April 1, 2016 |
Dear Azzedine,
Can we call you Azzedine? We imagine that you prefer the more formal Monsieur Alaïa, but we do like Azzedine and your Parisian maison is technically our home away from home, I mean we never ever stay any where else apart from one of your 3 Rooms and us and Naomi are like that, we have her personal email address so… Can we call you Papa too? Maybe no. Anyway, the reason we’re writing you this note is to say thank you. Thank you for the dinners, thank you for the karoke, thank you for Tina, Grace, the Robert Palmer lady guitar player posse, and of course La Campbell. And thank you, most importantly of all, thank you for the dresses. Those curvaceous sculptures of the finest fabrications known to mankind, that cling to every curve, but not in a slutty cheap way. More of a Botticelli Venus way. You know they’re all we wear. As our very own buxom Editrix in Chief says, they’re more comfortable than a track-suit. She even flies in them. Well, why would you fly in anything else? The dresses make us, well the ladies, and Garth, feel great, better than great even. It’s all we want form a dress and its what you give us. Everything else is inferior. Nothing can match your exquisite talent. What you can do with a length of fabric surpasses even the wildest imaginations. As Michael Flatley is the Lord of the Dance, so you are King of the Dress.
So please accept this tasteful floral arrangement as an expression of our gratitude to you for existing, and good luck with the show. Break a leg, or what ever it is people say. We can’t wait to see it, and more importantly shop it. The over draft is being extended as we type.
Bisou, bisou,
Ten.
