Someone once asked me why I seem to be so outrageously obsessed with Karl Lagerfeld. If I had to answer succinctly: his wicked sense of humor. Sometimes his comments literally slay me, so much so that I find myself nearly falling out of my chair from laughing so hard. But beyond that, Karl is probably the one figure in fashion today who is acutely aware of the public persona of a designer, of an iconic designer, really.

Everything he does seems to be to support his art, which has become indistinguishable from his own life. But if I had to speak the truth--his designs? Well, I get them, but even if I had the thousands of euros, or hundreds of thousands of euros to join that elite coterie of women who can afford to don his couture, I don't think I would. Big gasp, I know. Not that we don't need the Karls of this world to keep what few ateliers there are left to churn out such stunning handicraft. It's just a very certain taste and lifestyle, is all.

His latest little pre-fall collection, however, was absolutely stunning. In bleak moments like these, Karl shows just what a gem of a designer he really is, showing luxury to such heights, while tastefully straddling louche. I want every single piece of his Russian themed collection, right down to the astrakhan muffs and crazy headdresses.