Why Marc Jacobs and I Are Not Best Friends

W hen Keri Anderson of Heels First Travel started to discuss fashion last night in our small sub-group at Chayo in Las Vegas, she ensured to first include a disclaimer that I most likely would not be interested in what she was about to say.

“Fashion?”, I asked.

Yep. Fashion.

Let’s face it: I never was into fashion. Fashion is about as exciting to me as simultaneously watching grass grow and paint dry while reading the technical manual specifications of all of the workings of an engine for a Boeing 747 as I listen to the tone emitting from a television which is a test of the emergency broadcast system.

To put it another way, fashion is about as exciting to me as waiting in line for a taxi cab in Las Vegas — and you know how that went.

When I think of fashion, I think of Marc Jacobs.

Yes, that Marc Jacobs.

You see, we went to school together. High school? Check. College? Yep…

…but we were never the best of friends. In fact, we were not even good friends.

Come to think of it, I am not even sure we were friends at all.

On what turned out to be a bizarre trip to Paris years ago — I have no idea how the wife of my cousin in New York who was cheating on him by dating a rabbi found me through the throngs of people at some crowded elevated Métro station; and needless to say, they have been long divorced since then — I am walking down some rue in who knows what arrondissement when I heard someone call out my name from behind me in the distance.

I turned around. It was Marc Jacobs. What the heck was he doing in Paris?!?

I do not remember the exact discussion. I mean, he was cordial to me and I to him — but I had no interest in what he was saying to me because it was all about fashion. He always had a fashion for passion. He craved fashion. He lived for fashion. I suppose it was no wonder that he succeeded in fashion and is probably currently traveling more than you and I combined.

I would have rather discussed travel. Travel is my passion. Always has been. Probably always will be. Marc might probably be bored with travel these days.

Marc, if you are reading this — nah, you are probably not; but if you are — know that I did not mean to insult you with my indifference pertaining to fashion. Nothing personal — but it just bores the daylights out of me. I am glad you became wildly successful in the fashion industry. I swear to you that I really mean it when I say that. Honest. Tell you what: I would even be willing to see you again. Pick a place: Milano? New York? Tokyo? London? Perhaps Paris again? Just name it and we can catch up on old times…

…that is, unless you only want to discuss fashion with me — then all bets are off…

4 thoughts on “Why Marc Jacobs and I Are Not Best Friends”

  1. David says:

    do you mean ‘passion for fashion’ and not ‘fashion for passion’?I guess you really hate fashion.

  2. Tom says:

    This post should be titled: “Look at me! I know Marc Jacobs!!!”

    1. Brian Cohen says:

      Correction, Tom:

      “Look at me! I knew Marc Jacobs!!!”

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