Today I am sad. Would you like to know why? Well, for starters, my computer is spazzing out. Problem number one. And for two, I tried to meet Karl Lagerfeld today, but alas, no dice. A couple weeks back, I called up the lovely and talented Nancy Walsh at Chanel and asked if it might be possible to talk to Uncle Karl about his recent purchase up here in Vermont. To my great astonishment, she didn’t laugh in my face. Since I’m not from Italian Vogue or Harpers and Queens, I didn’t think she’d give me the time of day. But she was very kind indeed and if she thought I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in H-E-double hockey sticks to talk to Uncle Karl, she never let on.
Let’s rewind a bit. By now it might be old news to some of the more gossip-minded of our brethren and sistren that Karl Lagerfeld, head of the house of Chanel, had purchased some property up in Grand Isle County. It turns out to be a quaint little 19th Century Georgian jobbie that set Lagerfeld back just half a million. Since he’ll be using it for business purposes, the house is a total write-off. Since I’m penning this from my apartment, can I write off my rent? That’s neither here nor there. Maybe Uncle Karl will pay my rent.
For a peak at the house, click the link: http://www.vreinmls.com/ver/maildoc/a002cE5943.html
Unkle Karl, trying to crack a smile. So shimmery.
Anyway, when I was tipped off about Lagerfeld’s potential purpose, I set to work Lion & Davis Realtor extraordinaire Mary von Ziegesar to track down the property. I told her it was a luxury property somewhere in the islands. Mary’s searches kept coming up empty until she dropped the search price down by about a half million shekels. It turns out the Uncle Karl, despite all his vast riches, doesn’t need some palatial spread to make him happy. A four-bedroom with some sweet woodwork right plop on the only major road in the islands will do him just fine, thank you.
For a couple weeks now, I’ve been waiting for he of the silver ponytail to answer a few of my questions that I sent along through Nancy Walsh, Chanel PRstress. Did I mention she’s lovely and talented? Anyway, while I waited for Lagerfeld to get back to me (um, doesn’t he know who I am?), I talked to Karin Ericson, the former owner of the property, about why she sold it. Simple reason- she’s downsizing. She and her husband are empty- nesters, and while Grand Isle is a good place to raise the kiddies, when you have to commute to Burlington every day, especially in the winter, the islands sort of lose their dewy sheen.
So Ericson and her husband dumped the house in exchange for a cool half a million in cash. I’d like to see what a half a million dollars in greenbacks looks like. But alas, I make $2.42 an hour, so the likelihood of that happening is pretty slim. Anyway, Ericson said that Uncle Karl never came to look at the property, but rather Lagerfeld’s male model muse, Brad Kroenig, scouted out the place and told his patron to buy, buy, buy.
Here’s Brad in Chanel Resort wear. He sort of looks like the every hot dude.
Then a few of Lagerfeld’s handlers kum axmen kum (thanks blog censor) business associates had a looksie and agreed that the Ericson’s place, known to all in Grand Isle as the Gen. Harmon house (former Norwich Uni prez and Gen.Patton’s right-hand man, Gen. Ernest Harmon who lived there for many years) would be perfect for a fashion campaign.
Despite not really having a full story with like, you know, Kaiser Karl giving his opinion on Vermont (who needs real journalism when you’ve got recycled blog information?), I decided to check out what was going on in Grand Isle. The first time I went up there, I was about a week early. Lagerfeld hadn’t yet arrived and folks were just doing work on the house. But the lovely and talented Nancy Walsh told me this week he’d be up there, so I headed off in my sweet Pontiac Vibe to chat up ol’ Karl. Because nothing says fashion authority like a Pontiac.
Anyway, yesterday I decamped in front of the brick house, flag pole listing to one side in the wind, and waited for Lagerfeld to pop out and join me for a tour of the islands. I really did think he might, at any moment, sally out of his new digs and ask me to take him to get some cider donuts at Allenholm Orchards or something equally folksy. But no such luck. I did manage do get the stink-eye from Mr. Kroenig as he walked past my hot ride on the way to a fish something out of a monster SUV parked behind me. That’s me, charming the pants off of male models.
And another one. I wonder if he gets wicked tan lines from those gloves.
While I was up there on my stakeout, I talked with Teri Geney, who lives in Karl’s backyard. Or Karl lives in hers, depending on which way you look at it. Teri didn’t seem to think the two huge RVs, multiple SUVs and gigantic rental trucks were at all annoying. She sort of liked the novelty of a big fashion celeb hanging out in her ‘hood. As yet, she hadn’t seen Lagerfeld, but did see some photogs snapping away on the back porch. I tried to entreat her 10-year-old daughter, Kelli, to act like she lost her dog and wander into Lagerfeld’s backyard so she could catched a glimpse of the half-finger gloved-one. She wouldn’t do it because apparently she’s the only child left in America with morals and values. Ugh.
So the takeaway from all this is I’m probably never going to get my questions answered by Lagerfeld and instead of a real story, I’m going to have to settle for this cheap blog post. And so will you, unless I sneak myself into the fashion shoot and do a little fly-on-the-wall piece. But I’m pretty sure I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. I’ll be the one in snow boots and a bright green puff coat. The sight of me would probably be enough to curl ol’ Kaiser’s skinny black tie and make his high starched collar go limp.
Watch my video-stalk: