Crowd control

The street is empty on the walk home. Good. The whole night was crowded. The pit was full, the seats were taken, the crowd spilled onto each side of the runway. It was the way it always is.

The shows were Pink Tartan and Joe Fresh, which draw numbers. But the latest last-minute venue the FDCC has found is huge. We didn’t have to sweat.

The tape spins, the quotes go down, the take-out is devoured. We bring cups of tea downstairs; watch the quiet night. The words: fashion week continues until April 1 finish the copy. The clock blinks 3:30, April 1. The story goes in.

Britt of Shirk in between shows

Heels (sort-of) required

Definitely not Ken

The tarts of Tartan

Pink Tartan begins with violin

The photographers didn't know his name, but he used his MuchMusic mic as a weapon

Sarah of Pink Tartan, is all biz-ness

it ends with a bouquet of white flowers.

The Biffier the better

We were seated on opposite sides of the runway. But her and her friends were as loud as mine, so we passed on jokes straight through the dresses. Shouts were tossed across instead of the usual whispers or text messages. And after it all we lifted stiff backs out of chairs and extended handshakes, names and numbers.

It was all accepted, as it always is, at that party they throw in the name of everything alternative. One year later, though, we find ourselves in the midst of another event, this time prim, proper, and economic.

We’ve got jobs to do, so she does hers and I do mine, move through questions and answers. In an e-mail I follow up, and am told a lady never gives out age, or size: oh right, prim-and-proper.

Size is still what’s to be discussed, so that’s what we do. Silhouettes and shapes are changed, each garment made to flatter. Fashion is not always about looking good, he once wrote, but was made to re-consider.

This time it is, I guess, so I’ll let her have it.

*Read about size, silhouette, shape, and the rest of it in my article on Jessica Biffi’s capsule collection for Addition Elle in The Calgary Herald.

And, go.

The first flares shot up out of the Allstream Centre Sunday night, signaling the race had begun. IZMA opened with a string of fantasy furs, growing gray and gold out of models' shoulders, all wrapped in black sheer and leather. I watched from home, tucked into a toque and fleece sweater.

In the a.m. was Sunny Fong and VAWK in its airy, open, sun-lit space, usually reserved for artsy intellectuals and Toronto-tourist types. After a morning of calls missed and answered, I put down the phone and pen, pulled out the camera.

The invitation promised Fong would make pretty the mess that has been our lives all these months: the economic crash that told us we'd brought back the eighties too fast, too hard, Mr. McQueen's suicide; our unmentioned personal problems.

Out of that decay beauty was maybe born, but mostly we held in our hands, trying not to touch furs as they passed, giggled and made jokes about taking mushrooms. And as always, it was over as soon as it began, we took off in different directions.

On to the next show, next look, collection, season, story. Wait until 11:00 to pull the red out, pass on parties, highlight notes and prep to file in the morning.

*Update: an article I wrote on VAWK is online now. I don't work at the Vancouver Sun but it seems an editor there really likes my writing. Thanks for the pick-up, VS.

Mr. Ben Barry watching the madness unfold from the second floor

Sunny smiles for the press Afiya Francisco of the Style House chatting before the show

Lay Dee takes in her first runway show

Ainsley Kerr and Jessica Biffi before the show begins

Ms. Robin Kay of the FDCC arrives

Ms. Kay again, seated next to Glen Baxter of Fashion Television

Oh, and that's Russ, or Russless, or something of the sort; whoever

One last laugh

For my slideshow of all the looks click here.