
Tatler editor Geordie Greig's interview with Chanel's legendary fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld in the magazine's December issue is faintly fawning to say the least, and it left me a little confused on the matter of the subject's bedtime habits, described in regal detail.
We learn that Karl sleeps in a long white nightdress, in a room with no curtains, for seven hours every night, "like clockwork". But before Hypnos carts him off to oblivion, Karl reads "two pages in bed before the book falls on his face." Karl adds: "I then read in the early morning" even though, as Geordie relates immediately afterwards, "he is woken by light and hunger". That he reads rather than breakfasts first thing is an example to me of admirable masochism.
But let us think this routine through. So, Karl lies in bed, presumably on his back with the book in his hands held above his face. This then crashes onto his face as he nods off. Would this not wake him up? - I take it he's not under sedation. I suppose it depends on the weight of the tome. A slim novella by Ian McEwan or Susan Hill might not make much impression on unconsciousness, but what if it was a fat Nicholas Coleridge hardback novel or anything by Tolstoy? This would surely bring Karl around with a start, and squash his nose too.
Perhaps we should assume that Karl's steepled arms descend gently and smoothly as consciousness ebbs away - he is elegance personified, after all - like one of those rickety elevators in ancient department stores (Debenhams usually) heading south, so that the book enjoys a soft landing. But if awareness ebbs away then we must also assume that he does not actually read the two pages unless he means that his lights go out precisely at the moment he reaches the last word on the second page, Pavlov style. This is most unlikely. I fear that Mr Lagerfeld probably stops reading well before he has turned his first page as drowsiness sets in. Mystery novels must remain a mystery to him, if this is the case.
But even if we accept this two-page claim, are we then to believe that the King of Chic sleeps his seven hours and then awakes with a book spread-eagled upon his visage, like some vampiric bat seeking to infect a new recruit for Vlad? Can you imagine a more absurd sight, accompanied we may suppose by the slightest rumble of a snore beneath? Happily, as Geordie loyally explains: "[Karl] does not take himself too seriously."
Geordie's top 10 Lagerfeld arselicks from the Tatler interview
1 "Lagerfeld is a man of supreme sophistication, charm and power"
2 "And supreme taste"
3 "He massacres hypocrisy and cant"
4 "He is a man of supreme politeness and decorum"
5 "No other designer seems to inspire such adulation"
6 "Pretension is his bugbear"
7 "With a clear conscience, he sleeps long and easy"
8 "He doesn't do anything as banal as translated books" (because he reads in four languages)
9 "His workload is Herculean"
10 "He is courteous, charming, gentle and yet incisive"
To acquaint yourself with the master click here.
20 comments:
The only way you could solve Karl's “sleeping mystery” is to politely suggest to this charming man that he should share his bed with you one of these nights. If you still are the cute young boy whose picture can be seen on a certain site, he might be interested – he’s alleged to be totally bisexual.
...you have inspired me...your description was wonderful, especially the book print on his face! hilarious and eccentric..perfect..what a tantalizingly surreal subject to create on canvas..!
Oh give me strength ! What a poser.
Feodor's suggestion is most appalling and probably actionable - I can't abide cunnilinguists.
Thank you Stephanie - I shall look forward to the finished work. Perhaps you could present it to Lagerfeld ...
Well, if you want to get on at Conde Nast, Greig's got the right idea.
I've never read anything about Lagerfeld's sex life, and I've never seen him with a man or woman. He is celibate surely?
According to the interweb Mr Lagerfeld is a frock maker - can this be right ?
Karl would sue to be so under-described. The "polyglot master of haute couture" is nearer the mark.
> Feodor's suggestion is most appalling and probably actionable - I can't abide cunnilinguists. >
'Cause you've got no clit, dear. But how about pink cigar smokers, mmm?
> Dear Dura - er - I mean Feodor >
Who is Dura? Cruella's sister?
> only a non-journalist would dare to presume the non-existence of my clit in the absence of personal enquiry. >
Very funny statement, coming from an almost non-existent non-journalist.
Whatever.
Very funny piece Arcati - more of this please, less of Spacey or your boring journalist pals.
"Very funny piece Arcati"
Yes!
"- more of this please,"
Yes!
"less of Spacey"
No 'Spacey/Fowler/Ewing/Mastini/Francine & Thom" at all, if you ask me.
"or your boring journalist pals."
So to speak. He gave them more than enough rope to hang him with. :-)
Don't be such a drama queen. Arcati is a post-modern entertainment site with real-life narratives including Arcati's and those of her extras. Copyright's mine.
Really? Has Lou Cypher been around this long? I must talk to my casting director. Once you've seen one extra you've seen them all - that's my motto.
Hey hey Jacques de Bascher. Is that gay-basch(er)-ing?
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