Illustration by Jan A. Igoe
Fellow peasants, I regret to inform you that there has been a disaster in the Kardashian-Jenner clan (let’s call them “Jenn-dashians” for short) even more horrific than internet obscurity.
Before Kourtney got hitched to her drummer boy, she broke her engagement ring while allegedly—get this—folding clothes. Distraught, she retreated to her closet and cried for hours, according to courageous reporters embedded there, awaiting her next burp or blister.
Not to impugn the findings of hard-core journalists, but there’s no reason for her to wear anything twice, so folding is not exactly a survival skill in her realm. If that sounds like flat-out ugly, green-eyed jealousy, that’s because it is. Not that there’s anything wrong with beauty, royalty, wealth or fame. Who wouldn’t like that? I’m just a tad envious of entire families born into it.
A long time ago, my dad—a drummer (not Kourtney’s)—had a handful of ultra-famous students. When JFK Jr. was about 12, he was one of them. Dad got a kick out of sharing young John’s stories about his mom, Jackie Kennedy Onassis, who allegedly tried teaching him to clean a bathroom. You know, to experience how the commoners live. His objection was reasonable: Why would a Kennedy ever clean his own bathroom? In the event of a nuclear holocaust? If aliens abducted every last housekeeper, butler, maid and personal assistant on the planet?
He had a point. I always admired Jackie, but something tells me she never had a close, personal relationship with a toilet brush. Once, when Ms. Onassis called our house to reschedule John’s drum lesson, I happened to answer the phone. (They were going to Greece for the weekend.) She was exceptionally courteous and utterly delightful. Obviously, Jackie had previous experience dealing with peasants, but it was my virgin encounter with royalty. Totally tongue-tied, I held up my end of a 90-second conversation with a few pathetic “duhs” and a garbled “I’ll tell him.” This was Jackie, after all.
Now, getting back to Kourtney’s closet. Remember, we’re not talking about a stingy armoire where she hangs her thrift store finds. This is more like an enchanted forest where vast acres of designer clothes grow wild and ready for harvesting. Take your pick of Prada boots, Manolo Blahnik sandals and Hermes Birkin bags that line shelves soaring 8 feet high, as far as the eye can see. If that were my closet, I might never cry again.
Here’s the good news. The Jenn-dashians offer their fabulous fashions to peasants and commoners. You can buy the stuff they didn’t feel like folding at KardashianKloset.com, “the first luxury designer resale site.” Kourtney’s cadre of exotic, curvaceous, bronze-skinned social goddesses range from 5-foot-nothing to 5-foot-10, but somehow, they all morph into a size small. If you are ultra petite or invisible, you can find some bargains.
Check this out: Tamara Mellon sandals for $395; a multicolor sweatshirt with lips on it for $275; lavender loungewear (aka pajamas) for $280; or basic brown wide-leg pants for $580. The fancier stuff is over $1,000. Way over.
A word of caution, though. This site is not for optimists who hope to lose five pounds (a few times) before they’ll fit into size Jenn-dashian. There are no refunds, returns or exchanges. If the clothes don’t fit, you’re stuck. And your closet may not be as nice a place to cry.
Jan A. Igoe is a pro resale shopper, but having never been a size 2, she’s not tempted to do anything dumb. (At least not in this closet.) Join the fun at HumorMe@SCLiving.com. We welcome peasants of all sizes.