| Page 2 of 3 < > |
Drop Till You Shop
The 1,000-euro rhinestone shades? A bit much. Besides, they might clash with the rabbit fur hand warmers or beaver-and-python coat.
(By Libby Copeland -- The Washington Post)
TOOLBOX
   Resize
COMMENT
 Discussion Policy
 CLOSE
Comments that include profanity or personal attacks or other inappropriate comments or material will be removed from the site. Additionally, entries that are unsigned or contain "signatures" by someone other than the actual author will be removed. Finally, we will take steps to block users who violate any of our posting standards, terms of use or privacy policies or any other policies governing this site. Please review the full rules governing commentaries and discussions. You are fully responsible for the content that you post.
Who's Blogging  |
"I mean, it makes sense if you think about it," he says. "Like, what 4-year-old gets into learning about how 6 million people were exterminated?"
Around his neck, Johnny wears three chains with a knotted mess of pendants, including two Stars of David, an Israeli army dog tag, an Italian horn to protect him from the mal occhio , or evil eye, a miraculous medal of Mary, and the letter D, which stands for the Christina Aguilera song "Dirrty," because Christina Aguilera is his role model.
"I don't take them off ever and I don't untangle them because, like, their powers are all hidden in this knot," he says.
He is beautiful in what he calls an "androgynous" way; dark-lipped and hazel-eyed, with long lashes that curl perfectly up. He is 5 feet 9 and 125 pounds, with body fat "in the death levels," at 5.5 percent. His skin is pale and lovely.
"I'm breaking out really bad," he says, and points to one tiny little almost-zit.
He finishes his biscuit and we take the tram to the high-end shopping district around Via Roma. He heads into a eyewear store and tries on a pair of Dior sunglasses encrusted with rhinestones that, at nearly $1,200, he decides are too expensive. Besides, he already has this pair without the rhinestones, he says. Besides, he already has 45 pairs of Dior sunglasses.
He wanders around inside. "They have the Dior ski goggles," he says with awe.
Sitting down to arrange the laces on his new sneakers (whose laces he refuses to tie but instead carefully wraps and tucks in elaborate fashion), Johnny spots a pair of $320 Roberto Cavalli shades. He gives them to the saleslady to ring up. This, he says, will bring his sunglasses collection to 103 pairs, which he keeps arranged in drawers according to designer.
"I take care of them all," he says. "I have to polish them."
Weir considers clothes and handbags and sunglasses his children. In his closet, "certain designers get a black hanger and certain designers get a white hanger, and they're hung in order of designer and then color." He believes in buying real designer stuff; when he sees someone with a knockoff handbag, "it hurts my feelings," he says.
He opens his Louis Vuitton bag, which has inside it the following items: a Louis Vuitton camera bag and a cell phone with three fur tails hanging off it (one beaver, two mink). There is also a Gucci change purse, inside of which he keeps a spoon that has been twisted three times, of which Johnny will only speak mysteriously: "It's mystical," he says. "There are powers in it."
He takes out a baby blue Balenciaga wallet and removes a MasterCard, which he hands to the saleslady. "My bank always thinks that my card's stolen so they'll put a block on it sometimes," he says. "Drives me crazy."
