Faux Love

By: wornette

Though I love a good episode of “The Real Housewives of Orange County” as much as the next wise soul, I’m generally not an advocate of anything fake. The world has enough terrible Louis Vuitton knock-off purses and wallets to fill the province of Alberta twice*, and more slightly oblong Chanel double ‘C’s’ than I can count (my knowledge of numbers gets fuzzy after the kajillions). Authenticity is important if you want to be taken seriously, and while I’m not suggesting that consumers should be slaves to expensive brands (or brands at all), but as the enlightened Judge Judy once said, “Don’t piss on my foot and tell me it’s raining.” Capiche?

A month or so ago I was shopping in one of my favourite thrift stores when I spotted (ha, pun intended) a faux leopard print coat. I tried it on, noticed the busted seams and decided to forego a purchase that would need too much fixing up. I did the stupid If-You-Love-Something-Let-It-Go thing – ladies, you know the drill. Find something you love, don’t put it on hold, leave the store, go home and fantasize about said something, return to the store in a frantic mess four minutes before closing, find that your precious something has been sold, swear it wasn’t meant to be. Why do we do this?!

So I did the drill, returned, and discovered that the leopard coat and I were not meant to be, but something remained. Are you there God? It’s me, Carmen. Thanks for replacing the leopard coat with a…er…a Cruella Deville coat? I guess that’s one of the joys of faux fur – you have no idea what animal it’s supposed to be faking.

I can say with confidence that I would not have worn faux fur last year, or even six months ago. In a lot of ways this is what I like about fashion, the transformative aspect. What’s ugly one day is acceptable the next and we are forced to re-evaluate why we even like certain shapes and textures in the first place. I thought bell-bottoms were downright laughable when they came back in the 90’s, but quickly grew to love them. I maintain that Uggs will never find their way into my heart, but bless your little soul if you’ve made peace with them. I suppose my sense of personal style has been formed, in part, by embracing the ugly of yesteryear. So for me at least, it’s out with the old and in with the new. I promise, no boob jobs and no collagen lip injections, but for now I’m going fake on your asses.

-Carmen Vicente

*This “fact” is not grounded in truth or verifiable research.

Silkscreaming

By: wornette

When my editor said she was sending me on an adventure, I have to admit, my first reaction was not excitement. I don’t know whether it was the way she emphatically punctuated her sentence with an exclamation point, or the fact that she met me outside the office, but my mind raced with all the possible situations for which “adventure” would simply be a euphemism.

Of course, like almost every situation in my life, my anxieties were for naught (honestly though, I really should get a prescription for some downers…). I ended up spending an afternoon at a tiny silkscreening studio in Parkdale being a pesky photographer and spectator. Jacob (the awesome artist who worked with us from Punchclock Printing Collective) and I exchanged a few casual niceties, and after a short time we both just did our own thing — he working quickly before the paint dried and me snapping pictures before the project was finished.

“I listen to weird music when I work,” he said without looking at me, focusing on the pink and blue pigments he was mixing. “I hope you don’t mind.”

To me it sounded like a mixture of screeching children and metal crashing, but I was not one to protest.

“No no, it’s cool. No worries,” I assured him.

The reason for my visit was to make sure that everything with our new tee-shirts went smoothly — er, have we mentioned tee-shirts yet? Designed by illustrator Chris Davenport, the tee-shirts are decidedly hard to describe — depicting a font that looks almost like human hair. They’ll be available for sale soon on our Etsy shop and at upcoming events like our Halloween Dance of the Living Dead. Also, and here’s the important part, they look great with a pair of jeans. And really, if I was a gambling woman, I’d be willing to bet that they could also double as sails should you ever find yourself stranded on the sea in an inflatable kayak you won at a work Christmas party. Just sayin’…

The other fun part of this adventure that I really wanted to share is when my editor casually mentioned that she would need me to choose the final colour. In preparation we had a discussion about purple — hues, shades, finishes, connotations even. I can say with confidence that Serah-Marie and I could now co-author Everything You Wanted To Know About Purple But Were Too Afraid To Ask. Eventually, I set off with the perfect shade of muted mauve in mind and the determination not to screw things up.

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Contest! cough The September Issue! cough

By: wornette

In grade six, after winning the highly prestigious role of Prancer in the school’s Christmas play, I was convinced of my intimate relationship with luck. I can’t say that wearing festive antlers and a shapeless taupe onesie was the pinnacle of my fashion career, but it was certainly a moment of elementary school glory.

For your sake, oh devoted (Montreal) readers, I hope you have some of that same Prancer luck in you, because it’s time for a contest. For reasons I can’t begin to unders
tand, the long-awaited movie The September Issue is finally coming out in Canada — in October. Yes, the strange month discrepancy annoys me, but the chance to win free tickets does not. In fact, anything free is a friend of mine.
So let’s cut to the chase and dole these hot tamales out to the most deserving ladies and gents. Up for grabs are 10 run-of-engagement passes, valid at all times in Quebec theatres where the movie is playing. The September Issue hits theatres October 23rd. The rules are simple: In the comments write a single sentence starring Ms. Wintour herself, and please, fictional is obviously better. Don’t really know what I’m talking about because it’s late and my brain is casually chugging along in energy saver mode? Here’s an example of something I’m looking for:

Laughing gingerly at the flashing TV screen, Anna fished for another handful of popcorn before speaking to the empty room, “The Hills is really heating up this season!”

We will judge our favourites based on personal biases, comedic value, creativity, and proximity to our hearts. And remember, only enter if you live in Quebec. And now, may the fallacies begin! Deadline is September 20th!

P.S. folks — Here are the links to the official sites (The September Issue+ Les Films Seville)

- Carmen Vicente

An Ode To The Tuxedo, Canadianized

By: wornette

Reading my morning roster of blogs today, I came across a simple photograph of Garance Doré casually crossing a street. Wearing a light wash denim jacket paired with a nude bandage skirt she looks, at once, completely nonchalant and impeccable. Her hair is modest, quite understated in fact, parted in the middle and pulled back in a low bun. Though she generally works behind the lens, her expression and posture convince me that she is just as comfortable as the subject, a candid model in transit. My explanation hardly does justice to the kind of arresting presence Doré commands in the photo, but there is something altogether mesmerizing about the moment captured. Perhaps it’s the ease with which she navigates the cobblestone street on wedged heels, or the way her camera strap is wrapped casually around her wrist like an accessory.

The photograph is entitled, “Parisians Do It Better,” and I must concede, Doré has that certain je ne sais quoi – but it frustrates me to think that Parisians are the only ones who do it better. What is it anyway? (Okay okay, I’m getting cheeky now, I know what it is).

Yes, the French have got it down pat (more than pat, really) when it comes to fashion, but certainly there’s something that Canadians do right. To begin with, I work with a team of lovely ladies who could intimidate the pants off any respectable fashion connoisseur. And for the sake of Worn and all the Wornettes working tirelessly each year to make this fashion journal, I have to believe there is a style niche so characteristically Canadian.

In doubt I looked to my closet for answers, and while staring into the sea of indigo, something came to me. Denim jackets with denim pants, denim vests with denim skirts, walk into any Village of Value and you’ll see the message I’m preaching: The Canadian Tuxedo.

I know that I’m supposed to assume a certain audience here, refrain from inundating you lovely readers with style knowledge already burned into your brain, but I want to make sure this post is accessible to everyone (Hi mom!). For the sentence I’m about to write I want to apologize in advance.

A Canadian Tuxedo is jean on jean, if you know what I mean?

Blue up top and you just don’t stop.

I couldn’t think of anything that sounds good with indigo…

In doing some quick internet research (Google image search) I realize that the rest of the world is taking note. Street stylers across the globe are trying to emulate the two-piece we made so famous, and even the Gap’s latest ad campaigns are showcasing supermodels in head-to-toe denim.

I’ve been trying to ask myself why the almighty Canadian Tuxedo is so alluring, and yet, my results are inconclusive. Perhaps the complementary shades of blue conjure images of distant tropical waters — the kind we dream of after enduring winters rife with SAD. Or maybe the success of the indigo tux is far simpler, born of practicality, durability, and comfort.

My last profound and insightful theory is that we all secretly want to be cowboys, rough and rugged herdsmen just waiting for our sartorial showdown.

-Carmen