Karma Wears Alexander McQueen
June 21, 2026
I once read somewhere that life always finds a way to surprise you. And when I look at my own life, I often think: there must be someone writing this story, because some chapters are too symmetrical, too perfectly timed, too absurd, and too cinematically beautiful — just like a movie — to belong to chance…
I love movies. I love stories. It’s a gift we rarely appreciate the way we should — the privilege of living through thousands of them and watching them begin, evolve, end, and sometimes even bear fruit. Some stories are inspiring, others absurd, and a few are so unbelievable they feel entirely made up. But that’s life.
Well, this one happens to be a chapter about karma — a real diva!
She… she never arrives when invited, never returns your calls, and doesn’t care about your timeline. Her specialty is spending years setting a table for a dinner you no longer even remember being invited to.
Then, on a perfectly ordinary day, she comes strutting across your path in the most outrageous Alexander McQueens and drags you to the party anyway.
It all started on Nantucket, with a ribbon-tied note dangling from my bike handle — the sort of thing that belongs in old films and disastrous love stories. Very romantic…
He was tall with long blond hair – looked like a 90s model from a magazine — charming, cultured, the type to quote Baudelaire between sips of overpriced wine… the man was in the wine business. He’d studied in Bordeaux (which he never missed a chance to mention), and coincidentally, I was considering moving to Paris the following year. It seemed fate had carelessly scattered a few common threads at our feet.
We saw each other every now and then, and despite the whole “smooth criminal” act, I could see right through him. I wasn’t Anny, okay! I was perfectly fine and to my senses. He had the “nice guy” performance down, but to me he was just another “smooth operator”, a schmuck… with charm.
The most irritating thing about him really, was how he always seemed lost in some dreamy, oblivious state — speaking softly, moving gently, just like a sleazy salesperson, trying to sell me something I didn’t want. Being the impulsive wild card that I am, I always had an almost violent urge to shake him awake… maybe even slap some sense into him — just to see if he could act remotely present. Oh, please!
After the summer ended, guess what he did? He disappeared and didn’t even say goodbye. Not that I cared much, I was too busy with my own life to bother. But it was just… immature. Mr. Oblivious was 32, for God’s sake.
Now, I’m in Paris, exact location – Rue des Francs Bourgeois, when suddenly I spot a too-familiar pair of Hawaiian pants.
Wait, what? I look up, and there he is. Mr. Oblivious, in the exact same Hawaiian pants and blue shirt he wore all summer long back on Nantucket — now in Paris. What were the odds?
He was with a girl — a new conquest, no doubt. I couldn’t help myself; I was too amused. I called his name in surprise.
As he walked towards me, his face turned an embarrassing shade of red. He didn’t know what to say, trying to play it cool and charming, as we were some dear friends from the past. But his posture, especially his back, was practically screaming, “I am tooo ashamed” as he hunched and shrank like a beaten dog. At that sight I pitied him, no joke!
Poor guy. Of course, he was expecting me to act as if nothing had happened — like it was all good, but he was once again oblivious. I’m a savage!
He was mumbling something, but I wasn’t even listening to him. I was still chuckling and processing what I was seeing.
I mean, not even two weeks ago, one of my friends had bumped into him on Nantucket and sent me a sneak-peek picture of him, unable not to notice his never-changing attire – the Hawaiian pants and blue shirt of course.
And now here he was — in Paris, standing right in front of me — different continent, but same him, same outfit. Hilarious… And you might think I am exaggerating about the outfit, but I swear I never saw this man wear anything else outside of work!
He tried to talk, but I just laughed. I couldn’t hide the cocktail of disdain, annoyance, and pity on my face — and frankly, why bother?
I waved him off — a “get out of my face, please” kind of wave, but like a royal, with a smile and a bitchy, but charming face, because of course I had to match his vibe. Ha ha, it was glorious…
Anyway, that day, I felt like some character in The Truman Show, and all sorts of conspiracies ran through my mind. It was just too much of a coincidence.
You know those moments when you just know there’s God and indeed, he loves you and everything is just… perfect as it is? Yeah, it was one of those I guess — I could almost hear Whitney softly singing Jesus Loves Me in my ear.
What more can I say? Karma is a funny chick. I believe our encounter was her slapping him on the face. Maybe that was for all the times I didn’t or couldn’t do it.
Not to mention, his date already looked pissed at him, so who knows how many battles this poor man had to fight that day. Hopefully it has helped him with his dream states…
So I can promise you this, one day, everything will fall into place, and every seed once planted will finally bear fruit. The best part? By then, you’ll have forgotten you ever planted them.
Thank you for reliving this moment with me!
See you next Sunday at 4.
Love, Kiki
