I mean, just because my daddy is a big producer in Hollywood and friends with both Harvey Weinstein and Megan Ellison, doesn’t mean that I’m going to be anything special. And just because I modeled and wrote for Vogue, Dazed and Confused, i-D, Vanity Fair and the Economist doesn’t make me better than anyone else. My line of designer vaginal enhancing herbs was sold out at Barneys and Bloomingdales. I weigh in the under-50kg club. Also, because I can speak at higher decibel levels and am a bigger bitch, unfortunately, I have learned, does not make me any more special. All much to my chagrin.
gossip
Ever since I was a baby Shanti, I’ve been imbued with the idea that some people are just naturally better than others. And others learn and grow how to be better than others. Which is kind of fucked up, when you think about it.
There is a lot in modern culture we take for granted. However, my little lambs, there are a few things that make me better. It’s written in the starts for one- my astrology chart has both the sun and venus on my midheaven, which means I’m hot and special. But that aside, Bali is a wonderful, dream-making and dream-taking place. It’s a place where fashionistas meet bohemians. A lot has changed in the past ten years. Once upon a time, the bohemians challenged bourgeoisie notions of status and hierarchy. At the start of the nineteenth century in Europe and America, a group of people emerged at the tail end of the industrial revolution who would read poetry to each other, didn’t seem to care much about money and status but rather placed importance on relationships and emotion and creating beautiful art. A hundred years later, we’re living in Bali, and those same values have subverted to create a hierarchical system of their own. It has happened all around the world with art, film and literature, but the effects are no less deleterious than in a place like Bali, where we were suppose to escape all that. A cynic may be an idealist with awkwardly high standards, but I think it may be possible to be less of a snobby arrogant asshole or bitch. And I’m the first to admit to being a shrill shrew once in a while. All it really takes is admitting what we’re actually up to. Are we blaming someone else for our own insecurities? And remember, expectation is only a pre-meditative resentment. We’re all in this together! Stop the insanity! One love! That, and I know your husband has been cheating on you, so that makes me feel better and hate you less and make me feel like we could actually be friends again. • I know you’re running out of money. • And you, well, let’s just say you’re getting older. You look good at night, but a bit seedy during the day, you feel me? • You’re fucking the pool boy. The ugly one. Why, I don’t know. • I know for a fact your annoying dog got made into sate. • You’re a trust-funder, you phoney. Or a d-smuggler, I can’t tell. • I know that’ definitely not your real hair color. • And that’s definitely, definitely not a real Chloe bag. So we can all be friends again. Just because the rest of the world is going to shit, doesn’t mean we can’t all love each other. Because don’t you see? We’re all one and the same, humans on the same planet just living the dream, one mistake at a time. Love you, forever and always. Shanti. 71