Sweating is so plebeian. I mean, ugh…as if! As if I would allow myself to sweat in public. I used to be more comfortable with going out among the hoi polloi, but Earth has gotten so much hotter since the nineties. In fact, everything in general has been on kind of a downward spiral since then. I try not to think about it. Try to pretend that life since that time has remained just as phat. It helps that I look exactly the same thanks to the wonders of plastic surgery. I will say that’s one major benefit of time accelerating past the nineties: more advancements in the art of cosmetic manipulation. If only my mother hadn’t died during her liposuction—she would have loved to see (and experience) these improvements. Earlier in the century, I shared a little bit of a bond with Kanye (he was still Kanye then) about that, ‘cause Donda died the day after her liposuction (and tummy tuck and breast reduction). Yes, I know what you’re thinking: vanity kills. And also probably: how could you have ever shared a bond with Kanye about anything?

Well, I’ve moved on to other celebrity acquaintances and friendships now. It’s all part of the job. That’s right, I became a lawyer like Daddy. But not a litigator—no thank you. I deal in entertainment law, and some of the most famous people come to me to represent them. I’m sort of like an Elle Woods type but without ever having bothered to go to the East Coast. Because honestly, the only thing I hate more than being too hot is being too hot and too cold during different times of the year. I’m very much just, like, “Let’s pick one temperature and run with it.” The only running I’m doing lately though is on the treadmill in my highly air-conditioned at-home gym. I’m also willing to lounge poolside (in moderation, of course) for the sake of accentuating my spray tan. That’s about the only scenario in which I’ll allow myself to sweat “openly.”

A lot of people wonder how I avoid doing it in the summer when I have to go out, but it’s really quite easy. I crank up the air conditioner in my Jeep Wrangler (it’s a bit of a scandal, but I’ve swapped my signature white model out for a red one—even though I know I don’t need to add to the many ways in which I attract cops with my driving style). I sit in the car at my final destination until I absolutely have to get out, making sure that the person I’m meeting is already inside. I then make Erica, my assistant, drive the car away from the curbside of the location to go find real parking (another tragedy about the loss of the nineties is that everywhere you go doesn’t have valet). Because, obviously, if I actually parked my car in a non-tow away zone, I’d be sweating, like, more than just bullets once I walked back to the meeting point.

Generally, of course, I prefer to meet people in more controlled environments, like my house or office. But obviously, there are still some who tell themselves that the “public space” is worth having a little rendezvous in. I really haven’t felt that way ever since the Westside Pavilion closed most of its shops and, like, now it’s owned by UCLA or whatever. Really, who would have thought that shopping would be overtaken by medical research? So boring. And so telling of how the glamorous version of capitalism is gone for good. Let me tell you, online shopping doesn’t hold a Bath & Body Works candle to the real thing. But back to my dos and do nots for never sweating in public. The other key is wearing loose-fitting clothing (as little as possible, ideally—while still being “respectable” [in Beverly Hills, at least]) and investing in very expensive deodorant. I like Sisley, Clinique and Dior, personally, but it’s all a matter of scent preference in the end. And I guess budget, if you care about that sort of thing.

Another way important tip for keeping the sweat at bay during those hot, smoky and smog-filled L.A. summers is to outfit your home with a human-sized freezer. Some people just call this a walk-in freezer, but I don’t use it for cooking purposes the way my chef does so I don’t really think of it like that. Anyway, I like to stand in there for as long as I can possibly take it while wearing whatever ensemble I’ve chosen for my outing and then leave in a state so near-frozen that sweating would be out of the question for at least an hour. Not that I need that long to get to the next air-conditioned location.

I guess I also forgot to mention that, in addition to the house I inherited from Daddy (God rest his soul—he died of heart attack after the 2008 financial crisis), I also have another one nearby that’s outfitted with an indoor pool, which makes it super convenient if I want to have friends or clients over during the summer for a dip and can’t be seen sweating.

I know one thing I haven’t mentioned is whether or not I’m currently “with” anyone. Well, Josh and I are still technically together, but we live in different neighborhoods now. We both decided it was the best thing to keep our relationship going. He’s way more of a “hipster” type (or I guess they’re calling it indie sleaze now), best suited to the wilds of Los Feliz…the part that borders Glendale, so he’s really not that edgy. That said, no one is around me often enough to catch me in moments when I might actually lose control long enough to let any beads of sweat materialize on my supple, pristine body.

Any who, I’ll be looking forward to winter in L.A., when things get back to a normal seventy-degree temperature. That way, I can start to focus on other, more pressing strategies, like when to correctly time my next cosmetic procedure with minimal avoidance of important public events.