School is in session and the lesson today is how to be a an overtly eccentric fashion icon that you have no chance come Kingdom come in replicating.
Kids it’s time for Uncle Kunty’s latest sit down interview, and today it’s with Harper’s Bazaarwhere our collective snow flaked hawt bixch offers a run down as to how he exactly remains fabulous and smelling this side of golden daffodils dipped in Unkle Kunty’s silent moans to himself.
Here are some highlights of what sets Unkle Kunty apart from mere mortals:
The first thing I do when I get up, I have breakfast. I have two protein shakes made for me by my doctor–they have a chocolate taste and no sugar, of course—and steamed apples.
Steamed apples because even the sound of crackling apple could serve to annoy Uncle Kunty.
I do most of my reading in the morning. I have a special canopy for that, near the window, where I can see the Louvre and the Seine. I only read, look at books, and sketch. And daydream—daydreaming’s important too. At night there are the dreams too, but I don’t have too many.
Uncle K has run out of dreams but surely he manages to sneak in a wet dream of himself, assuming Uncle is in the mood.
My hair is not really white; it’s kind of grayish, and I don’t like the color. So I make it totally white with Klorane dry shampoo. That is the best thing to do because my hair is always clean.
Klorane dry shampoo? Isn’t that one uses to bleach walls before they apply thinner to them? Uncle Kunty knows best anyway…
I exercise very little because my doctor said it’s not necessary. I did a lot when I was very young, and all you do when you’re young stays. So it’s not the problem as with people who started later. I’m very flexible; I have no problems.
Which is to say Uncle Kunty spends the day totally still looking at reflections of himself, only choosing to exercise when he must turn the mirror another way as the sun passes.
I never have lunch, but when I do, I ask them to bring it to me in the house. I actually have two houses. This house here, it’s only for sleeping and sketching, and I have another house two-and-a-half meters away for lunch and dinner and to see people, and where the cook is and all that. I don’t want that here.
Uncle Kunty needed be bothered with inconvenient formalities like tending to greeting house guests in his atelier when he can simply entertain them in his alternate chateau across the way, such are the privileges of being an esteemed hawt bixch who can fart where ever he wants and honey bees will jump for joy to extract the juice from it.
Dinner depends on the day. I don’t go out that much because I’m always late, and I’m so busy and so pleased with what I’m doing that I’m not really ready for a social evening. That’s over—the people I was going out with are dead or don’t exist anymore.
Uncle Kunty in other words is beyond such formalities especially since the people who really matter in the world are dead and not in the mood for trivial dinner dates like Uncle Kunty.
And before Uncle Kunty hits the sack this is what he prefers to do:
To unwind, it depends on how tired I am. Sometimes I read a little bit. Lately, I play with my cat, Choupette. The cat always stays home, and when I leave, the maid takes care of her. The cat is like a very refined object; she doesn’t go into the street, and she doesn’t go to other places. She is a spoiled princess.
When no one is looking, Uncle Kunty whispers into his princess’ whiskers: ” Never mind, I understand your grief, for I too am a princess of sorts….”
(just in case you can’t understand French, Uncle Kunty would like to advise you then perhaps this documentary on his highness below is probably not for you….)