"Me, Lania": A First Lady's Memoir
Briefly

"Me, Lania": A First Lady's Memoir
"As a little girl in Slovenia, I had the same dreams as any child: to immigrate to America on a bogus "genius visa," to model acrylic sweaters in a catalogue, and to meet a rich man almost twice my age and enter into a financially advantageous marriage with as little physical contact as possible. I'd have my Barbie doll flirt with a small boulder, asking the boulder, "So, you're separated?" People would warn me, "Dreams don't always come true," to which I'd reply,"
"I believe that education is critical to any person's success in life, which is why I enrolled at college for a year until I realized I was expected to take classes, so I dropped out. Donald claims I speak at least five languages, although no one has ever heard me do this. But, for all you know, right now I might be yelling at my maid to iron my capes more carefully in Spanish or German or whatever French people speak."
"While I was a very successful supermodel, I wanted to fully explore all of life's possibilities, especially private air travel. I met Donald Trump at a party where models like myself, only not as pretty-I mean, not even first-two-wives pretty-could meet men who resembled rotting farm-stand produce. But Donald was very virile and handsome, by which I mean compared with Giuliani. We immediately started talking and discovered we had so much in common, like the fact that we were both talking."
A Slovenian-born model recounts childhood ambitions to immigrate to America on a bogus "genius visa," model acrylic sweaters, and enter a financially advantageous marriage with minimal physical contact. She enrolled in college for a year but dropped out when coursework proved unwelcome. Claims of multilingualism are presented with humor and skepticism. Her modeling career enabled private air travel and social access to wealthy men. An encounter at a party led to meeting Donald Trump, with anecdotes emphasizing wealth, ostentation, practical motives for relationships, and a sarcastic, self-deprecating tone throughout.
Read at The New Yorker
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