È difficile sceglierne una, Do you remember the Nineties, when I would wear stockings with runs? è un buon titolo per una biografia, I got my first Birkin at age 45. It’s kind of tragic when you think about it è la biografia intera, e I’m the Condé Nast Traveler guide to rehabs è la sintesi perfettissima del perché non esistano brutte interviste alla più formidabile produttrice di one liner in circolazione.

Love è tornata (è mai stata via?), e ha una spiegazione convincente del perché un terzo del mio guardaroba sia Marni, un gusto acquisito che rivela tutta la fatica fatta per conquistarlo e ha il suo fascino proprio per questo, e una irresistibile ricostruzione del suo personale Ringraziamento, quello in cui fece la parte del tacchino che Herr Karl graziò.

She does reference the time in 2007 when she made the colossal fashion misstep of donning a faux-Chanel-couture dress to Paris Hilton’s birthday party — but she’s since been forgiven by the fashion house and Lagerfeld himself. Apparently, Love plucked the offending dress from her closet (it was gifted to her), but she had no idea the black-and-white creation was an imposter until she arrived at the party. “It was a scandal, the Chanel police were after me,” Love recounts. “But want to know what Karl did? He flew me to Paris, basically forgave me, had me pose for Harper’s [Bazaar] naked and covered in pearls and said to them, ‘The poor thing doesn’t know what couture is.’ This is L.A., I didn’t know!” The designer wound up giving the rock star the real dress and let her run through the store.