I have a confession. Ever since I was a small boy
, I've wanted to be as fabulous
as the most stylish
ever to grace the silver screen
. I wanted the car
, the walk
, the talk
and the long cigarette holder
of Cruella De Vil
. Sure, she was mean, she was nasty
, deceitful, diabolical and just plain
wicked, but she did it all for fashion
. She hatched no byzantine
plots for world domination
, there were no extravagant revenge
schemes; all that she wanted was to be absolutely stunning
in her puppy
fur coat. You can't help but admire
the moxy of a woman so twistedly stylish that her only aim was to out-chic the chic
by taking adorable
little puppies and slaughtering them for the sake
of her wardrobe.
She was Auntie Mame with all the kisses and "my little loves" stripped away to reveal the cold, calculating, ruthless fashionista underneath. Cruella taught me that more than fame, style costs, and here's where you start paying ... in the blood of those cuddly little baby harp seals. I learned that the first step in acheiving your goals was being willing to step on and crush all the little people beneath the heel of your ferragamo pumps if they stand in your way. I learned that killing a Chinchilla is perfectly acceptible if you want a nice pair of fur-lined gloves, no matter how much they resemble pikachu in wretched cuteness (fortunately, for Chinchillas, their fur makes me sneeze).
Of course, in these days of tender sensibility and raised consciousness, it's not politically correct to slaughter cute little woodland creatures in search of that touch of je ne sais quoi that only wanton killing gives you. There are now groups that want to punish people who engage in such innocuous activities as collecting honey or making cheese. Wearing a silk shirt is nearly unthinkable. So I suppose wearing my cape made from the fur of mongolian white lions outside is an absolute no-no. Oh well, destiny awaits, and I think there's a knock at the door...