Who is Marc Jacobs? Sometimes he is a designer of pretty garments, which we bloggers can write about. Sometimes he posts pictures of his dick on Instagram, which we can write about. Sometimes he says he’s going to take his company public and then doesn’t—something else we can write about. Without Marc Jacobs and the bountiful content he provides, bloggers might shrivel up and die. Cobwebs would gather inside the HTML code, a cursor blinking in an empty white box for eternity, until one day it stops blinking altogether. That is the fate of the blogger, according to Marc Jacobs.

On Tuesday, Jacobs dropped a new collection: a diatribe dripping in disdain for “parasites feeding off of the successes and failures of others.” It was not, as one might assume without context, a meditation on the Marc Jacobs design which lawyers working for Adidas have charitably referred to as a “copyright infringement.”

Rather, it was aimed at a New York Post writer who dared to question Jacobs’ business acumen Sunday. Questions like, was Jacobs fired from Louis Vuitton as rumored, or did he leave on his own accord, as announced? Were reports that he wore the same clothes three days in a row and had a falling out with a photographer exaggerated or indicative of some underlying personal issue? What caused Jacobs’ longtime business partner Robert Duffy to step down last spring? Why did his Marc by Marc Jacobs line fold? Call it business reporting, call it entertainment news—call it whatever you want: it’s of interest to the public.

But in a message posted last night to Instagram, Jacobs rebutted the article not on the merits, but on the imagined “sad, unfulfilling and lonely existence” of his critic. Unnecessarily personal? Yes—but she’s not Marc Jacobs—a man “blessed with a genuine passion for creation”—and she never will be.

An open letter to MAUREEN CALLAHAN Girl, I think I understand your pain. You’re a sick woman. It must be such a sad, unfulfilling and lonely existence to get paid for “writing” (I use the term loosely) an article put together from out of context information “written” by other journalists over a period of time, for different periodicals, in different countries. I can’t even imagine your suffering having made a life and name working for what has to be the worlds worst, trashiest, and most irresponsible of “newspapers” (LOL)! I can imagine the powerful and fulfilling feeling you must feel with each piece you “write” that helps yourself and your readers feel better about their lives by putting down others who are so fortunate as to have been blessed with a genuine passion for creation. Those creative individuals who like everyone else has feelings, a sexual appetite, “issues”, character defects, and professional ups and downs. If you were a real writer and not the parasite feeding off of the successes and failures of others I wouldn’t bother writing my thoughts here. I do feel sorry for you. Please know you are in my prayers. I hope you will someday find something, somewhere that gives you pleasure...and not at another’s expense. Should that moment happen for you, please don’t thank me. I only wish the best for everyone. Even you. Sincerely and disrespectfully, Marc (Jacobs). #lethimwhoiswithoutsincastthefirststone#youwannacomeforme?

So let’s just recap. Bloggers? Not good enough for Marc Jacobs. Nor are critics reviewing his shows—by definition, they too qualify as “parasites feeding off of the successes and failures of others,” except, I guess, when they help him sell clothes.

Perhaps the solution is to just not cover Marc Jacobs. But without writers, might Marc Jacobs not shrivel up and die too? A phenomenon that is, arguably, already occurring on its own. Until then, thankfully, we are in his prayers.

Image via AP. Contact the author at gabrielle@gawker.com.