I think some people have gotten used to the paparazzi culture and they know they cannot avoid it. If you ask me, some people like it, but I have a different opinion.
You can't control the paparazzi. But if you go to Coachella you're going to get photographed. Whereas if you're at home, walking down the street you probably won't. It's something I've learnt to navigate my way around but I try to keep my private life private.
I love driving, but sometimes, I'm not too good at it because I spend too much time looking in the rearview mirror if I know I'm being followed. You don't respond like, 'Oh, there's paparazzi.' It's more like, 'There's a man, and he's going to attack me.' That's how your body responds.
In France we have a law which doesn't allow the press to publish a photo that you didn't approve. It lets the paparazzi take the picture, but if they publish this picture, you have the choice to sue the newspaper. So me, I always sued them.
You can't complain about the pressures, the paparazzi, the madness. Because that is the job. I've always understood that's the deal.
The paparazzi terrify and torment people and endanger people and it's really unpleasant.
I don't want to ruin my life with paparazzi and all of that.
My parents never told me about Papa's lung cancer or the desperate nature of the operations he was about to undergo, which were a last-ditch effort to contain the spread of his cancer.
My father died five days before I returned to New York. He was only fifty-three years old. My parents and my father's doctor had all decided it was wiser for me to go to South America than to stay home and see Papa waste away. For a long time, I felt an enormous sense of guilt about having left my father's side when he was so sick.
Every business decision I ever made I learned from my grandfather Papa Sam. He moved here from Russia when he was a boy. He worked his way up selling newspapers and ladies' handbags, and eventually, he became Cadillac Sam, one of the biggest car dealers in Chicago.
