The Love That Dare Not Speak It’s Name…
We’ve known each other a long time, readers, we’ve been through quite a bit together and for the most part, I feel comfortable sharing things with you and just generally Being Real. I’d like to Be Real with you now. It’s difficult to reveal things about yourself when you are worried you might be judged for it, but I think it’s an important part of a relationship and when something brings me this much joy I think hiding it from you would be wrong and false and turn the beautiful sterling silver chain of honesty currently between us, rotted, rusty and decrepit.
I’m in love.
With this lady.
I know what you’re thinking, because believe me, I thought it too. I’d seen her around in magazines and stuff for a while, but we first really met last year, on an airplane. I was flying Jet Blue, the first season of her show The Rachel Zoe Project was just taking off and there was a Bravo marathon during my flight from San Francisco to New York. It was like fate. As I watched her overtanned face change from frustration at LA traffic patterns to unmitiagated ecstasy at the sight of a particularly “bananas” Erin Fetherston dress I felt something in my heart that I had never felt before. Warm, moist, utterly released. It was like my heart had peed it’s pants, you guys, and I was loving it.
People will say bad things about my girl, I know. And she knows it too. But she doesn’t care. The only thing she cares about (more than me) is clothes, y’all. Inanimate, beautiful objects made of fabric, thread and the sweat and labor of the hardy immigrant; objects which will never love her back no matter how many times she declares that she would die for them, that’s what makes me love her!!
You can say what you want about her work-she’s not curing AIDS or stopping world hunger or helping poor kids Believe in Themselves but she does some pretty thankless work. She goes from kissing self-involved egomaniacal designer’s asses and begging for their work, to kissing self-involved egomaniacal celebrities asses and convincing them that they are beautiful and amazing and that she knows what’s best for them. And the thing is, she does. Her understanding and comprehension of fashion is unprecedented and she can look at a garment on the rack and see it on a woman, with accessories hair and the perfect shoe instantly.
It’s also admirable that she’s found a way to focus on her passion, while making an ass-load of money, and isn’t that what we all want to do, ultimately?
Since falling in love with Rachel I have not been immune to her flaws and faults: her impatience, her obliviousness and the way she talks about working class people and her stereotypical L.A-ish-ness are all slightly alarming, but I know that deep within that wizened, tan over-starved dress beats the heart of a truly remarkable and ridiculously short woman.
We took a break for a while but last night when the show premiered again and I watched my dear Rachel’s face contort with the stress of possibly NOT having the Dior dress that she wanted for Eva Mendes or try to comfort her execrable assistant Taylor whose insecurity knows no bounds, I knew we were back on and shit was real.
I hope you can be happy for us.