[dropcap]G[/dropcap]iorgio Armani once called her his favorite model. Richard Avedon photographed her for the Pirelli calendar. Moschino called her the new look of the 90’s. And she is known internationally as Karl Lagerfeld’s muse for Maison Chanel. Now Gisele Zelauy lives in West Hollywood, where the typical Saturday she shares with WEHOville includes exploring luxury lingerie and upscale food markets. “Shake-Up,” Zelauy’s roman a clef, is available for the Kindle and soon will be published in her native Brazil. Those WeHo residents who haven’t seen her roaming on North Robertson can get a sense of the way she carries herself here. Below, see her wearing Dyanthe by Michail Sykianakis as she takes us on a tour of her favorite spots in WeHo.
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In her own words, here is Zelauy’s perfect Saturday in West Hollywood:
Here in the land of perpetual sun and happy people, where everybody is a movie star, I sometimes find on Saturdays that I am as typecast as Bela Lugosi in his role as Dracula. But I know that I can break free, escaping the dreadfully mundane tasks around the house with an excursion on Melrose Place. Soon my potentially grim and tedious Saturday turns into something out of a romantic comedy.
Melrose Place, a short strip lined with trees and flagship stores, smells to me like a sexy man. It exudes charm. As I stroll down Melrose, I feel like a jealous girlfriend, driven by a weakness for luxury fashion that is moderated only by my credit card limit. Over the years, my affair with this beautiful quarter has grown to the point that I think we are getting “serious.” It is a wonderfully quixotic relationship.
The nuptials will come at Kiki de Montparnasse, the lingerie shop where I spend most of my day. It is the most fascinating boutique in West Hollywood — a speakeasy of sexuality that could gaslight any woman into believing she has sex appeal. The candles are sexy, the silence is sinful, and the salespeople invite you to unveil your deepest desires. They must have mystical powers. If they sold expensive tin cans filled only with the air of Paris, I would buy.
This is not the store for a simple black bra. This is where one finds lingerie with a twist of erotic indulgence that can go from the dinner table to the bedroom. Some goodies inside the elegant glass counters look delicious enough to eat. Did I just compare ballet-flats to a chocolate éclair? Yes, I’m in love!
The honeymoon is on at Kate Somerville. After crossing through the deep entryway that is as high as heaven’s gate, I find myself surrounded by “yummy quench serum” and exfoliate masks displayed as though they are being served at a banquet for a sheik. I run around like a kid in a candy store. The smell is pure, the water has cucumbers, and you get the feeling you’re being touched by angels.
Yet as much as Melrose Place is my mystical and harmonious Shangri-La, I admit I sometimes must struggle with the plethora of fashion. In my life as a model, I’ve tasted the best of everything when it comes to fashion, and I’ve learned one must choose one’s style carefully. So a bit of advice to those who also struggle: It’s going to be tanned skin on chic fashion or flawless white skin on hooker clothes. Unless you’re willing to suffer a bit of fashion remorse, never mix the two. If you make such a misstep, you’ll walk into quicksand while expecting you’re stepping onto asphalt.
Risky? Isn’t that how all relationships are? Mine with Melrose Place is romantic and slightly dangerous, but I would never dream of breaking up. I walk forever in my stiletto heels all over Melrose Place, and it still loves me. And because of that I “heart” my Saturdays. Ah l’amour!
