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Our Crack Little Crack

karllagerfield.jpg I don’t usually speak ill of the dead
 

I don’t usually speak ill of the dead, particularly when they’re barely cold on the slab, but what’s with all the fawning coverage of the fat-shaming, women-hating Karl Lagerfeld? (I say “barely cold on the slab”, but even in life he looked like a cryogenically frozen corpse that had somehow been re-animated.) Why was he held up to be this shining beacon of all things fashionable? Every picture or bit of news footage I saw of him over the past week had me thinking: there’s a man who can’t find himself a decent pair of trousers. What a clip! He looked like a Bond villain. A very badly dressed one. And he always had shades on. Maybe he was wearing them when he thought that a grey leather jacket and kipper tie was a good look. He always managed to break about five fashion rules with each outfit, not least with his hairstyle. I mean to say, would you take sartorial advice from any man sporting a ponytail? (Answer: no you sodding well wouldn’t.)