Manolo says, the Manolo asks you, perhaps rhetorically, has the entire world gone mad for evil? Does no one but the Manolo see the truth?

It is not as if there is not the evidence.

For the example look at this from the Asian newspaper.

Then a frisson of excitement ripples through the gaggle hovering about the entrance. Lagerfeld is coming! The anticipation is almost schoolgirl-ish.

He comes marching through in boots, lean black trousers, powder-white ponytail and a brocade jacket, like a veteran rock star.

Lagerfeld is also gone in a flash, with his black-clad entourage like a dark plume of smoke.

It is the common trope of the diabolical: first anticipation of the celebrity of evil, then the dramatic appearance in dark clothing, accompanied by the phalanx of toadies, and then, suddenly…poof! Vanishment in the cloud of smoke!

All that is missing is the strong smell of brimstone.

Brimstone? Perhaps brimstone well masked.

Here is more, this time from the Robin Givhan of the recent Pulitzer.

Before the eyes settle on his attire, the nose takes note. Lagerfeld smells vaguely floral, with a hint of powder. He has spritzed himself with Iris Nobile by Acqua di Parma. It is a woman’s fragrance owned by LVMH Moet Hennessy Louis Vuitton, the same company that controls Fendi.

Yes, evil, but flowery feminine evil, the scent of mortal decay covered by the cloying smell of the tube roses.

Such evil, it preens, it struts.

He walks chest forward and with short strides. An observer, who happened to catch one of Lagerfeld’s television appearances, describes his walk as a “Prince meets Ron Wood pimpalicious strut.”

Pimpalicioius?

Vampiricious!

Even those who would toady up to the Lagerfeld are “unsettled” by his mere proximity.

“He’s an authentic genius,” says Peter Marx, president of Saks Jandel, who has known Lagerfeld for 20 years. “There’s something unsettling and special about him.”

Meaning, he gives one the impression that one is being fitted for the shroud.