The following is excerpted from" Fake Fashion" ... My true story with fashion designer Marc Jacobs, the cruel Manipulator of the century, who's been torturing me for 6 years....
Angel: I don't understand something... if you really love me than how can you stand breaking my heart every time you have a fashion show? Why can't I be a model in your show? I would really like to.
Marc: Ok, you will be in my fashion show in Paris. You'll wear every single piece of the collection. You're a perfect model for my fashion show. I love everything about you. You are the greatest fortune in this life. You have the treasure of seeing everything in a different way than everyone else, and you always say what you think. I admire that in you!
Angel: And what about the other models?
Marc: You will be the only one in my fashion show. I won't call any other models because no one is like you. No one can compare to you... they're not on your level. You would stand out so much from them. You know, you are really special... there are no words to describe how professional you are.
Angel: Do you really think I am that good?
Marc: Of course, darling. You are way better than Kate. You are the best model in the world!
I was enchanted by his words. In my mind I saw the scene of me walking down his runway. I believed Marc again.
Angel: Oh, great! Which show will I model in? The Vuitton?
Marc: At the most important and the biggest show in our life - you will parade in my bedroom wearing the clothes I designed for you... because I want you to parade ONLY for me and not for anyone else... I want you ALL TO MYSELF!!!
I was disappointed. He is pushing it again. He gives me something , and then takes it back. I really thought that I would be in his show.
Angel: Then I won't be in your show... you're just teasing me, right?
Marc: No, no! Be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Your cell phone will ring and someone will tell you that you'll be modeling in a really important fashion show.
Angel: I can't trust you any more...
Marc: But you can trust me. You know there is too much stress, ambition, and improvisation in the fashion world. It's not about art any more. It's not like it was when I started. Anyway, let's talk about our love!
Angel: But I still feel like you're just using me and playing with my heart and mind. The worst thing is when someone messes with your head.
Marc: It's not true! I would never play with your mind, never! At the moment, you're the most important person in my life. You give off such great life energy to me, and it's no joke... I need your energy. I love talking to you... I have learned so many things from you in the last year. I became a totallly new person. You're not just a simple beautiful woman... you have a great mind too. I love your brain! You are the perfect woman, Angel! The most perfect woman in the world! You are freedom!
Angel: And you are... darkness, Marc. The light is gone from your eyes. I don't know when you turned bad... when I first met you, you were so different.
Marc: That's great... I love bad things... I design your soul baby!
Angel: You are a real demon, the devil!
Marc: All right, I'm the devil and you're the Angel, and we are in love. Perfect! ... I see my future in you. I'll write my name in the history of fashion with gold letters. If you knew how long I have been praying to God for you to come to me... and now he has listened to my prayers and sent you. I want you by my side my whole life long. You're the ONLY woman I desire. You're my future Angel! I've been in love with you for a while now... I'll do my best to get us together. I'm not kidding! Really! We'll be together really soon. Sooner than you think.
Angel: Tomorrow, in the Marc Jacobs fashion show, will you confess that I am your muse?
Marc: Yes, I will. What do you want me to say?
Angel: Tell the journalists that Angel Barta is your muse... and that you've been designing my style for the past year and that your style has changed because of me. You don't need to say you love me or anything, if you don't want to.
Marc: Alright. Tomorrow the world will know the truth.
He did not say anything about me after his fashion show...
I sent him a message next day...:
It doesn't matter if you take care of your body, do sports, go on a diet,moisturize, or have plastic surgery because if your soul is empty everything you try to do will be fruitless. You should clean your soul first, then your outside would improve.
Ill-gotten fortune you earned by manipulating and using people is not happiness. It's not even real joy. Real joy is to love and appreciate the others. Because of the stench that has been with you for your whole life, the only moment when you got close to happiness was when you met me. Even if you are one of the most successful designers in the world, you still feel like a nobody. The only light, the only joy in your life is what I brought into it. You keep making my dreams come true for yourself, but I'm still happy because my heart is full of love. I am love!
Marc Jacobs: I want to make love to you right now, baby! He is really hard! When I start chatting with you he wakes up and doesn’t want to stay in my pants anymore. You don’t know how hard it is for my jeans to keep such a hard thing in the right place! Now… I would touch your hand, be in front of you, look into your eyes, and caress your beautiful hair and face… I’d smell the sweet scent of your hair…. I’d bite your lips very gently… slowly delicately…before we would get lost in a deep, long, real kiss.
Angel: Where are you now? At the Louis Vuitton office?
Marc: Yes, why?
Angel: What would you think if I surprised you and went to visit you? I’m wearing black lace thigh-high stockings, a black garter belt, a pencil skirt and a blouse.
Marc: Describe your underwear for me, baby! I want to hear what you’re wearing.
Angel: Panties… black in the front and see-through in the back, and a push-up black bra.
Marc: Oh, I want to lift up your skirt to see your perfect, round, inviting ass… what will you do?
Angel: I’ll take off my blouse, then my skirt… I would sit in front of you wearing nothing but lingerie and wait for you to dress me in the wonderful clothes you designed for me. You would just sit on your sofa with eyes wide open and admire me…
Marc: But I don’t want to put any clothes on you, I prefer taking everything off of you and live every moment of true love with you… just you and me.. face to face.. two bodies one soul.
Angel: Ok, I’ll caress your hair, kiss your face… then your lips, then under your ears.
Marc: Under my ears?? I love it! How did you know it? I love that the most! You are a perfect lover, Angel! I’d unbotton your blouse, unbotton the top button and slowly slide my hands under your shirt and touch your soft, full breasts, which would get harder with my touch… I’d slowly go lower and lower on your body then kiss your belly button… then I’d gently unfasten your bra and offer my face to your breasts. I’d stick out my tongue and slip it under the line of your perfect breasts. I’d taste both of your tits at the same time, while I rest my hand on your waist. Then I’d slide it lower discovering the perfect shape of your butt… stroking the back side of your thighs, my fingers running between your knees and your upper thighs… I’d slowly slide my fingers between your legs. I’d stroke your soft skin, up and down, up and down. I’d let you feel my touch close to your vagina…you’d feel me stroking everything around it, but I wouldn’t touch it yet.
I’d unbutton my white shirt, revealing my tan chest, tickling you with my chest hair. I’d take your hands and put them on my pecs. You’d take off my shirt, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. Then you’ll slip your hand down inside my jeans and feel my hardening dick through my boxers, rubbing me with pleasure. Then I’d look into your eyes and slip my other hand inside your tiny see-through panties. I’d unzip my jeans and take out my already super hard dick and enjoy rubbing it too, feeling its hardness in my hands and comparing it to the silky softness down where my other hand is resting. My fingers would bathe in the dampness. I would gently massage you with my pointer finger, then you’d feel my mouth burning with desire go down on you. I don’t just want to simply have sex with you… I want to feel you with every inch of me, your body with my body, your skin with my skin. I’d like to give you gifts… lingerie, perfume, clothes, joy, pleasure, cars, love, happiness, sex, and kisses.
Angel: How can you do any work if you’re always thinking of me?
Marc: Well, I try to concentrate, but it’s really hard. I’m a man in love. I think of you every minute of the day.
Angel: How is your job going then?
Marc: Honestly, great. Since you are my muse, creating is really easy. I am the new Picasso! I am a man with a hand and a brain. You are the only thing in my mind and it’s really good for my job. You’re a unique girl, Angel, really honest, modest, pure, and sweet. I love being with you. The best part of my day is always when I chat with you. Every day, when I wake up, you’re my first thought…your body, your kiss, your soul.. at night, before I fall asleep, I think of you… then I dream about you, my muse…
Angel Barta with Marc Jacobs
The next morning my phone rang at 7:00 AM. When I saw Marc's American number I woke up instantly. I jumped out of my bed. Every time I answered the phone, he hung up. I sent him a text message telling him to stop messing around and tell me what he wanted.
Marc eventually responded to my text. " I was out clubbing with Kate, since it was her birthday weekend... I don't know why but I really wanted to talk to you. What can I do so I won't look like an idiot in your eyes? I'm really a normal guy. I just have weird feelings about us. Trust me, I'm one of the good guys."
He was so crazy. He kept sending me texts so fast that I hadn't even finished reading one when the next one came.
" I'm a bit crazy about you...! Maybe I should be a little more restrained."
" Anyway, I'm working in Paris... could we see each other???? As I told you from the start Angel, I have such weird feelings about us... You will think I am crazy...but..."
" Where are you now Angel? In Paris or what?"
" Honestly, I'm wide awake now, and I'm really into texting with you... and I'm really horny. I did my best before to keep my huge desire for you hidden... Shall I go on still...?"
" Or am I being too boring and romantic?!!"
" What do you want to do today?"
He did not write me again for two minutes, so I had time to ask him where he wanted me to go.
" We can go where we shouldn't... I mean we can do anything, we can be anything, good or bad...it's your decision... I know what I want us to do... We just have to be brave and do it!... What about being a little bad right now?"
" I am an Angel and I'm never bad" I had time to reply.
" Sorry, I know that you are a good girl but I'm sure that there's a bad Angel inside of you too... I just wanted to say hi to her."
He sent another text:
" You are beautiful, special, captivating, and enchanting... both sexually and emotionally. This is weird for me, I feel odd telling you this... you are the leading lady in all my fantasies.... I am a very normal man, but the sexual part of me is really into the bad girl inside of you... I can see her and I know what she wants. This has never happened to me before. There are a lot of things I want Bad Angel to do! Maybe the Bad Angel wants to hear everything...?... I want you to go to your bedroom, close the door, and tell me what you're wearing so I can tell you how to take it off... I'm imagining taking off your night gown and exposing your ass and tits.... Oh, darling, This isn't love any more, but it's more than we can understand, bigger than both of us. It drives me crazy! I'm living in you and with you!... Unbelievable, baby! I'm sorrounded by the best women in the world who are all icons and role models for thousands of women, but noone compares to you. You're the sexiest and the most beautiful woman in the world. Only you can turn me on like this. I really love you... and you have to know it and feel it and appreciate it....
I can't believe that you are a virgin! You are so
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I went to meet up with some friends to tell them what happened. They might cheer me up and give me some good advice. Luckily my always cheerful, loud-mouth, cool friend Stacey was there visiting me. You can have really good conversations with her. I told her my story with Marc Jacobs.
Listen to me, Angel. You-HAVE-to-change! - she shook me in order to convince me. I could see the sympathy and empathy on her face.
Wake up! This is September eight and you have been talking to this jerk for ten hours a day since summer! I don't see a room full of Louis Vuitton bags he sent you, like I should if he were for real. He's just using you! He calls you and talks to you because he likes it. You're just a game for him! If you stay as pure and good as you are, you'll never make it in the dog-eat-dog fashion world! They'll just use you and thrive on your creativity. That's not a fairy tale world. They'll do everything behind your back, those leaches. They don't care who they trample on; they'll do anything to be successful. The way I see it, you have two options: first sell your story to a big magazine and if you are lucky the designer will sue you and you will be a huge fucking star.
Or, second you can go to Galliano. You feed his vanity and stroke his ego, telling him he's the biggest deal in the world, a genius. Celebrities love that shit. " Stacey instructed me in her usual conceited style.
" Tell Galliano, that Marc didn't deserve the success he got since he was inspired by you... and now you want to help him. "
" But I couldn't do that to Marc because I love him with all of my heart and I know that he's a good person and he loves me too. " I responded confidently to my friend.
"Ha! " She laughed. " This guy doesn't love you. That's a fact " She was so sure of herself that the room was even echoing her words. "My sister was living in a nice average apartment in Budapest when her rich boyfriend came to her place for a tea. When he saw her apartment he said, ' Do you live here?' and the next day he bought her a palace in the richest part of the city, though they don't even know each other that well yet."
I was adamant. Stacey couldn't talk me out of loving him. I wouldn't listen to anyone.
A couple of weeks later.....
At that point I decided I would cut off all contact with Marc, but I could only manage a couple of days without him since he was continuously sending me messages about how much he loved me.
" I'm lovesick. I can't work. I can think only of you. None of the women in the world can compare to you! Even if I try, I can't forget you, Angel! You are the most wonderful thing in my life! I talk to everybody about you! I can't concentrate on anything... Honey, I miss you so much! I will be a gentleman with you! And polite! I really love you and I don't want to loose you! I have a strong heart... I will kiss you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week... 365 days plus 6 hours... the complete time it takes for the earth to revolve around the sun. You make me ill... Love is like illness, but if a man looks into his woman's eyes and her smile, that is real happiness. I will love till I die. I never play with hearts! "
So I was at home again in Paris. It’s true that the bathroom is ugly. On the way to the bedroom we always have to duck our heads because the doors were made for elves or something. The first night Claire bumped her head on the doorway five times. But nothing matters because I know that I’m home again and that we’ll have such a good time here.
It was Sunday and everything was closed. We needed to find a hair dryer since the one at the apartment was a hundred year old piece of junk. We had to go to the Champ Elysées because that’s the only place in Paris where the shops are open every day.
I felt so free. I had let go of Marc completely. Claire, however, was very negative. All day long she was talking about how Marc could have been so heartless by not telling the people at the fashion show that I had inspired him. She went on about how much time I spent with him on the internet in the last month, and how good that was for him since he was working at the time and earning money and getting pictures of me. She talked about how it hadn’t done me any good at all, not a single benefit. Claire was angry, especially when we read in an article that Marc was giving sandals out to journalists after the show and to me he hadn’t given sandals or anything, not even a piece of grass.
I was trying not to think about all that. I was generating happiness on purpose, thinking only positive thoughts since we attract whatever we’re thinking. Our thoughts come into being. If I concentrate on not getting any gifts from him, then I never will get anything from him. If I imagine a relationship where my man spoils me with everything nice, then I will attract that kind of situation.
As I was walking the streets of Paris, I looked at the shop windows of the young designers and thought about how good it would be to be a designer. Maybe I wanted that more than I wanted to be a model. After all, Marc designed my style, which was an unusual and new direction in the fashion world, and everybody seemed to like it so much. It was proof that there was a need for my kind of style.
Before working out, I went to the hairdresser. As I sat down on the swivel chair, a bedbug fell onto the floor. I became panicked and shouted to Claire.
“Oh, Claire! Do you remember what Justin said yesterday about bedbugs?!”
“Yes,” Clair furrowed her brow. “Bedbugs show up when there are spies… so Manuel must be watching us. But from where? And how? Didn’t you delete the spyware from your cell phone?”
“Yes… but the problem is that he sends me new virus infested text messages every couple of days.”
“Then let’s wrap up your cell phone in aluminum foil, that way he can’t listen to what we talk about.”
I went to the grocery. The man was smiling at me and asked, “Is it a holiday today?”
“Then why are you dressed like that? Where do you come from?”
“Is that the Hungarian national costume?” He asked seriously.
“Is that the Hungarian national costume?” He asked seriously.
“No, it’s the Angel style,” I smiled at the kind old man.
“It’s nice that they think you’re wearing traditional clothes,” declared Claire as we left.
I was at the gym at six o’clock. It was so good to be there again. The new water boy was breathtaking. His name was Mario and he was unbelievably charming and sweet.
I discovered a new style of clothes for working out. Before, I had been training in long pants in order to hide my legs from men (to keep Manuel from getting jealous), but since I no longer cared about Manuel’s opinion, I changed it up. I wore yellow shorts and a tank top. When the little fore-headed trainer saw me, he was really surprised. He left his client and ran to the phone to make a call.
Twenty minutes later Blondie showed up – imagine that. He passed me then shyly turned back. He acted like he was surprised, but I saw through him. They had already told him that I was there. I took off my earphones and signaled him to come over to me. He did and gave me a little kiss. His beard was soft and nice.
He sat on the bike a few bikes away from me and was texting someone, I suppose Marc. I had to go down to the water bar because I got really thirsty after his kiss. I was walking through the weight room and looking to my left when I saw him. Manuel was standing there. What did I feel in that instant? Hmm… neutrality. Nothing. I knew that his spies would tell him I was there and he would show up to work out.
I went back to riding the bike. A couple of minutes later Ken appeared. Damn! The doll house is full today! Manuel was staring at me from far away. He had put on some weight and become really muscular. It felt great that I didn’t have to google him to see how he looked lately because I could see him in person.
I was lost in my thoughts when I noticed the Auntie joyously waving to me from the other room. Rigo, her husband, peeked out from behind the door and greeted me too. That man is like a ghost. The Auntie came to me and asked if I was glad. I didn’t know what she meant.
“I read the article about you and Marc in New Yorker, you know. Are you happy?”
“Uhh… yes, I guess.” I didn’t know what to respond because I was surprised she had seen it.
She told me that she really liked it and that she was a regular reader of that magazine.
She told me that she really liked it and that she was a regular reader of that magazine.
Marc sat with his back towards me and seemed sad. He was like a heroic lover who had been dumped. He waved to the Auntie, which wasn’t strange since they were passing acquaintances at the gym. Then the Auntie went over to him and greeted him with a kiss. She whispered something to him that looked like “Nice girl, son. Congratulations.” She and her husband are spiritual people and they must see that Marc isn’t really gay.
As soon as I arrived at the apartment I got a text message – in French – on Claire’s new phone number, which no one knew other than me. It asked me how I was. I knew that it could only be Marc.I asked him what he wanted.
“I don’t know if the time has come yet.” The weird reply came. Claire told me not to answer him, but I just had to. I wanted to convince him to confess that he really was Marc.
The next day I woke up to a text message from Marc, saying that he loved me. It was only six in the morning but he was already up. I responded to him:
“I need a romantic man who invites me to dinner and sends me a dress in a big box with a rose and a letter.”
“I’m like that… a nice restaurant, a rose, box of chocolates, and a letter under it.”
“I’m like that… a nice restaurant, a rose, box of chocolates, and a letter under it.”
I was so happy since it would have been great to really go to dinner with Marc and I knew he would really bring chocolate. It would be so wonderful. I went back to sleep because I was very tired.
Around eleven I set off with Claire to discover this part of Le Marais.
Our whole day was so good. We went to an Italian restaurant near the Pompidou Center. All three waiters were flirting with me, which I enjoyed. I was in such a good mood that I wrote to Manuel.
“How is your work going? If you don’t bring anything to the gym, for example, chocolates for me, or if you don’t ask me if I’m thirsty, then I will be a sex bomb, wearing high-waisted gold go-go shorts. If only you knew what will be written on my t-shirt… the manager of the restaurant just sent me chocolate cake, although I haven’t even smiled at him. Do you see how much people love me?”I wrote that I needed a normal relationship with an affectionate man who respects me. I said I’d let him fly away from me.
“I respect you and have never thought bad things about you, princess.” He replied.
I went to the gym walking on air in my black super-mini shorts (with panties under them, of course). When men saw me they laughed to each other in such a naughty way that they almost devoured me with their stares. They liked that I was sexier now. The other women always wear long pants, all but one who wears high-waisted shorts with her tops.
Read how I met Marc Jacobs and how he tortures me, click here
Sofia Coppola copied my ideas without my permission, details here
Marc Jacobs copies my ideas for Dior with Camille Micheli
Marc Jacobs designed for his own brand my signature style: the huge hat with oversize vintage sunglasses
Even he dressed up as me, Marc Jacobs in Angel Barta style
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If you want to know more details read my other articles too.
Marc Jacobs the Godfather, in Sponge Bob Disguise, click here
Marc Jacobs is obsessed with women, it seems that he is not gay really. He supports the Hungarian models, click here
Sofia Coppola copied my photos for the Miss Dior Cherie Campaign, check the photos here
Kanye West recently stole a 40 years old Hungarian song. Marc Jacobs asked him to do so. Listen to the songs and read the details
Lady Gaga and Marc Jacobs. He made Lady Gaga to dress up in my style, details here
Read how Marc Jacobs copies my ideas for Miu Miu and Prada
MJ' latest sick suicide-themed editorial and the banned Miu Miu and Marc Jacobs campaign.