You know how it goes. One day you’re 17 years old, living your life, getting buzzed on cocktails at a holiday party, when someone offers you a bump of coke. You’re scared, but also kind of bored and tired, so you go to the bathroom with them. Flash forward five years and suddenly you’re 22 (but you look 27) and you’re waking up with 12 cigarette butts tangled in your bleach-blonde hair, your fake tits are sore and your most recent missed call is from Lindsay Lohan, and you have no idea where you are (The Valley). Don’t be ashamed, it’s just time to go to rehab. Like, real rehab in the woods of Utah or Minnesota. Not Promises in Malibu. A life-to-rehab wardrobe transition this time of year can be very tough. Thankfully, Karl Lagerfeld has decided to act as a guardian angel to guide you through this emotional period.
You arrive a disheveled mess. The DT’s are kicking in.
You go through detox. It’s not chic but you lose 10 pounds from sweating. So I guess it is kind of chic.
You meet your roommate. Her name is Mia. She’s older and she believes in angels, which makes you think she was a witch in a past life.
You and Mia go on a night hike to discover your spirit animals.
You fuck a pill-popping psychopath in a coat closet after group therapy.
And you have a very unclear fling with one of the counselors.
But one day you meet a misunderstood sex addict who like totally gets you.
You sneak out and rendezvous in the woods. It’s very romantic.
You spend your days writing about what it will be like when the two of you can finally be together.
But then one day he tells you he’s married and has a kid.
And you deal with this information by trading Mia cigarettes for Oxycontin. You’ve officially relapsed.
Your counselor calls you out in group therapy. Everyone screams at you for making rehab an unsafe place.
On movie night, while all the other rehabbers are watching Avatar, you do some soul searching.
You realize you’re addicted to love, and decide to extend your stay.
You devote yourself to countless hours of therapy to get back to the innocent girl you once were.
10,000 cigarettes and 90 days later, you emerge as a healthier, glowier version of yourself.
And you look really chic at your Welcome Home From Rehab party.
Chanel F/W ’13