Falling for Fall

It wasn’t until I caught myself telling people (on multiple occasions), “I don’t buy summer clothes,” that I realized why autumn is my favourite season. I thought it was the changing leaves, the fleeting excitement of starting new classes, or the ability to order a hot cup of coffee without being asked, “would you like that iced?” Then, in late July, as I found myself wearing dresses from three summers ago and not wanting to spend money on summer clothing (even though I needed it), I realized that my love for fall stems from one thing: clothing.

What I love most about fall clothing isn’t so practical a reason as being able to wear the same pieces throughout the year, but with less layers. It’s the layering itself that really gets me going. Forget jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie. No, no. I’d rather wear tights, frilly socks, boots, a skirt, a t-shirt, an oversized cardigan, a scarf, a hat, and – well, you see where this is going. In the summer heat, “putting an outfit together” in the morning feels like “finding the outfit I’ll sweat least in.” I dread it. In the fall, though, getting dressed in the chilly morning feels like baking a layer-cake of textures and colours that will keep me warm, comforted, all day long. Who doesn’t like cake?

So, I ask you two things:

What season do you love getting dressed in, and why? And does anyone know of a country where the temperature rests permanently around 15 degrees celsius? I’d like to move there.

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ADVENTUS: The Next Incarnation of the Summer Dress

It was a terrible day. The only thing that didn’t suck was the weather (which just keeps getting nicer). I found myself walking home through downtown Toronto carrying the jacket and scarf and hat I had needed in the chilly morning. It was nice to think that soon I wouldn’t have anything but my purse and pockets. It put me in the mood for summer dresses…

I almost walked past CTS Vintage, but then I thought, what the hell?

I try not to recommend stores. I think we can all find enough crap to buy without outside encouragement. But I have to say, my last three experiences at CTS (394 Queen St W*) have been delightful.

Nestled into an unexpectedly large space at Queen and Spadina, it’s a shop with loads of thrift stock (at thrift prices) and a vintage section. Justus, the guy responsible for picking the vintage gold at their downtown location, has a stylist’s eye and sense of humour, and he’s not shy with his opinions or recommendations. It’s a nice break from the bored disengagement of most boutique staff (even if it does make it harder to leave without buying).

And that is how, in the middle of my lousy, beautiful afternoon, I found myself trying on an uncharacteristically biblical looking white dress (it didn’t fit the girl in the next change room over and Justus thought it might be just the thing for me) and falling in love. I took it home for 15 bucks.

It won’t save your life, but it might make your day.

- g.

*Check the CTS website for other locations in the GTA. I can’t guarantee the staff will be as awesome.

Book Review: Closet Confidential (Style Secrets Learned the Hard Way)

I always wear white after Labour Day, my shoes rarely match my bag, and I’ll throw on some “plastic shizzz” whenever the mood strikes. Fashion rules are boring. What gives someone the authority to tell a girl what should or shouldn’t be in her closet? Winona Dimeo-Ediger understands this. In Closet Confidential, she gives practical, down-to-earth fashion advice but never deigns to tell readers what they should or shouldn’t be wearing. She discusses general rules and shares her personal likes and dislikes, but throughout, she encourages readers to break these rules and forge a style of their own.

Closet Confidential is essentially my friend Kristen in book form. In high school, I would never shop without her. She had an eclectic yet classy style, and a knack for seeing what would look good on others. Whether we were at Value Village or the mall, Kristen would shove me into change rooms with piles of clothes I wouldn’t even consider on my own.

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