In between sending back a plate of steamed veggies (because it has a "small dollop of sauce" in the middle) tersely informing us that "people should look cute all the time" and readily changing her designer "sunnies" (Zoe speak for "sunglasses") as easily as she changes her own name (lopping off the unglamorous sounding "Zoe Rosenzweig" in favor of the more ethnically neutral "Zoe") stylist to the stars Rachel Zoe opens up to New York Times Magazine writer Lynn Hirschberg and reminds us exactly why she epitomizes everything we hate.

And for those of you not interested in plowing through a six page profile piece about a vapid, soulless woman who's spent more on purses than you have on real estate, allow us to save you the trouble by providing you with a single paragraph that highlights the lengths of narcissism and food deprivation required for anyone whose life ambition could be aptly summarized as "inspire an entire nation of teenage girls to grow up to hate their bodies while making oodles of money."

Without further ado, the aforementioned paragraph.

“I love Paris,” Zoe said as she studied the menu. “If I spoke the language, I’d live here.” She looked up at the waitress, who had appeared at the table. “Can you do crudité?” Zoe said. The waitress looked confused. “You did it yesterday. With cucumber. If not, I guess a salad, no dressing.” The waitress still looked confused. “You see,” Zoe said to me, “there’s just too much of a communication barrier.” Zoe took a sip of her English Breakfast tea. “I wish caffeine had vitamins in it,” she said.

Oh, Rachel.

If we weren't so self-absorbed, preoccupied with changing our "sunnies" twenty five times a day and exhausted from waking up this morning in a cold sweat (after a horrifying dream in which we actually ingested carbs) we'd almost have time to pity you.