Since my usual hangout spots aren’t a mega-yacht off the coast of St. Tropez, the private viewing room at Cartier in Beverly Hills, the chef’s table at The Ivy in London, and an Arab sheik’s $100 million Manhattan penthouse, I will probably never feel a La Mer-infused cloud of glamour hit me while seeing Dame Joan Collins live and in person. But just in case she ever decides to slum it with the disgusting peasantsĀ at a Target again, I’m going to destroy every pair of jeans I own and only…



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