Yesterday's trial proceedings of futuresexcrazyfakefiremanvillain Peter Braunstein brought another frightening peek into his twisted mind. He wanted to kill Vogue editor Anna Wintour! "I'm going to kill Anna Wintour—because I just feel like it," the former WWD reporter scrawled in his journal. Our precious Wintour! But why?
When I was a media reporter, there were many high-profile editors, and God knows they had big egos, but you could still get them on the phone. Remnick, Carter, Fuller, even Martha Stewart. But Wintour? She just never talked to peons like us. It was beneath her. And all the while I'm thinking, 'Who is this skank?' She plays up this aristocratic, Marie Antoinette 'Let them eat cake' routine, but, excuse me, can I get some proof that she holds a title of nobility that goes back to the 13th century? No. All she does is edit a magazine. That's it. So what's with the royalty routine? . . . I mean, for Christ's sake, the woman slept with Bob Marley, one of the most soulful people ever to walk the face of the earth. If that didn't spiritualize her, nothing would.