So I went to buy some Diet Coke because I was particularly tired and hungry in that way that only a nasty sugarry caffeine rush can alleviate but when I got to the store I found myself disheartened. My dream of a cheap and cheerful joy fix had come undone at the seams. Because the store only stocked the regular cans. And a regular can of Coke is a depressing thing indeed. I like the curvacious glass bottles that remind me of summers in Antibes. The cans always remind me of petrol stations on miserable road trips to Norfolk; they look a bit grimy and dusty and folorn. Suddenly the whole experience made me feel the same.
The problem, I just realised, had its origins in my leafing through the new American issue of Harper's Bazaar. In it, I'd spied with my little eye, something beginning with: C. Yes, Coco Rocha, clad in what looked suspiciously like Chanel leather shorts, posing avec un hot model mini-me Karl Lagerfeld, brandishing a silver tray. And on that tray...a special limited edition bottle of "Coca-Cola Light, by Karl Lagerfeld". Me wants that! Not your grimy servo can, sir!
Anyway, the hook-up makes sense because the Kaiser literally runs off the DC stuff, like an ageing but still gleaming black, white and tan Corvette. I know, because I've watched Lagerfeld Confidential, like, a hundred times. And to service his habit, the God-like one has a lackey follow him at all times proffering a chilled bottle of his favourite fizzy tipple on a silver tray. Hence the model with the tray in the ad. Everything is uilluminated!
Odd that a couturier is happy to plonk a caricature of his famous mug on a soft drink container? Like Princess Mary dressing up as Ronald McDonald? Or Anna Wintour branding a breakfast cereal? But you have to admit it's a tops brand fit; the designer is a genuine fan. And the ad is so damn good that it made me turn left at the juice bar. I'll have what he's having! Except I won't, will I? Because they only have the bloody cans at the IGA.