Alison Berkley: Look out, Aspen: She has arrived
June 18, 2002
What kind of self-possessed bitch would call herself a princess? Well kitty cats, I am what I am, so why not admit it. The Princess has landed her freshly manicured toes in Aspen and just might be here to stay. So many good looking, like-minded people, and unlike the rest of Colorado, they actually know how to dress! Fendi and Gucci and Prada, Oh my! I won’t miss South Coast Plaza one bit. I’m just licking my glossy, red lips at the thought of all the flavors our little tinsel town has to offer. The hard part will be trying to figure out where to stick my tongue first.
Having grown up in Connecticut, I understand perfectly well that an address means everything if you want to get anywhere in this world. For the past seven years, mine have read like something out of a Versace ad: San Fran, L.A., Madrid, Jackson Hole and, of course, Boulder! How could I not include Aspen in my ever-growing list of prestigious forwarding addresses? I do believe it’s the perfect place to hang my little leopard-print tiara for a while. (I don’t really wear a tiara, silly. But if I did, that’s the look I would go with for sure.) Pour me a martini, I have some major decisions to make – like, should I have my cell phone changed over to a local number, or keep the 310 Beverly Hills area code? Should I buy that Andrew Marc rabbit fur coat I saw in the window at Boogie’s? It’s on sale, for god’s sakes – 60 percent off and it’s not obnoxious like a mink or anything. Besides, it does get cold here at night, even in the summer.
As easy as it would be to burn a hole in my Visa card, I should probably get my priorities straight first. I’ve got this moving thing down to a science. It’s just about putting my pretty little ducks in a row, so here it goes.
A place to live: I just love those charming Victorians in town, but $1500 a month for a studio? My trust fund doesn’t pay me that much. All I really care about is that my bathroom has one of those old fashioned tubs with feet. Nothing better than a good book and a hot bath, my mum always said.
A good colorist and cosmologist: Body hair is just so unsanitary, and this dryness is murder on the skin. Where does one get her eyelashes tinted in this town?
A man: You gotta love the ol’ mountain town male-to-female ratio, so much better than L.A. And all those adorable Aussies are just to die for! I don’t care what anyone says, I’ll take a foreign accent over a uniform any day.
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A good yoga class, massage therapist and a gym membership: Now that I’ve had my belly button pierced, it’s more important than ever that my tummy stays flat.
Oh, and a job: That’s just to meet guys and give me something to do. I don’t really need the money, honey.
With such top-notch Princess credentials, I figure I’m a shoe-in for this town. Of course I’m from the East Coast – aren’t we all? I went to prep school until I was expelled or, in polite New England terms, “not asked back.” After that I got shipped to boarding school, where I rubbed elbows with kids a lot richer and, dare I say, more screwed up than me. I went to three different colleges and took six years to graduate. I drive a foreign car I could never afford (hand-me-down from Daddy) and look as though I have money even though my checking account is almost always overdrawn and no one will give me a credit card without a cosigner (thanks, mom).
I love men who are bad for me and haven’t had a relationship that lasted past breakfast since college. I spend an inordinate amount of effort and time on maintaining my girlish figure (I’m a size 6, thank you very much). I haven’t had any plastic surgery, although Daddy fully advocates me getting my boobs done. He said, (and I quote), “You know honey, men really are that stupid.” He’s not too stoked that I’m not married yet – says I’m expensive – and is looking forward to passing the buck on that end, I think. As far as fake tits go, I can think of so many other things I would rather spend $5,000 on, so I simply haven’t been able to manage it. Besides, my Miracle Bra does the trick. I know its false advertising boys, but that’s what you get for having such a one-track mind.
The intimate details of my taste in lingerie aside, I’m as straight-up as a shot of JD when it comes to sharing my opinions. That’s what growing up with two shrinks as parents will do to a girl. My palate is as clean as a whistle and ready to savor the juices Aspen has to offer. One last piece of advice: only eat the ginger between bites of sushi, not on top of it. And always keep your options open girls; this is a small town. But let’s not overanalyze. It doesn’t really matter, as long as you always get exactly what you want.
Alison Berkley is a freelance journalist who now has a PO box in Aspen. The Princess welcomes your uncensored correspondence at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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