Lady Gaga’s house, one of them at least, is built into a hill (a Hollywood hill, but I will give you no indication of which one because I was asked by three very nice people not to). When I arrive, I’m ushered into a room to wait. I am in a basement. If you are a suburbia-bred American, it’s probably the basement of your youth: parquet floor, a stack of board games in the corner, those plastic Container Store bins with drawers that are stuffed with white things I can only assume are T-shirts from high school concerts and charity 5Ks. There is a dry-erase board on one wall.
But then, on a couch in the middle of the room (white, splattered with multicolored paint), there sits a lovely shopping bag, fresh and pristine. You might think for a moment: Is this...the welcome gift that awaits the guests of Lady Gaga? Of course, as a journalist, I did not think that, and if it was a gift I never would have accepted it, but I’m just saying that that’s what someone else might have thought as they sat down to wait for Lady Gaga. But not me. Obviously. (It was not a gift.)
この記事は Allure の October 2019 版に掲載されています。
7 日間の Magzter GOLD 無料トライアルを開始して、何千もの厳選されたプレミアム ストーリー、8,500 以上の雑誌や新聞にアクセスしてください。
すでに購読者です ? サインイン
この記事は Allure の October 2019 版に掲載されています。
7 日間の Magzter GOLD 無料トライアルを開始して、何千もの厳選されたプレミアム ストーリー、8,500 以上の雑誌や新聞にアクセスしてください。
すでに購読者です? サインイン