The day I left home, because things were really heating up with my boyfriend, my husband, I set off in search of myself. I left the little one with him, and headed for California with one idea in mind: to find the man I'd fallen madly in love with, the man who'd introduced me to body fever, curtain climbing and seventh heaven.
Alone in the middle of the parking lot, in my future husband's white corvette with red leather interior, I called out for some kind soul to come and administer first aid. I could still hear a vague rattle emanating from his mouth. Seeing that no one was coming, I began to give him improvised mouth-to-mouth on his chapped lips.
My new job as an embalmer, preparing the dead in a pop, glittery way, was working like a charm. Families of the deceased would order the characters they wanted to see their loved ones in one last time. I was allowed to prepare people as Michael Jackson, Kurt Cobain, Homer Simpson or simply as an anonymous cheerleader or soccer player.
When I emerged safely from house-sitting at the Parker and the heat wave had subsided, my first instinct was to slam back a drink.
I'm told I was granted a trial. But it must have been a speedy one, because when it took place, I was still in a deep coma caused by the police officer's rifle butt, which melted over me like margarine in the Sahara sun.
Exactly 80 years ago, seventeen-year-old Marcel Ravidat, an apprentice mechanic, discovered the entrance to the Lascaux cave thanks to his dog chasing a rabbit.
With autumn just around the corner, I wanted to bring you some of the finest and most refined footwear available.
Like most of my colleagues who want to have a modicum of professional conscience, I have to ask you this question. How do you come up with such wonderful names for your shoes?
In fact, it's a very intellectual and at the same time carnal relationship that I have with my creations.
The novel Patricia, a biography on the life of the world's envied shoe designer, written by her son, hit bookstores without warning, like an unexpected french kiss. Meet the man who is revolutionizing the publishing world like no one before him, except perhaps Plato.
Hello Laurent, and thank you for answering my questions at the recently reopened Lutétia bar.
I wouldn't have got this far if... if my dear father hadn't introduced me to the wonderful world of shoes.