I loved Tom Colapinto's sensitive, subtly hilarious piece on Tobias Meyer; it's top-notch. But the modestly versatile Nick Paumgarten nabs this week's prize with his Profile of Hedi Slimane, "Dirty Pretty Things," I mean just "Pretty Things." It's intelligently observed and skillfully written, and I give it a Saint Laurentesque standing ovation.

Also, please note that while single-potato-chip-eating Frenchman Slimane's English is "good but not perfect," comely auctioneer to the stars Meyer, originally from Germany, is "also fluent in French, has a good grasp of Italian, and speaks perfect English"—take that, Reed Boy! (It's reassuring to know that as he's been spending more time in London, says Slimane's friend Janet Street-Porter later in the piece, "His English has got better.") Meanwhile, a disgruntled resident of the Dominican Republic mentioned in Ben McGrath's long piece about Playa Granda, "the Creative Person's Utopia," knows only enough English to swear, but it gets the job done. In his Critic's Notebook, Sasha Frere-Jones tells a sweet story about the obligingly multilingual Nicole Renaud's appearance in a "dark Russian bistro." Finally, in his informative advertorial, "Enigmatic Destination Piques the Senses," Rob Rachowiecki takes care to let us know that "the indigenous peoples living here [in Peru] are frequently separated by language, of which there are dozens, but are often united by fables about the mysterious pink river dolphins. Said to transform themselves into humans, they are sometimes conveniently blamed for a surprise pregnancy!"

General Motors bigwig Carl Icahn (profiled by Ken Auletta elsewhere in the issue), on the other hand, merely "seems bored when someone else is speaking."

I'm thoroughly bedazzled by the lifestyles of the rich and famous from the past few issues. They all seem like terrifically impressive people, but I'm jealous of their apartments and designer wallpaper.