Dear Babe,
I am in desperate need of a Gucci bag, and the only way that I can think of to get one is going out with an old, rich guy. How do I do this without damaging my reputation?
D*****
P.S. – I’m a guy
Dear Street Hooker,
One thing you should know about me if we’re going to be bffeae, is that I will never support you sleeping with someone for a bag. Or a pair of shoes. Or a car. Or a cigarette. Or anything really.
The other thing you should be aware of — and this is more an issue of general world knowledge: One never, under any circumstance “needs” a Gucci bag. Unless you’re referring to a Tom Ford era piece. But knowing you as well as I do, I assume you’re not. And Tom has his own line of bags now so Google it, you’re late.
I’ve always been firm in my stance that no lady, man, or shim should ever sleep her way to material things. I totes understand the sensation that even the sight of a good bag can give you. I’ve slept outside Phoebe Philo’s flat in an RV that I made my Dad rent, so that I could be closer to her dreams. That’s how animalistic my lust was for the hot pink Celine Resort Luggage Bag from last year. I GET IT. But again, you’ll feel like shit if you give up your puss or your boy-puss for a bag, trust me.
The answer is simple: don’t eat for a month. There’s your bag money.
Oh, while I may not be able to condone prostitution for luxury goods, I can totally get down with you fucking a special someone to find innerpeace. Whether it be your shaman, personal trainer, yogi, therapist, or therapist’s therapist. I’ve done basically all of the above.