When 'the world's first supermodel" tried it on Beverly Hills women aren't the gentlest of creatures, but this sounded like Cruella de Vil off her meds. Venturing gingerly out into the communal space, I came face to face with Janice Dickinson - the "world's first supermodel." Janice was topless and staring at my outfit with a mixture of compassion and disgust. "The sweater's OK," she decreed, through rubber-dinghy lips, "but honey: you've got to lose the dress." Rather than tell her that the dress was mine and not a potential purchase, I adopted the David Attenborough form of self-defence, avoiding all eye-contact and remaining completely still until, I hoped, she lost interest. It didn't work. "Are you British?" she went on, eyeing me suspiciously. I nodded apologetically. "You people get everywhere," she sighed with the air of a pest control officer, about to unleash the termite-killing gas. As I opened my mouth to apologise again, Janice vanished, returning a few minutes later with the beleaguered Ryan and a mound of clothes. She didn't want to exterminate me: she wanted to dress me. Braggers' rights If you don't know about the "humblebrag," you should. Identified by the NBC TV writer Harris Wittels - who has a Twitter page and a new book of the same name - this form of false modesty, rife on social media, is infinitely amusing. Whether it's former White House press secretary Ari Fleischer's sweet pain ("They just announced my flight at LaGuardia is number 15 for takeoff. I miss Air Force One!"), US publicist Jenny Marie Miranda asking: "Why do men hit on me when I'm in sweat pants?," Kings of Leon bassist Jared Followill's dilemma in the face of a tornado ("Hide in my wine cellar or my theatre? Or my gym?"), or Pixar director Lee Unkrich's clumsiness ("Spaz Alert: I tripped walking up the stairs to receive my Oscar Nominee certificate") these chestnuts of faux humility are everywhere - once you know what to look out for. It's an art form, says Wittels: the best humblebrags have to convey three brags in 140 characters, while simultaneously begging for sympathy. Easy to "un-follow" the worst offenders online, but in real life the only solution is to focus on the "humble" rather than the brag ("You tripped on the stairs, really? Did it hurt - are you OK? Show me..."), forcing them to brazenly bare the brag for all to see. Fancy fast-food You become numbed to absurdity, living in LA. I no longer stop to laugh at the sign outside the Beverly Hills Mutt Club advertising "ginger facials" for dogs. But every now and again something happens to break you out of your trance. In this case it was a trip to the food court in my local mall. In among the rib and burger outlets was a new vending machine - dispensing caviar. Prices started at $5 (for a mother-of-pearl spoon) and went up to $500 (for the Imperial River Caviar). It's bad enough for the rest of us when a packet of Monster Munch gets stuck; imagine when a Russian minigarch's ounce of Beluga fails to drop down.