A visual experience compels a visual reaction. Encountering sensory chaos in the April 2012 issue of Vogue, Marguerite Imbert responds in kind.
It’s Annie Leibovitz shooting LaLa on a bloody leather couch
A mix tape of La Boheme and Fleetwood Mac sitting on a pile of dead leaves.
Gypsy grub hanging over macramé, and a motorcyclist in race gear going
in and out of focus while Amazon.com tells you that “smart is beautiful.”
Emma Watson clutching a cellophane background, her sequined shoulder
caught at the page seam like an advertorial disaster; a backyard oasis no longer.
There’s Sara Blakely in Soho, still gloating from Katie Couric’s nomination
The World’s most influential top 100 list read aloud @Aaron Young’s house
where a couple is endlessly making out on the wall, and Viva la Juicy!
An illustration of an outpost! Voguepedia.com with a new French lilac intruding!
It’s those Valentino gravestresses, skulking around the relics
And Dara-Lynn Weiss’s successfully skinny 7-year-old daughter
in a Lisa Perry shift, smelling artificially of Central Park West.
Irving Penn’s interpretation of a migraine! Bespoke table napkins ($250 each)
A Helmut Newton chicken leg, and a portrait of a brunette braid,
a nipple turning into a rose, bookmarked by a plane ticket.
There’s Plum Sykes jumping over the Botox small print in Gloucestershire—
Electric peach lining + Estee Lauder showcased on the faces of three different races.
Rolexes telling you to “live for greatness” and James Franco obsessing
over all mankind, Lily Donaldson, the feather pump on the bellman’s cap.
Watch out! The Bulgari lion’s got Kirsten Dunst in its mouth—
And the Nine West shoes are running with a pistol after Nicki Minaj.
Ricky Martin’s got a giant frosted dildo in his arms and MAC’s calling it princess.
Cate Blanchett is quoting Rasputin on the back of an anti-aging cream!
Two pale breasts in a turquoise one-piece are connected as hooves to reins!
And Kate Moss in midnight sequins is nearly murdering herself of boredom
in the Imperial Suite, waiting for the Michael Kors ad to jump into its whisky sunset!
Things have changed here: With Felicity Jones matching her eyelids to her finger nails,
and that grotesque Chanel seductress, sulking in her Daphne hair and fishnet arm
stockings, the glare in Zao’s glasses looking like a title, while the Clarins
Multiregenerator goes hostage to the licorice, she’s rebelling.
There’s—Winnie Beattie’s kid playing with a dinosaur! A backyard oasis,
spiked with a lime McTavish surf board! LA’s skankiest swimming sensation, and the
mustachioed man who came up devouring aqua lilies in an old white swim cap
underneath the Villa Cora…
Run to Celine! (located at 870 Madison Ave) where you’ll find a model
Standing like an emotionally stunted ribbon dancer in a dressing room,
Patti Hansen and Theodora Richards totally still rocking it…
OH GOD. Clinique’s talking to you in that friendship language
And blotchy brown eggs leaning up against an even better
dark spot corrector than last issue are spotting DKNY models on suicide balconies
their lemonade skirt a mere 1.6 karat diamond near the time.
The only thing loyal around here is the business reply mail slip
Mario Sorrenti begging for a curve on something dirty as a street corner
Balenciaga trainers, Meryl Streep getting wet in Donna Karan,
and Shalom Harlow climbing atop Amber Valletta on a beach chair.
There’s a vomit spread from Havaianas, yet another jungle tome on anti-depressants,
Dakota Fanning looking like she’s just stolen her Lola bottle from Sephora…
Sharing the dressing room—surprise!—is Olivier Desquest and his double chin
Some Tropicana tops with cacti behind them, frolicking at the bucolic Le Petit Trianon
After 1,200 hours of sewing and 10,000 blooms…