POSH: Er, Karl… Karl, don’t tell anyone, but… I’m having second thoughts.

KARL LAGERFELD: Thoughts are for the DULL, darling. BE AMAZING.

POSH: Fine, babes, but my problem is just that I don’t think I should have worn this after all. I think I look a bit stupid, actually.

KARL: RIDICULOUS! You are a DIVINE dish served cold. I would eat you with caviar if I could and then polish my glove with the CRUMBS of your GLAMOUR.

POSH: See, David said this looks like a bad rug that the royal family rolled up and stuck in a closet in Windsor Castle. But my sister disagreed — she thought this belonged in Camilla Parker-Bowles’ nightie drawer.

KARL: David is a PRECOCIOUS flesh nugget INDEED. Dip him in mustard. HE IS A DELIGHT. But kill your sister.

POSH: Look, I just sort of feel like a 19th century prostitute, Karl. And I’m not sure it’s the look I should be going for now.

KARL: It’s like I told that delightful Lindsay Lohan — “To look like a freak is to be ALIVE WITH FASHION, and also, WASH YOUR FACE IN CHAMPAGNE.”

POSH: You’re mad as pants, aren’t you? You’re more bonkers than a shed in a limousine.

KARL: I’ve grown tired of your complaining. You’re just AFRAID TO BE FABULOUS. Now leave me unless your breasts make martinis.