May 17, 2011 |
You may have heard the rumours, and, yes, they are true. We are secretly fabulously wealthy, thanks to husbands one through seven, and like Howard Hughes we lead a reclusive existence, the only difference being that we have chosen to confine ourselves to our own private island in the middle of the Pacific, rather than some house in the hills. Walls cause suffocation. We prefer to sleep under the stars, a Lacoste sarong tied to the branch above our heads, gently waving in the breeze.
We like the romance of it all, plus the Camparis come quicker when the servants can find us easily. Our little island has everything we could ever need: staff, a coconut palace modelled on that of our good friend Imelda’s, hangars of crocodile-logoed ensembles, and even our very own pet crocodile whom we have nicknamed Tote, because when the very sad day when he passes finally arrives, we will immortalise him in a bag. Reasons to leave our paradise are few and far between – in fact, there hasn’t been one in the past 27 years, but then we heard that that darling boy Christophe Lemaire was leaving Lacoste. We’d grown rather fond of him. So you see we had no choice but to leave. Take the chopper to Acapulco and, from there, a first-class flight to New York.
WE phoned ahead to the boutique to find out when that divine spring/summer collection would be arriving –we had tried having the entire shipment diverted to our island but they flatly refused – and made sure to arrive a day before it. We slept in the shop, feeling weirdly un-claustrophobic for the first time since we were five. There was a brief moment of panic, during which we calmed ourselves, removed everything from the hangers and placed them, neatly folded, on the counter, ready for when the staff or something arrived in the morning to total it up, so we could quickly be on our way.
As expected, everything went according to plan. We’re having a new hangar built to house the latest addition to our Lacoste collection as we speak, and have even bought a baby brother for Tote. We walk our babies thrice a day by the edge of the sea – in the white sportif outfits in the morning, the hippie orange at noon and the chic monochrome in the evenings. Whenever we randomly bump into staff they always compliment us on how fabulous we look, how cleverly our pets match the logo on our ensembles.
by Natalie Dembinska
