I get it, Melania.

You want people to talk about you.

That, or you were experimenting with a cocktail of something stronger than liquor, and hey, who am I to judge?

But when I read New York Times headlines like “Melania Trump, Agent of Coat Chaos,” and see your back plastered in what looks like a painted sign, I can’t help but privately — and by that I mean publicly — chuckle at the shit I am supposed to believe.

When you were picking out your clothes, what kind of look were you going for? Something classy? A pearl-studded polyester blend, page twenty four of Ambassadorial Chic?

I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but you’re beautiful. You could wear a table-cloth and look like the cover of Anthropologie, but instead, you reached for the olive green army ensemble, the one with the words “I REALLY DON’T CARE, DO U?” painted on the back. Not exactly the Audrey Hepburn look.

Well, whatever, because in regards to your wardrobe, you’re right:

NO, I REALLY DON’T.

I enjoy a good publicity stunt, more because I find this sort of spectacle amusing from a historical viewpoint. Think about it: we’re still talking about the wardrobe choices of our royalty figures. Images of the French Revolution come to mind, of Marie Antoinette’s dresses and elaborate wigs, each…