The Stories We Tell

Five Wornettes revisit the fictional characters that inspired their closets growing up

By: Haley Mlotek, Alyssa Garrison, Casie Brown, Sofie Mikhaylova, and Jenna Danchuk

Moon Prism Power!
When I was about 10 years old (pushing the limits of an appropriate age for a cartoon obsession), I loved Sailor Moon. She was my moon goddess of style. Though my love may have shifted from Sailor Scout to Sailor Scout, it was the idea of a sassy uniform only put on through an intense and magical costume change that I found most appealing.

The fantasy driven schoolgirl fashions had me acting like a fool as I begged my parents for the whole kit and kaboodle of consumer products marketed to my tween self. I remember the tense Christmas morning phone call between a friend and I as we discussed who had gotten what under the tree that morning. It was as if we thought it made us better people to have added to our growing collection of imported plastic accessories that made us “feel” like we really were “Super Sailor Scouts”—stylish schoolgirls with badass super powers.

As I got a bit older, my obsession stuck in the back of my mind. I couldn’t bear to part with the dolls, t-shirts, and plastic wands that hung around collecting dust in my closet. The cool punk girls I met in high school shared my secret love. We regularly discussed how awesome our animated hero and her friends were.

How did this totally fanciful, junk-food TV show fit in with my new found, anti-consumerist, teenage feminist rants? I began to reposition my fascination, turning my old Sailor Moon nightgown into a hot butch muscle tee and mixing the cutesy Sailor Moon-inspired pigtails of my youth into a riot grrrl-inspired statement. Perhaps the rumours of a lesbian love affair between Sailor Neptune and Uranus had even had an influence on my queerness. Even though I’ve more or less retired this obsession, I still get giddy every time I see a Japanese school uniform, excited at the thought of the magic that the girls who sport these get-ups possess. // Jenna Danchuk

Ten Points for Slytherin
I was obsessed with Harry Potter as a kid to the point that I managed to convince myself that a) I was his sister and b) Voldemort was stalking me. Okay, I’ll admit—I’m still obsessed. I couldn’t watch the last part of the last movie because I couldn’t deal with the fact that the series was ending. Before, when I identified as Gryffindor, I was partial to their house colours of red and gold. I was really big on wearing men’s ties as accessories (eat your heart out, Avril Lavigne). I used to carry a wand around until I was, like, 12. My mom claimed it was just a stick and told me to grow up. (Muggles, am I right?) Unfortunately, I haven’t. I still have the wand (yew, dragon heartstring core, inflexible), lying around somewhere.

When I was 10, I got glasses for the first time, and I didn’t feel like a Horrible Nerd Dorkasaurus as I might have had I got them at an earlier stage. I felt like this further confirmed my assumption that Harry Potter and I were related and I was actually a witch. The reason I wasn’t accepted to Hogwarts, I told myself on my 11th birthday, was because it is in England, and I lived in Canada, and Hogwarts Express doesn’t cross the ocean. Obviously. Anyway, Harry Potter made me feel cool about my glasses. I was in good company.

As I got older, I started to get into Harry Potter from a different perpective. I realized that I was cleary a Slytherin, and that green and silver were the way to go. I still like red and don’t hate Gryffindors, but I avoid gold clothing if I can help it and wear silver instead. // Sofie Mikhaylova

Here. Swear. Swear on Chanel.
I can’t remember being obsessed with anything other than dalmatians as a child, but in Grade 10 I fell under the spell of Carrie Bradshaw. The obsession spilled over to Sarah Jessica Parker (does anybody really differentiate between the two?) and I can remember going to school wearing my Great Grandmother’s broaches as fasteners on an asymmetrical grey cardigan, an homage to her Gap campaign.

My all-time favourite outfit during this phase was based on a dress from the final episode of the series. It was a sea-foam green tulle skirt which I made myself and layered over a structured black halter dress, meant to emulate the dress Carrie runs across Paris in, eventually reuniting with Big (gush). I wore it to our high school’s drama and dance awards.

I think the only problem my obsession with Carrie’s fashion might have caused was that it was so different from what everyone else was wearing in my high school, and so I sort of stuck out like a sore satin-gloved thumb. While everyone was showing up for class in jeans or sweatpants, I was wearing chiffon floral skirts and oversized fake flowers pinned to my cardigan. // Casie Brown

“Whoever said orange is the new pink was seriously disturbed.”
Growing up, I always got the idea that my peers didn’t think I was very smart. No matter how high my grades, my optimistic attitude combined with my affinity to wear pink matching outfits and my blonde streaked hair made me an easy target for dumb blonde jokes. I felt destined to be intellectually downtrodden until the day I saw Legally Blonde. Elle Woods was just like me: fun, girly, and smarter than she looked. I faked an eye exam and got cute glasses, paired knee socks with heels, and began telling everyone I would go to McGill, to which one boy said, “Alyssa, you’ll never be smart enough to go to McGill.” But, like Elle, I studied hard and tried to be best friends with everyone regardless of their judgment. The climax of my Elle Woods phase involved a head to toe hot pink Betsey Johnson corduroy outfit, complete with hot pink knee boots my mother acquired in Las Vegas, accessorized with a pink basket full of pink cookies which I spent my high school day handing out to students. After that I started dating a drama guy and went from Pretty in Pink to Checkerboard Ska. It was a rocky transition.

I never did get to McGill, but only because they didn’t offer a program as well known and successful as the Ryerson School of Journalism, where I am currently finishing my degree. I do, however, still wear pink with pride, and sometimes when I get to class and take out my floral notebook and rainbow pen set, I smile to myself and silently thank Elle for helping me find my smart self. // Alyssa Garisson

All I want is a dress with puffy sleeves.
Anne of Green Gables was a really important book for me as a child. I just liked how she was so herself, even though that self was a little weird and loud and prone to unfortunate accidents. I’ve never dyed my hair green (by accident, that is), I’ve never gotten my best friend drunk (by accident, that is), and I’ve never floated away in a lake and been rescued by a mischievous, handsome boy from school (not yet, that is). I might not have had flaming red hair, but I did have big, bushy, brown curls—I stuck out in the sea of sleek blonde hair that was the style for all the pretty girls in elementary school.

When I first read Anne of Green Gables, I didn’t fully understand what “puffed sleeves” were—I remember looking in a mirror and holding my sleeves up off my shoulder in an attempt to visualize what Anne was talking about—but I definitely sympathized with Anne’s yearning for trendy clothes that her adopted guardians couldn’t afford. As a child, all my clothes came from the sale section of a local discount outlet store. I always wanted what I couldn’t have: designer purses, t-shirts with logos printed on them, $30 lipgloss from department stores. My mother had a very Marilla Cuthbert attitude towards the whole thing. They’re both very practical women who work hard to balance a small budget and are seemingly impervious to trends or impractical wants. I’m the complete opposite—as soon as I was old enough to work, I worked in the trendiest boutiques and department stores, spending my minimum wage earnings on the latest styles.

Once, when I was working at a law firm and had lots of disposable income, I came across a cardigan that had legitimately puffed sleeves. It was a black button-down sweater with ruched stitching on the shoulders, giving them a raised, “puffed,” look. I don’t know if the designers had Anne of Green Gables in mind when they designed it, but I bought it immediately. I never wore it. It’s not really my style. I didn’t relate to the actual puffed sleeves—I related to Anne’s wanting. I understood desiring what you can’t really have. Besides, buying those items for yourself rarely fills a void. When Anne finally gets her puffed sleeves, it’s because Matthew, her guardian and best friend, knows that puffed sleeves will make Anne happy and sets out to get them for her. I’ll always remember how I felt reading about Anne unwrapping the paper on her beautiful brown dress that Matthew got Mrs. Lynde to make. Anne had someone who really understood her and who would have done anything to make her happy. I like to imagine that Anne never gave away or threw out that dress because it reminded her of how much she and Matthew loved each other. She outgrew the puffed sleeves, but she never outgrew their relationship. BRB, crying forever. // Haley Mlotek

photography// brianne burnell

Three Short (and One Longer) Reviews About Documentaries

By: Jenna Danchuk, Jill Heintzman, Mai Nguyen, Sofie Mikhaylova, and Alyssa Garrison

We loved Bill Cunningham: New York. We are ridiculously excited for the Advanced Style film. However, we don’t limit ourselves to only critically watching documentaries explicitly about fashion. When Toronto’s Hot Docs fest rolled around a few months ago, the Wornettes took to the theatres. We noticed that there were documentaries on a variety of subjects in which either clothing played an integral role to the subject being explored, or the underbellies of parts of the fashion industry were exposed. Here are a few short reviews—and one longer one—about docs that got us thinking.

She Said Boom: The Story of Fifth Column
Dir. Kevin Hegge (2012)
Hegge combines present day interviews and archival footage to tell the story of the most badass lady fronted art-punk band Toronto has ever seen: Fifth Column. For those not familiar with the post-punk, pseudo psych group that featured a cast of rotating musicians, as well as three solid members (GB Jones, Caroline Azar, and Beverly Breckenridge), they fused art, music, and zines to create a style that was truly their own. Fifth Column came before riot grrrl, and Kathleen Hanna speaks in the film about what an inspiration the band was to her. Kathleen may have written “slut” on herself, but Fifth Column first insisted that “All Women Are Bitches.” Band members GB and Caroline explain in the film their philosophies on fashion: the faker, the better. The bigger the hair, the heavier the make-up, the more “ladylike” you were. As Judith Butler says, all gender is drag, and the girls in Fifth Column seem to really understand this. // Jenna Danchuk

GLOW: The Story of the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling
Dir. Brett Whitcomb (2012)
Flower-adorned, dressed in a sequin bikini, and riding in on a horse. No, this woman is not on the beach—she is entering the wrestling ring. GLOW: The Story of the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling tells the story of the first all-female wrestling program that aired from 1986 to 1990. Each actress turned wrestler had a persona assigned to her and a dazzling ensemble to match: Americana was decked in stars and stripes and Amy the Father’s Daughter in a crop gingham top, Daisy Duke shorts, and pigtails. They were expected to stay in role 24/7 and developed their character by adding to their original costumes with corsets, accessories, fake accents, and even live animals to reflect their own personal style. When a wrestler of GLOW slipped on her leopard gloves or crimson cape, she took on a persona that gave her presence, confidence, and the strength to dropkick and put her opponent in a nelson hold, and look glamorous while doing it. // Jill Heintzman

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Book Report: Zeitgeist and Glamour – Photography of the ’60s and ’70s

By: Alyssa Garrison

The thick, heavy pages of Zietgeist and Glamour consist almost entirely of photos: some with one larger image and others littered with smaller, less artistic shots. The front portion offers a few words from the collector, Nicola Erni, and a short essay on the era written by the curator, Petra Giloy-Hirtz (which, if you’re interested, are also printed in German). As Erni and Hirtz explain, the images published in the book show a very specific slice of the sixties, focusing on glamour, wealth, and art, and purposely leaving out important historical events like the hippie movement and Vietnam War. The faces scattered throughout this massive book are those of socialites and filmmakers, models, and royalty—from Bardot to Warhol and everyone in between. The photography documents the mingling of classes and cliques that took place during the ’60s, when the rich fueled the creative and vice versa. The word “zeitgeist” can be defined as “the spirit of a time,” and the spirit conveyed in Zeitgeist and Glamour is the attitude that suddenly anything was possible (if you had the money).

The photos chosen for this particular collection are a mirror of Erni’s interest in the “Jet Set” society, a group of wealthy nomads who used air travel innovation to get the best the world had to offer at the time. A single day could include shopping in Paris, hair appointments in London, and partying on the Côte d’Azur. This was an unmatched show of excess and eccentricity, and it’s no wonder this over-the-top lifestyle led to the birth of paparrazi photography, as everyone wanted a piece of the grandeur. The high-society life of the ’60s was so craved by the public that many of the most famed photographers of the time came from within the circles they are known for capturing on film, such as Robert Mapplethorpe and his work with Patti Smith and the inhabitants of the Chelsea Hotel in New York City.

The concept of paparazzi photography has always confused me: why would I want to admire poorly shot, quickly snapped photos of someone else doing everyday things in ridiculously expensive clothing? Where is the beauty and glamour in that? I finally discovered the art in paparazzi photos when flipping through Zeitgeist and Glamour, where one can find a collection of celebrity snapshots from the era of hope and change. Although the book contains formal fashion photography from the likes of Avedon and Mapplethorpe, most pages consist of tiny snapshots of a different world, where the rich and famous are always photo-ready and flawless. There are no grotesque shots of celebrities eating cheeseburgers or accidentally flashing a camera while exiting a vehicle—the photos here provide a gaze into a time when paparazzi photos were art, catching the glamour and beauty of an unattainable world as their subjects jet-set by at new speeds, although I’m still unsure about their deeper meaning.

Zietgeist and Glamour has useful information, like mini-biographies of each featured photographer, and a short description of what the metropolitan hotspots were like at the time (New York, Côte d’Azur, London, Paris, and Rome). But I found myself confused and frustrated by the “rich and glamorous” theme of the series. Excluding crucial pieces of the era—such as the civil rights movement, feminism, and the Vietnam War—in order to focus on jet-setting and wealth didn’t sit very well with me in the end.

Zeitgeist and Glamour, Photography of the 60’s and 70’s, by Petra Giloy-Hirtz, Ira Stehmann, Nicola Erni, Prestel 2011.
book report by Alyssa Garrison
photography by Brittany Lucas

Crushing on Inez Genereux

By: Alyssa Garrison

When Inez Genereux entered WORN’s Black Cat Ball last year, all the Wornettes could do was stare. Inez (or Nezzie as her friends call her) has a cloud of swoon-worthy qualities that float around her like the scent of a just-strong-enough perfume. From her bleached Bettie Page bangs to her fearless footwear choices, Inez has the aura of a magical creature, and the energy of a five-year-old at a birthday party. An artist, Magic Pony super-employee, and generally awesome creative person, Inez talks to WORN about kitties, children’s hair accessories, and lemon meringue pie.

Side note: we’re also crushing on Inez’s boyfriend Landon, one of the models from Unbinding Binaries in Issue 13.

How would you describe your style in one word?
Ummm, can I say unicorn? Even though it’s not an adjective?

What’s the last thing you bought for yourself?
Probably my shoes? They’re little party shoes that have silk-screened bursts of colour. Imagine the party hats you had when you were eight years old, and they have weird squares and circles and squiggles with different primary colours that look like shouting marks on them.

What can you not stop wearing right now?
My new tote bag that I got at the Hunx & His Punx concert. It’s like two pages from a comic that he did silkscreened onto each side of the bag, where it’s these really crudely drawn images of “Call 1-800-HOT-SEX, meet local babes,” or “Teen struck by fatal acne cream accident.” with all these spreads and cutouts from teen magazines, but it’s all really vulgar? It’s really, really good, and it was five bucks.

What’s that in your hair?
Oh, it’s something from the children’s section at H&M. There’s a little pink bow back there, you can’t see it, and then this one’s a little plush heart.
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