Originally Posted by rach2jlc
It's great fun to make fun of Karla, but I hope I'm half as lucid and happy as he is when I'm 146 years old...
I think it's funny how he claims to have been born later than he most likely was! "Karl-Otto Lagerfeld was born 10 September 1933 in Hamburg, although Lagerfeld has long asserted that he was born in 1938. The German newspaper Bild am Sonntag
has quoted his former teacher and classmates as confirming the earlier date." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karl_Lagerfeld
What do you make of his diet book, "The Karl Lagerfeld Diet"? From the New York Ties Magazine By CHRISTINE MUHLKE. May 1, 2005.
"If French women don't get fat, then why did Karl Lagerfeld publish a diet book? After 53 years in Paris, the German designer had racked up too many sausage-and-Gruyere breakfasts at Cafe de Flore to be able to wear Hedi Slimane's skinny suits. With the help of the chic diet doctor Jean-Claude Houdret, he shed more than 80 pounds in just over a year. The fashion world -- make that the world-world -- was so taken with the Kaiser's reedy new physique that he got a book deal and was talking to the sponsorship people at Pepsi Max (in France, sugar-free) before the lipo rumors could begin circulating. \t This month the book is available in the States, from powerHouse. While the English translation is seamless, ''The Karl Lagerfeld Diet'' remains rooted in France, where cheese is good and gyms remain a novelty. Houdret allows up to two glasses of wine a day. (''But only red!'' he told me. ''It has natural chemical products that are good for the brain and circulation.'') He also advocates fromage blanc and lobster, provides recipes for quail flambe and advises dieters to skip the gym, cautioning, ''Exercise runs the risk of making you hungry.'' (Though, he writes, you can burn 130 calories an hour sewing, 280 playing piano and, vive la France, 260 shopping.) But do the French really need it? Houdret says yes. ''Until 1990, French women were still in the 19th century: they had a balanced diet, cooked at home, didn't eat fast food; le snacking didn't exist,'' says Houdret, a general practitioner who specializes in nutrition, aesthetics (read: advocate for plastic surgery) and homeopathy. ''The modern socialization of women meant that they smoked, they drank. In short, they lived like the Americans. And so they gained weight like the Americans.'' But the French aren't as diet-crazed, explains Houdret, who sees American fad diets as ''une catastrophe!'' Houdret's regime, known as the Spoonlight program, eliminates sugar, white flour, red meat and processed foods from a low-calorie but well-balanced diet: South Beach meets the Left Bank. Only a few foods are verboten, as listed on the colorful poster provided with the book (a photo of a stern Karl in one corner, Houdret with his ''Chitty Chitty Bang Bang'' twirly mustache in another). Potatoes, Camembert, duck -- even horse meat -- are O.K., and you're allowed carte blanche when it comes to portion size. I decided to try it. Reading that Lagerfeld wears smaller jeans than I do was all it took, proving his point that ''fashion is the healthiest motivation for losing weight.'' It seemed simple . . . until it didn't. I scanned the examples of Lagerfeld's summer menu (Day 1 dinner: baked rabbit spread with fromage frais and mustard) and reread the paragraphs on the diet's three levels. Which level should I follow? And what are the ''protein sachets'' that I'm supposed to eat three times a day? Is that like a bouquet garni? And why are there only 17 pages on the actual diet in a 223-page book? Am I really supposed to set quail on fire after a long day at the office? Finally, reading through the tiny footnotes, it became clear: ''All the products mentioned here are distributed by . . . www.sunrexparis.com
.'' Three weeks and $264 later, a box arrived from the Paris suburbs with 14 days' worth of sachets and supplements with names like Nofat and Spoon-Cut. Looking at the envelopes of powdered protein, I realized I had ordered more sweet than savory, which would turn lunchtime into dessert time within a week. And the sachets can't simply be mixed with a spoon. So I lugged a hand-held blender to the office and would loudly make my shakes in the art department, dripping cacao chaud or goÃ»t poulet onto the fax machine while I sent little hate vibes to Karl and his personal chef. After three days, only 2 percent Total yogurt and Gayle's Miracles (truly miraculous 30-calorie chocolate truffles) made life on 1,200 calories a day worth living. Parties suddenly became Busby Berkeley-scale fantasy sequences of denial, and all I could talk about was my diet (a no-no, according to Karl). My boyfriend, a professional cook, threatened to leave me but opted for sabotage instead: for Valentine's Day, he gave me black truffles. Luckily, poulet demi-deuil with asparagus (no butter) and red wine seemed perfectly French, as did truffled eggs for breakfast every day. (Houdret later confirmed that they are wonderful.) Within a week, I lost two pounds and my sense of humor -- something Lagerfeld also strongly advises against. But Stockholm syndrome kicked in, and I actually looked forward to my frothy shakes and no-brainer meals (two sachets and raw vegetables for lunch; fish, vegetables and wine for dinner; endless capsules in between). The last day in the Karl zone, at a highway rest stop, my boyfriend came back to the car with a million-calorie McFlurry, proclaiming, ''I'm saving our relationship.'' Five pounds thinner after two weeks, I was ripe for the saving. Le snacking, c'est moi."