open letter to Julia Restoin Roitfeld

Oh julia. why do you do this to me? Why do you flaunt your superiority in my face? I know you're young, beautiful.. and french. I know this, i have read about it in teen vogue ages ago. I know you're carine's daughter, and even though i see you out in matching one shoulder balmains, i can forgive this, because i know i could never fit into balmain anyway. I know you're clever and cool and chic, and you're living my dream life and starting your own magazine. but it's okay, i still love you and want to be your friend (and raid your closet).

But why, WHY julia, do you do this to me? Why must you pick the one thing i am desperate for right now, the thing that i would actually KILL for at the moment, wear it, and wear it WELL bitch. Why would you let the papparazzi take photos, then allow those photos to be sent to magazines where they seep onto the pages of my favourite glossies and i am forced to relive the agony over and over again.

I can understand you having it. I know, you're cool. But wear it out on a date with your boy, wear it to a family lunch. Not to a flipping party! where photographers are! Where there is a red carpet! Oh Julia, you kill me, you really do. Perhaps it would be best if we stopped seeing each other. it's not you, it's the skirt. It came between us. Alexander Wang should have known better, as you should have.

H. XX



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