Rich People Problems-Kwan 2017 (WWT)

Gone was Colette’s Zen-like Puli Hotel–inspired decor, and in its place, Thierry Catroux
had created a look he called “Ming emperor meets Louis-Napoléon at Studio 54.” Ming
dynasty urns mingled with rare Aubusson carpets against sixties-mod Italian leather-and-
Lucite furniture, while the monochromatic Shikumen gray brick walls were now covered
in Tibetan yak hair dyed in shimmering shades of persimmon. The eighty-foot-long east
wall had been covered with purple-and-crimson latticework screens—in homage to the
Hall of Dispelling Clouds at the Summer Palace in Beijing. Colette’s prized collection of
black-and-white Wu Boli calligraphy scrolls had been banished to the museum wing, and
in its place were enormous paintings of vibrantly colored canvases by Andy Warhol, Jean-
Michel Basquiat, and Keith Haring in antique rococo gilt frames. Kitty’s guests flocked to
her side, gushing about the radical transformation.
“It’s unbelievable, Kitty,” Pan TingTing praised.
“So…original, Kitty,” Adele Deng demurred.
“You’ve really put your stamp on the house,” Stephanie Shi said and smiled.
“It’s such a trip, all that’s missing are the quaaludes!” Michael Kors *2 said.
At some point during the social swirl, Araminta appeared at her side with a glass of
champagne. “I thought you could use this. I can see you’ve been circulating nonstop.”
“Oh thank you. Yes, everyone has been soooo nice, except for that awful Englishman
over there talking to Hung Huang.”
“Philip? But he’s usually so charming!” Araminta furrowed her brow in surprise.
“Charming? Do you know what that snob said to me? When I asked him what he did,
he actually dared to say, ‘I’m a millionaire!’ ”
Araminta clutched Kitty’s arm and doubled over in laughter. Trying to catch her breath,
she said, “No, no, you’re mistaken!”
Kitty continued her tirade, “So I said to him, ‘Well, I’m a billionaire!’ ”
Wiping the tears of laughter away from her eyes, Araminta explained. “Kitty, that man
is Philip Treacy. He’s not a millionaire, he’s a milliner—a hat designer. I’m sure that’s
what he told you. He’s one of the best milliners there is—Perrineum Wang is wearing one
of his hats right over there.”
Kitty gazed at the young Shanghai socialite, who was sporting a gigantic flesh-colored
disk with a bejeweled starfish of pink rubies in the middle that covered eighty percent of
her face. “No wonder he gave me a strange look.”
“Oh Kitty, you can always crack me up!” Araminta was still laughing when a pair of
hands reached out from behind her and covered her eyes.
“Oh, who’s this?” Araminta giggled.
“Three guesses,” a man whispered into her ear in an extremely affected French accent.
“Bernard?”
“Non.”
“Er…Antoine?”
“Non.”