Dear Karlie Kloss,
I respect that fact that you are one of the most beautiful girls in the world, that you have “limbs that could kick Jesus,” and you even make nice jeans. However, I’m writing to inform you I’m really sick of seeing you’re face, EVERYWHERE. Each month I get a new Vogue hoping to see the newfound talent that they deem worthy of the editorial pages, but it’s always YOU. And I feel you; you’re like a fine wine, gets better with age …but what’s wine without cheese sometimes? A little variation, you know? You can’t answer that question because it was very clear to me after I saw your nude spread in Vogue Italia, you have probably never tasted cheese. Maybe this is more a profession of my love for you and your discipline; I like cheese, a lot.
You probably don’t remember that time we met. You were strutting through Nolita like the Amazon princess you are; casual, alone, I said “hi” and walked by; it was hugely relevant. What I'm saying Karlie, is I’m a fan of yours, always will be, but right now can you stick to making “Karlie’s Kookies” somewhere dark and pressless, and let someone else get an editorial? That is all, stay tall!
P.S. If you ever find yourself in a bookstore, please pick up a copy of my memoir titled; “I Put Whip Cream On Someone & They Weren’t Mad.”