Michael Roberts' Poetry

And now to someone who fills me with optimism about the fashion industry, the legendary Michael Roberts, currently style director of Vanity Fair, who has recently released a rather fabulous book of satirical fashion poems, Fashion Victim: the Catty Catalogue of Stylish Casualties from A-Z, which include such gems as

Model
My name is Trudi from Elite.
Like my nose, but hate my feet.
Modelling can be a drag,
And “go-sees” really aren’t my bag.
But money’s good, and that’s a fact –
And socially my nights are whack!
London’s such a trip, you know,
Always some cool place to go.
Concerts here and nightclubs there –
Never time to wash me hair.
My boyfriend deejays in a bar,
Saving up to buy a car.
Met Naomi at a gig –
She ignored me. What a pig!
Like my makeup? – It’s real boss.
The earrings? Got them from Kate Moss.
Me and Kate – she’s such a laugh –
Lets me crash out in her bath!
I really should keep off the booze –
This morning couldn’t find my shoes.
I’m off to Thailand on a trip –
Phuket – is it really hip?
We’re shooting Vogue – some beauty stuff.
Won’t show my tits. God I look rough!
Is that the time? Oh shit. More troubles.
Still, I’m the star. I don’t do doubles.

Furs
Fran, while lunching, wrapped in sable,
Wasn’t thrilled to flee her table.
When protesters shouted “Killer”
From behind a Doric pillar,
She felt sad and slightly hunted
As to a booth she quickly shunted.
Who, she wondered, have I harmed?
All my pelts were strictly farmed.
The minks, I’m sure, were in great shape
Before they lined my opera cape.
The marmot, wolf, and silver fox
Suffered few, if any, shocks.
And speaking of my shaved chinchilla –
Now it’s hanging in the villa.
Surely that’s a happy fur –
It’s resting on the Côte d’Azur!