February 15, 1971

May 26, 1973

February 15, 1971

October 12, 1970

May 28, 1973

July 12, 1976

images found by Stephanie Fereiro
source: New York Magazine

Was it the son of a preacher man? A devil in a blue dress? You obviously didn’t listen—but now everyone else will.

On Tuesday, February 14th, 2012, WORN Fashion Journal will get your achey-breakey heart in front of a karaoke machine at SUPERMARKET (268 Augusta Avenue).

Don’t just feel the pain, spread it around.

We’ve got a karaoke machine, a microphone, sad, sad, sad songs, and enough bitter tears and sweet liquor to fill a swimming pool. What else could you possibly need to mourn your latest romantic folly?

All proceeds go to the production of WORN Fashion Journal. This year, Heartbreak Karaoke will fund the rent for our new office! We can’t make a magazine without a roof over our heads. Support independent publishing, and sing us a sad song!

THE RULES
$7 Admission
$5 Admission if you’re wearing red or pink
Each song is $1
Jump the line for $10
Celine Dion songs are $5

THE DETAILS
Supermarket
268 Augusta Avenue
Bring on the heartbreak: 9:00 PM
You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here: 2 AM

DRESS CODE
Red and pink preferred
Your heart on your sleeve: mandatory

Black and pink nails with kitten paw prints, for WORN’s Black Cat Ball

Here’s a story I probably should not tell: my laptop, which was really my boyfriend’s old laptop, recently became obsolete. It was technically a fully functional MacBook Pro, but it was so old that it could not do the things that we now regard as necessary for Internet use i.e. watch any sort of video player, open zip files, and so on and so forth. Even though I knew it was time for a new laptop I kept resisting—Apple products are really fucking expensive, you guys, and I’m cheap about that sort of thing. Put a pair of Alexander Wang shoes in front of me and I’m all, “Yeah, that makes sense,” but try to get me to buy a piece of high quality equipment that I will use every day, professionally and personally, and I’m all, “I don’t know, let me make a pro/con list.”

So: My boyfriend finds a beautiful refurbished MacBook for an amazing price on the online Apple store and wants me to just buy it. I am hemming and hawing and checking and re-checking my bank accounts until I am hit with a realization—my old laptop was bought in 2005, which means it never had a camera. This one was made in 2010. “AH,” I yell like a banshee, “I CAN TAKE PICTURES OF MY NAILS ON THIS COMPUTER. BUY IT, BUY IT BUY IT, BUY IT.”"

This story is 100 per cent true—the prospect of being able to easily photograph my nail art and share it with my friends (IRL and Tumblr) persuaded me to purchase my laptop when no amount of sensible discussion could. In the past year I have developed an obsession with painting my nails. My favourite is a pale lavender colour, but I have tried neons, dark jewel tones, and classy neutrals. I’ve attempted all sorts of patterns—symmetrical lines, patriotic flags, colour gradations. My favourites are leopard print and roses. I’ve experimented with stickers (the cheaper Sally Hansen ones are superior to the more expensive Sephora ones, FYI). I’ve tried different top-coats to achieve matte or extra shiny finishes. I’ve purchased specialty brushes and sponges for the more advanced designs. And I have no idea why.

I used to never paint my nails. Really, I just couldn’t be bothered. It seemed like too much upkeep. I was still deep in my “I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-with-what-happens-to-be-glowing-skin” phase. No lip colour, no eyeshadow, eyeliner only on very special occasions and even then just a tight black line as close to my lashes as possible. I spent a lot of time and money making sure that I looked like I had spent no time or money, which is just weird.

The greatness I aspire to.

I think the reason I’ve become so obsessed with nail art has a lot to do with how bad I am at it. I’m not a very creative person, and I can’t just whip off an amazing design. I’d love to do the kind of nail art that Mahban Ryude does—seriously, check out her website, her work is crazy amazing—but I lack the steady hands and artistic inclinations.

Nail art is work for me. And it is work that requires me to abandon my Blackberry, my new laptop, my notebook full of to-do lists… are you seeing a pattern here? Concentrating on nail art (and maybe an episode of Gilmore Girls in the background) is my time away from real work. I’m only thinking about the task at hand—pun intended—which gives my brain the time it needs to recharge. Perfection isn’t the goal here, like I sometimes feel it is with my actual job; it’s about trying something new. A second chance is only a swipe of nail polish remover away.

I don’t think I’m going to become a full time nail artist any time soon. Eventually I’ll probably find another hobby (yoga? baking? skydiving?) and move on. But for now, it’s my favorite way to relax.

LINKS!

Cupcakes, Cocktails, and Nails
My BFF, Laura Hopf, and I have a Tumblr devoted to our nails and the nail art that inspires us.

Mahban Ryude
The most amazing hand painted nails you will ever see.

text by Haley Mlotek

When handed this book, I felt like I was intruding—the hand crafted spine creaked with hours of the author’s labor, and the muted green fabric frayed at the corners. I felt as though I had been handed a diary, and as it turns out, I sort of had been. Waisted Curves: My Transformation Into A Victorian Lady chronicles Sarah Chrisman’s journey from corset loather to Victorian garment educator and advocate in 250 hand-bound pages. We see Chrisman’s disdain for corsets melt away as she laces herself into the garment daily, and witness her transformation of thought and body, all brought about by an article of clothing.

Chrisman begins the narrative on her birthday, when her husband Gabriel gives her a corset as a gift. This spurs an extensive personal change, both physically and mentally. The narrow conception of corsets with which she begins the memoir quickly changes as she learns more about the history and practices of corsetry. Eventually, she dismisses the idea of the corset as oppressive as she records her changes in self-perception and self-esteem.

Despite this eventual change, the journey begins reluctantly. In the opening pages she admits to thinking, “At least he didn’t buy the most expensive version of a thing I’ll never wear.” But at the close of her story we see her in an “ankle-length wool skirt, three petticoats [and] cashmere-lined leather gloves.” She gradually adopts more Victorian inspired garments—and at times real vintage pieces from this era—into her day-to-day wardrobe. Waisted Curves is not simply a diary of what Chrisman wore each day, but is also full of historical and practical information about the garments she describes. In between stories of Victorian fashion shows gone awry, and stuffing a broken foot into kitten-heeled boots, Chrisman informs us about the history of not only corsetry but also Victorian apparel in general. In an often humorous tone, she examines the myths and misconceptions of the corset, and turns them inside out.

Reading this book reminded me of just how much what we wear shapes us—both figuratively and literally. Our feelings about our bodies are complex, and though we put on clothing every day, we don’t often think about garments as being able to address or reconfigure any of these feelings. If we hate the way a flap of skin sits on the top of our jeans, our disapproval is not likely transferred to the jeans themselves. We tend to think that our bodies should work around the clothing we wear, instead of the reverse.

Chrisman’s experience with corsets highlights the fact that clothing should work for your body and self-esteem, not against, and emphasizes the inseparability of clothing and body image. Throughout Waisted Curves, she becomes increasingly comfortable and proud of her corseted figure, until being without a corset leaves her feeling naked and uncomfortable. In the same sense, some women may feel foreign in their own skin when they unclasp the eyehooks of a bra. How clothing affects our perceptions of our own bodies is subjective, but as Chrisman’s book reveals, there is a direct connection.

What made me uncomfortable was how frequently Chrisman was approached or interviewed by complete strangers regarding her corseting practices—imagine the disgruntled woman sitting next to you on the subway asking you your cup size. At times, people’s audacity was shocking. It reminded me that, sometimes unfortunately, once what we wear enters the public domain, it becomes open for commentary—be it scrutiny or admiration. She handles both of these reactions with grace, never faltering or holding back as onlookers prod and pull at her petticoats. Chrisman’s experience pushed me to be not only confident in what I choose to wear, but knowledgeable as to why and how I am choosing to wear it.

Waisted Curves: My Transformation Into A Victorian Lady by Sarah A. Chrisman, AEGIS & OWL PRESS, 2010
reviewed by Casie Brown

Last month we invited everyone at City of Craft to sit down and sketch memorable moments that have defined their sartorial selves. The drawings were too charming to keep confined to the office walls, so we felt compelled to share them with you all.

images curated by Jessica Da Silva

Binders are the antithesis of a bra. Bras, with their tendency to be colourful and embellished, are available in wild and wondrous patterns and shapes of every sort; they’re built to cup and lift, and designed to be seen and admired. Binders, on the other hand, are plain and inconspicuous, built to be worn like a second skin and designed not for the eye, but simply to perform a purpose; they flatten and shape a chest, creating a more masculine, square form for those who don’t wish to show their breasts. Bras have been considered beautiful and often liberating—but who says binders can’t be too? Kyle Lasky shows binders as a work of art in “Presence In Absense,” a photo series that captures the pain, liberation, and beauty in binders.

Kyle is a queer photographer based in Toronto who has just launched their first solo show with “Presence in Absence” this month at the female-friendly sex shop Come As You Are. Kyle chose binders because, “for a lot of people who bind, a binder is the final layer in undressing, so these photos actually function as nudes, they’re portraits of bare chests.” By presenting the binder as a chest itself, the wish of the wearer is being granted; the photos show almost no sign of a traditionally feminine form.

Binders are essentially an extremely tight fitting sort of modern version of a corset, and are used exclusively to flatten breasts and create a male contour chest. They’re worn almost equally by masculine identified people and feminine identified people, and most importantly they provide a surgery-free option of comfort for those who can’t afford the expenses and down-time a mastectomy can demand.


A self portrait of photographer, Kyle Lasky

Binders aren’t new to Kyle. “When I first started binding five years ago I tried one on and I looked in the mirror and just started crying, because I’d never been able to see myself in that way, and feel so happy about the way that I looked. It definitely is freeing to bind, but it is also straining… Now there’s a lot of shame for me. My binder and my binding is extremely personal and painful. It’s literally a weight I have to bare. I’ve found that after I started hormones I essentially stopped binding because I was passing so much without binding that it became unnecessary. I wasn’t questioned based on my face so I found people didn’t look to my body to answer their questions, they just took me literally at face value.” But as time passes and their comfort levels shift, Kyle often has to revert back to binding. “It’s a struggle for me, and a constant issue I have to deal with all day every day. I’m uncomfortable with my chest but I’m also uncomfortable with binding because it’s such a painful experience. I’m either more comfortable in my body and in pain physically from binding, or uncomfortable in my body but not in pain.”

Kyle’s discomfort with binding plays a part of the creation of the show. Each piece (there are 12 in total) has a suggested price, although buyers are welcome to pay more, and the proceeds from the show are being split between sending binders to other countries where they’re not available, and funding Kyle’s top surgery.

Want to read more related to this subject? Check out “Unbinding Binaries” in Issue 13.

text by Alyssa Garrison
photos by Kyle Lasky

I’ve recently become addicted to the filmography of Alfred Hitchcock. Whenever something by the Master of Suspense is playing, you can’t not keep your eyes on the screen. Not only are they nail-bitingly intense, but you gotta love those classic and clean Edith Head costumes. These images are a few of my favourites from two of his most iconic films. How brilliant was it the way clothing was linked to mistaken identity in Vertigo?

North by Northwest is another great one. The menswear tailoring was very sharp, but my favourite scene to capture was with the shot of Bergdorf Goodman purse, showing a little gun tucked in the side. Nobody did classy badass better than Alfred Hitchcock and Edith Head.

text by Peghah Maleknejad

Audrey Cantwell portrait by Yuli Sato

Montreal designer Audrey Cantwell stays true to her own vision. From her line Ovate, which she designs and makes, to the goth, grunge-inflected vintage finds at her online store Tarantula Sisters, she keeps things dark but simple. It’s a vision that extends to her blog and her latest awesome project, the Tarantula Sisters zine.

Tell me about how the Tarantula Sisters Etsy store got started.
I had an Etsy store way back called Black Market Baby—but it was mostly stuff I didn’t want to wear anymore. Then a year and a half ago I decided I wanted to try it seriously. Originally, it was me and a friend but it’s hard to be a partner, especially when money’s involved and you have different aesthetics. I was all, “No cute sweaters with puppies!” So we went our separate ways. I’ve always really loved vintage clothes and I like the idea of not buying new stuff. I like vintage that doesn’t look like vintage, nice fabrics, nice cuts, classic things. I also have a soft spot for ’90s grunge.

How did you come up with the idea for the zine?
I’ve made zines in the past for my friends, like an Iggy Pop fanzine. I had the idea about six months ago to do a zine that’s all collaborative projects. It was a reason to get to know people who I would otherwise have no reason to contact. There’s an endless number of people in Montreal I want to work with. I’m into fashion big time, so for sure it’s a fashion zine—I styled some shoots and did an interview with my friend Maude Nibelungen who’s an awesome knitter—but I’m also into punk in Montreal and illustration and comics, so it’s got that too.

From Tarantula Sisters Zine #3

The fashion shoots are very professional. Is that hard to pull off?
The only thing that’s hard is trying to find people who are down to do it for fun, because there’s no budget. But I’ve got some wicked friends like makeup artists and hair stylists, who are always willing to help. My friends model, or I’ll model. And often agencies, if they have new models, will let you use them for free. I usually work with all girl teams, which I feel is a bit unusual in Montreal. I’m all about the girl teams for fashion shoots; we have fun. We smoke a joint, we drink some beer, eat snacks, and do a shoot.

Kind of like the ultimate sleepover.
Yeah! And then we stay up all night and go through, like, 3,000 photos. I would do a shoot every week if I could.

You mentioned that you don’t like the idea of buying new clothes. How do you reconcile that with the fact that you’re also a designer?
I like the idea of handmade. Everything you can buy used, buy used, but I’m a kind of craftsperson and I like artisan things and I think that’s important to support. I mean new things in the way of going the mall, and buying a bunch of crap. For the most part, I only wear used clothes except for a few special things that my friends made, or I made. But I’m not going to lie, I’ve got a few things from Zara.

Audrey in her studio by April Lea

Is this a new realization?
Yeah. I worked at Urban Outfitters and H&M during school and I was all over that shit. After two or three years of working in retail, I realized that after every year I’d have nothing from the year before. It wasn’t worth anything to me; it wasn’t worth anything to anyone. I felt like I wasted so much money and was impulsive on trends and I just ended up wearing the same thing as everyone else. After I stopped working there, didn’t have a good discount anymore, and only bought stuff at the thrift store, I felt like my style was much better. I felt cooler and looked better trying to be creative with second-hand things.

Are you aware of that when you’re designing? Making something timeless?
Gosh, I don’t really think about it too much. A lot of people say my stuff is goth, and I guess goth is a trend, but there are pieces that people would wear for many years—at least that’s what I hope for.

interview by Sacha Jackson

When I first heard the word, I thought it meant some kind of talking, as in, “He bespoke of the movie,” or, “I bespoke the truth.”

Needless to say, that’s not what it meant. At least not fully.

After some relentless online digging, I found the real meaning of the word, along with some interesting history.

Did you know?
The word “bespoke” actually means custom-made, in reference to things of any kind, specialized to the buyer’s preference. It is the opposite of ready-made. When applied to fashion, however, the term bespoke is only used for men’s suits and clothing, making it a parallel to the women’s haute couture label of individually cut and designed garments.

Why should I care?
Unlike haute couture, bespoke is not a protected label. This upset a lot of men in fashion, especially tailors, so the Savile Row Bespoke Association was set up in 2004 to protect the integrity of the art of tailoring in London’s West End. In 2006, the Savile Row Bespoke became a label, established for simple identification of suits and garments made specifically on Savile Row (and surrounding streets). So while bespoke is not a protected label, the Savile Row Bespoke Association has made itself a trademarked brand, and is working towards making bespoke clothing protected, so that it can be the male fashion equivalent to women’s haute couture. However, they haven’t been successful in achieving that goal yet, which is probably why not that many people today know what it means, or even that it exists.

Linguistics
Remember when I said that I thought that the word bespoke meant speaking the first time I heard it? Well, a little bit more digging through the interwebz told me that I was sort of right: bespoke is actually the past tense of the word bespeak. It used to be pretty popular back in Ye Olden Days, when it would mean to speak up or call out.

Towards the end of the 16th century, it started to mean arranging to get something done, getting someone to do a job, or ordering goods. Later, in the middle of the 18th century, the adjective “bespoke” appeared in English. Something that was “bespoke” was not ready-made, but made to order.

According to some sources, the word “bespoke” also came about from a tailor’s actions: once a customer selected a fabric or a length of material, then that material was said to “be spoken” for. This is supposed to be the symbol of a true or proper bespoke tailor: to make a set of patterns original and unique to the person who ordered them, to style them exclusively to that buyer’s needs and body, so that nobody else would feel quite at home in the same suit.

Ask a Tailor
In order to give you a slightly better look at bespoke and what it means, Jessica Wornette and I moseyed over to GreenShag Bespoke to speak with Neil McPhedran, tailor and co-founder of GreenShag. He told us that to him, bespoke meant just what we had discovered earlier: custom-made and custom-fit. Bespoke clothing, McPhedran says, is made specifically for the individual.

“I think true bespoke is bespoke, like haute couture, not made-to-measure,” he says.

He explained that made-to-measure is a sort of “middle ground between off-the-rack and custom” in which the clothing or garment is created from a set of already predetermined patterns and sizes from which a customer can choose the ones that they want or need.

“It is not like bespoke, where you start from nothing and design everything,” says McPhedran. Made-to-measure isn’t made individually and shouldn’t be considered custom bespoke wear. Saville Row is especially strict about that, he told us. Things that are just made from a pattern and not custom-fit shouldn’t be considered to be bespoke.

The average cost of a full bespoke suit from GreenShag is around $2,500. It depends on the fabrics and the materials used, but that is generally the price many bespoke tailors work with.

“I wouldn’t go anywhere else!” a customer exclaimed, as he allowed measurements of himself to be taken by the trained hands of the working tailor.

Further Reading
www.greenshag.com
www.savillerowbespoke.com
www.worldwidewords.org/qa/qa-bes4
www.mycustomtailor.com/customtailor/The_History_Of_Bespoke_Tailoring_An_Overview

text by Sofie Mikhaylova
photography by Jessica da Silva

From a young age, the line “Being plastic is fantastic!,” always associated with Barbie, was ingrained in my head. I never thought too critically about it—it was a catchy little rhyme—but as I grew older, I began to see just how warped the message being sold to my Barbie-obsessed friends and me was. To this day, I maintain a love-hate relationship with Barbie: the girl’s got style, and I can’t help but admire her determination to experiment with every career from veterinarian to pizza maker; however, her body type has been proven multiple times to be beyond realistic, a narrowly idealized figure being sold to young girls as the pinnacle of beauty. It’s not just that Barbie and friends lack diversity in their shape: her form is downright impossible to achieve.

You can imagine how excited I was to stumble upon Margaux Lange, a New York-based jewelry designer who seems to share my sentiments. She created The Plastic Body Series: a handmade accessories line which pays homage to pop culture’s fascination with Barbie by salvaging old doll parts and transforming them into wearable art. As sweetly nostalgic as they are creepily Lynchian, the accessories themselves are a psychedelic gaggle of doll heads dangling from necklaces and disembodied eyes peaking out of rings. While one typically wouldn’t think of “dismembered female body parts” as empowering, it somehow works when the body in question was totally artificial to begin with. By reworking different Barbie parts into pieces, including a necklace that is a mash-up of different plastic chests, the result feels like a wearable statement forcing society to critically examine those plastic body parts constantly deemed beautiful. Plus, Lange’s work has given me the ultimate D.I.Y. inspiration for how to transform the Barbies that I was never able to purge and alter them to fit my teenage self. Perhaps next up will be decapitating Furbies for a new accessories line.

text by Emma from The Emma Edition