It's only a matter of time before socialgay Kristian Laliberte writes his memoir, Give Me Laliberte or Give Me Girth. Until then, we'll have to make do with what scraps of Lalibertian reverie we can find. Now, someone at Guestofaguest took it upon themselves to talk to Laliberte for entirely too long. He does say some fascinating things; still, the ratio of things he says to the words he uses to say them is seriously off. So we've abridged!

What was your childhood like and what did you want to be when you "grew up"? My childhood was the most amazing and idyllic experience...I lived in this magical town, Nahant, one of the smallest towns in New England. I spent my summers building forts in the rocky cliffs along the shore, sailing in the inlets of the peninsula, and attending art classes at the ramshackle, laid back club that all of my parent's friends belonged too....As an only child, my parents always treated me like adults...By the time I was ten, I had been around the world and back-always exploring different cities. ...I always had ten or twelve books I was reading....I went through a million stages of the age-old what do you want to be query. I think I oscillated between ambassador, U.N. Secretary General, architect, hotelier, and artist constantly.

What were your years at Milton Academy (boarding school) like?
 Milton really opened my eyes to writing and charity.

You went from a double major in European History and International Politics at Columbia, studying in Paris, and working at a Pokhara refugee camp to a career in fashion and PR...How did you make that decision?
 I drink in history books before I go to bed-right now I have an affinity for Imperial Vienna.

Do you like the term "socialite"?
 It's a moniker that gets bandied about a lot. I looked it up in the dictionary the first time I saw it used in conjunction with my name and I still don't get what it means!

Therein lies the contradictory genius of Kristian Laliberte. By age ten he had traveled the world and back, he drinks history books before he goes to bed—and yet can't grasp the essential concept of what it is he is so slavishly trying to become.