Wednesday, 21 July 2010

the magic number

picture via The Selby
There is a lot a girl can learn from a woman who never went out before lunch and spent most of the time in her bathroom. The book of Diana Vreeland has so many stories I have to write some down.
"Do you know the story of why it's called No. 5? Chanel didn't know what to name it. A number of scents to choose from had arrived at the rue Cambon. Coco called up one of her great Russian friends – a very aristocratic, superior man – and asked him, 'Help me to choose. I have a migraine. My head is in quarters. You've got to do this. Come over instantly.'
He arrived and was taken to the bedroom, where Coco was lying on the bed, barely able to speak, she was in such pain.
'Over there is a stack of ten handkerchiefs,' she said. 'Place them along the mantelpiece. Put a sample of scent on each handkerchief, and when the alcohol's blown off, let me know.'
He did this, and she pulled herself off the bed to go over to the mantel; she picked each one up in turn. First one: 'C'est impossible!' Second: 'Horrible!' The third: 'Pas encore." The fourth: 'Non.' Then, suddenly: 'Ça va, ça va!" It was the fifth handkerchief! With those great instincts she was correct even when she was practically unconscious."

Iščem svojo Petko, ki bi dišala po poletju, po plehkih obljubah in po dolgih pismih, skrajšanih v sms format.

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