Manhattan sunlight streamed in through the blinds, lighting up the small flecks of glitter still dancing in the air from the night before. Someone was knocking at the door. Tap tap tap.
A few months ago, Aston Martin and I got into a little tiff. I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you to worry.
Some of the most obnoxious bleating I hear from my New York staffers is in regards to the state of the public transportation system. “It’s so laaaaate,” some bawl. “It’s so haaaaawt,” others lament. Why don’t you just drive, then! I swear to God, sometimes the easiest answers are right in front of us.
Honestly, the only thing that kept me from buying the Porsche 911 Turbo S was that fact that it was too cheap. If anything was going to ferry my ass around, it would have to be so exclusive that I would actually want to change pants before I got into it. Porsche hooked me up.
I’m going on vacation, everyone.
Friends, I come to you with a heavy heart, for I am at a loss.
Man. Supercar shopping. What a drag. Walking yourself between the rows and rows of exotic car on display. Exhausting. And for the plebs.
What is more luxurious than killing an animal and then processing its skin to use on furniture, bags, coats, shoes and car interiors? It’s a complete apex predator power move and it’s what makes them animals and us people.
RM Sotheby’s Villa Erba auction: my favorite time of year. Beautiful weather, Italian food, gorgeous views and expensive cars. It’s my scene. Sure, the auction doesn’t start until May 27, but I’ve already had a look at all of the lots. It’s all about who you know, see.
Tax Day has come and gone. And while I was enjoying this hunk of change I just got back from my tax returns, I suddenly felt a rare pang of guilt. Who was I to enjoy all of this money, when there were others in the world who couldn’t?
I’m shaken. I just got off the phone with my good friend Harry Criswell and he told me some very disturbing news.
I have a lot of stuff and I’m not the most organized person in the world (that’s what the help is for) so from the time to time I lose things. Credit cards, diamond rings, razor blades and 1996 Mercedes-Benz SL500 convertibles are all fair game.
Occasionally, in life, we have to do things we don’t want to do. Clean the oven, organize the coat closet, do our taxes or attend a funeral—these are things that nobody truly wants to do but we do them anyway. For me, it’s time to buy the servants a boat. I hate that this is a thing I have to do.
Oh, hello there. I just returned from the most wonderful trip up to the lake. Everyone was there. You should have come—but nooo you had to work so you can pay rent because you’re poor. I keep forgetting!
As I was thumbing through the internet while enjoying my daily rosewater soak in my gilded, claw-footed tub this morning, I came across a couple in an unfortunate financial situation that actually hit quite close to home.
I never thought I would say this.
Last week, I got into an accident.
I have a confession to make: I’ve always hated how my Mercedes-AMG GT R was confined to solid ground only. There are so many new and undiscovered places to explore when you can cross the seas. Places like the Dominican Republic. Honduras. Venezuela. Cigarette Racing came to the rescue.
Oh, hello. It’s your rich alter ego checking in. I must confess that despite my extreme optimism about the economy, I’ve had something on my mind.
The old nightmare came to haunt me again last night.