Grand Palais, and I still can’t find a job that will pay me in actual cash monies.
I seem to be the only person who’s noticed he rebuilt the Eiffel fucking tower inside a building already in central Paris and doesn’t that seem a bit, oh I don’t know, OTT? Considering he could’ve just used the actual Eiffel fucking tower or something? I mean, I don’t claim to be an expert on Paris, but I’m fairly certain you could see the actual Eiffel fucking tower from the Chanel tower.
The industry is broken, this much we know. It’s rapidly becoming a past time for the rich by excluding anybody unable (to be born to parents willing) to pay obscene amounts of money to live in a city centre whilst working for free. I read this week that 1 in 7 renters in London pay over half their monthly wage on rent, and balked at the notion of being paid enough to cover rent in the first place. Then in walks Lagerfeld, with his Eiffel fucking tower. I wonder if it’s for rent?
“’Does it go through the roof?’ asked a bemused fashion insider.” No, but my university loan repayments do!
“It’s extraordinary to come into the Grand Palais, which is awesome at the best of any time, but to stand under the tour Eiffel is extraordinary.” Swinton remarked. With all due respect Tilda, the same affect is achievable after a brisk stroll west. You can’t miss it, great big steel thing.
Apparently it took workmen 6 weeks to make. It took me 3 years and a lifetime of debt to give me the qualifications necessary to make me wholly unemployable to a company like Chanel, but who’s counting?
Then there’s the clothes, I’m so mad I can’t even look at them yet. All I can see is that Eiffel fucking tower, entirely fake yet still more stable than my credit rating.
This is opulence for the sake of opulence. Truly ridiculous. Truly fashion.