For starters, where on earth are your parents? It seems unfair to call you the offspring of a famously wealthy couple when you are more accurately the sheddings of a fiscally motivated hump. Two humps, actually. Your father is thick-eyebrowed millionaire Peter M. Brant, and your mother is Stephanie Seymour, a supermodel who is 21 years his junior. Where are those people whose natural instinct should be to protect you from your own arrogant stupidity? That's not to say that you are abnormally stupid. You're only teenagers, and you're eager to show the world how you solved being alive. The problem is that you have no one around to tell you how wrong you are. For instance, in the interview with the New York Times, you were asked about your interests, and you said:
Peter: I'm interested in 18th century furniture, late 19th century art, the Arts and Crafts movement and history of the mid- to late 19th century. I bounce around a lot, but I usually stick with the same three centuries.
Harry: I become obsessed with things like DNA or old Valentino shows or the Qing Dynasty. I have a love of opulence.
Right now, you're too young to understand why those answers are hopelessly stupid. The interviewer should have stopped you there and said, "Fuck you, give me a real answer." But he did not, and that's probably why he's relegated to fluff pieces like this in the fashion section, but more on that in a second.
Peter, you're not passionate about furniture. You're just not. You may have seen a footstool once you kind of liked, you may even have a catalog filled with furniture that you force yourself to memorize with a flashlight under your 2,000-thread-count bed sheets every night in the hopes that a pretend niche fascination will make you seem more interesting, but you do not love furniture.
And Harry, I'm willing to believe that you are curious about DNA or the Qing Dynasty and that those aren't just words you overheard in school, but I don't think you know the difference between "curious" and "obsessed." In fact, I'm willing to bet that every sentence that limps its way out of your mouth is supported by superlatives you don't quite understand. You think building aggressive, baseless opinions is the same thing as building character, partially because you're just 15 years old, and partially because you're probably surrounded by other people doing the exact same thing, since your third interest, of course, is fashion.
Somewhere there is a very chilly chimpanzee with scoliosis.