Friday, December 07, 2007


I think envy is different from jealousy. Jealousy is when you want something someone else has which you used to have, like your otherwise awesome boyfriend you dumped because he called too much, or your beautiful house you had to give up because your mortgage rate went through the roof. Envy, on the other hand, is wanting that which another person has. Whatever it is they have, it is something you will never have, have never had in your life, nor could you ever hope to have.

Exhibit 1: Kelly Wearstler.

Kelly is featured on the cover of the Fall 2007 issue of Harper's Bazaar's "A Fashionable Life". Looking at her photo conjures a black wave of hateful envy through my brain; chestnut waves cascading around her shoulders, wide cheekbones, feline eyes, golden skin and Christian Louboutin pumps (one pair of "dozens" in her closet).

It only gets worse on page 47, where Kelly's story begins.

Kelly Wearstler, in a chocolate crepe Tracy Feith sundress, pancake-flat Chanel gladiator sandals, and oversize Marc Jacobs aviator specs, curls into one of the glossy black wrought-iron patio chairs between the pool and the pool house she has converted into a home office of her estate, on the Beverly Hills side of Sunset Boulevard (of course!- T.). Wearstler has flopped down out of not so much exhaustion as ease-- although this mother of two small boys, Elliott, age 4, and Oliver, 5, and the captain of a burgeoning global empire would be forgiven if it were the former.

I wouldn't forgive her. I would laugh at her.

Poor Kelly-- not only is she renovating her home, she's redoing her office space too. Stress! A nosy neighbor "caught" Kelly running her business out of the old bungalow space during the renovation of the new office on La Cienega. The City "totally came down on us" says Kelly, and adds: "What do you expect? This neighbor has metal exterior shutters." What a loser!

You want to design clothes too, Kelly? Along with your interiors business and your boutique on the 7th floor of Barney's on Wilshire?

"Why shouldn't I do clothes and anything else? I mean, look at all the inspiration I'm surrounded by*. We just got back from Uruguay and Argentina, and we're going to India and Japan this winter." How weird! Me too!

* Never end a sentence with a preposition, Kelly (T-Bone's Mom).

Exhibit 2: Mimi Van Wyck.

Mimi is an event planner, putting together weddings and parties for the rich and famous. When she and Ray Hamilton "Ham" Morrison III decided to get married, they wanted their day to be extra-special. The venue? Charleston, South Carolina. They thought it would be fun to have a Mardi-Gras themed wedding reception!

Zipped into a white sheath hung with chains by Alexander McQueen and sci-fi jewelry by Kara Ross, (Mimi) is a punk-rock Princess Leia. "Bronson has me changing at least fi-ii-ive times at the wedding," she says, sounding just like what a magnolia would sound like if a magnolia could talk. "It's cray-ay-zy."


Ham had been thinking of becoming a pro stock-car driver. (Mimi urged him to, well, think again.) Instead, Ham now restores Charleston's creaky historic residences...

I'm choking.
The wedding day!

Morning arrives, and Mimi climbs behind Ham on his British policeman's motorcycle, off to fetch croissants and orange juice.

The story goes on from there, but I'll spare you (and myself). Suffice to say the article concludes with a full-page photo of a radiant Mimi 'n' Ham at the airport, ready to jet off to the Grenadines for their honeymoon. Mimi's diamond glints as her hand clutches her Hermes briefcase. Ham, in a blue blazer, looks impossibly handsome.

Now folks-- that's envy.


The Scarlet Pervygirl said...

Ew. Just . . . ew.

Although I have to say I find the idea of a Bollywood-like wedding, with multiple costume changes, bizarrely humorous. I wonder if they break out into song at any point during the ceremony.

The thing of which I'm most envious, though? The idea that someone can eat a croissant and still remain thin. Lies, I tell you.

T-Bone said...

Eh- it says she "fetched" them. She didn't necessarily EAT them, the skinny bitch. Gah.

The Scarlet Pervygirl said...

Good point. I'd barf, but she might consider that a tribute.