Dear David Remnick,

Did you really devote an entire issue to an exhaustive election postmortem about the longest campaign ever — and expect anybody to read it? I mean, I’m sorry all your hard work will go so unread. And I’m sure staff morale was a bitch last week — they’re no dummies, are they? But I gotta be honest: No thanks! And big thanks too! We all really appreciate the pass this week!

Love,
Magazine MILF

How helpful would it be if you could literally smell your A.D.D. boss coming from a mile away, as Karl Lagerfeld’s staff surely does when he pulls up to the Rue Cambon? The King of Excess — hello, hundreds of iPods and Dior Homme suits — confided to W that he goes through 365 bottles of Shu Uemura’s Pleasure of Japanese Bath oil per year. That’s $14,600 before taxes! And that’s not even the scary part. The scary part is the sight of The Kaiser, in the mind’s eye, taking a soak, because it’s probably no stretch of the imagination to envision him demanding the same full-service bath treatment as Eddie Murphy’s Prince Akeem character in “Coming to America.” Can’t you just see model-muse Brad Kroenig emerging from beneath the bathwater’s surface to declare, “The royal penis is clean” ?? Total repugnance royale!

Is Carine Roitfeld made of teflon, or what? Only she could get away with juxtaposing cheeky editorial about eco-
fashion with a Fendi ad featuring a sumptuous fur chubbie — I mean, it’s not like whomever killed that animal went Native American and put the rest of its parts to use. No matter. French Vogue magically makes this match-up funny and ballsy. But can you imagine something similar in American Vogue? Everybody would scream clueless insensitivity. And while everybody wouldn’t be wrong, I think there is more to the constant bile. Like failing to look as chic as you should (hello, horrible art direction). And clocking a really negative reading on the goodwill scale.