Russ Martin, age twenty-three.

The scent of a man

When the packaged arrived I let out a girlish squeal. With a shake I knew what it was. The Tylenol bounced out, my favorite red capsules covered in caffeine. And in the bottom of the package, two sticks of High Endurance Old Spice.

See, Koreans don't really smell. So I send away for my old Old Spice, something they don't sell. It had been a week since my stick ran out, and I'm sure my coworkers had silently noticed my change of smell.

To the bathroom I rushed to slide a little on. After work, home for an evening shower. Without the morning rush I organized the cabinet. And what's behind the ten tubes of toothpaste work gifted me for Thanksgiving? One tall stick of Old Spice. Unused.

The sale and the sold

Sunday came too early, but we woke and poured coffee. The car arrived and in it we packed all our unwanted belongings. Under the morning shade we set a goal: five dollars—each.

Over the brick ground went curtains never put up in apartments, ones left in boxes near rods bought but not bothered with. On top those books never read, denim we once fit into, gifts discarded.

The shade lifted and as the sun hit the streets so did the footsteps of strangers. One by one our old purchases became items with new owners. Offers to barter were handed off from one seller to another; we shrugged shoulders and conceded to low-ballers.

Friends wandered in and out, were elected for beer runs, asked for change, handed donations. The BBQ was pulled out, lit up, filled with burgers. A case cracked and money split, we cut our losses.

Into boxes on the street sent the picked-over and left behind: our silent offer. Went home sunburned, with cash in the front pocket.

There goes the stuff, captain

Sarongs, sunglasses, selling

Take some, leave some; 25c or free

New items, old friends

Rabbit fur, workout gear

Blonds and bubbles

Go ahead: take it

Second soles

The finds are far and few between, but still we keep on looking. Most are too big, too small, torn, or missing buttons. But there are the gems: Givenchy trousers, vintage blazers, a recently recycled trench--Viktor and Rolf for H&M.

With the latest shoes the lesson is learned: sometime you get what you pay for. These soles, which ought to be well worn-in, ripped during their first night out on the town.

Nevermind, you mutter, pull out the scissors.

Patriots and blood

And then there were the men. To my complaint that the amount of time and concept that goes into a womens' collection so rarely goes into a line of menswear, a friend said to me: maybe the guys just don't care.

That may be true, as so many jeans and tees suggest, but for the few with the cash to buy high-minded design the options for the avant-garde are sadly slim.

Enter Dean and Dan Caten, two of Toronto's own, a team of bubbly brothers who sent blood splattered boys down the runway in Milan this week, ala another Canuck, Bruce La Bruce.

In between Adam Lambert looks like the wings belows; slick blazers, bow-ties, bondage black pants and chains, and another homage to home: two jerseys and a tee celebarting our national sport, hockey.

Satisfied someone (or some pair) has answered my complaint, I'll click on to see McQueen, D&G, Gamme Bleu. But first, another wish: that someone had had the inspiration and audacity to give these guys our Olympic line.

Teenage kicks right through the night

Before the blast-off of engines, there were a few last bad decisions to be made. Crowded two too many into the car we headed east, then north, then east again, ending up off our usual grid, out of the city core; at the right apartment. The mob scene had already begun, what with its bathroom penetration, guns behind locked doors, kids on ketamine. The crazed young things, we called them, as if we weren’t still walking in their shoes.

With toothy smiles and clutching presents we raised a glass to the woman of the hour before settling onto couches, around tables, and on wash-and-dryer tops to watch the madness, participate, and watch again. The air was thick with sexual expression, frustration, confusion: they danced and drank the evening and their inhibitions straight away. Then as the door began to swing we decided it best not be the last left in the room, dialing our way backwards to the highway lights.

And as we stumbled towards bed sheets we spun past the clock, blinking its early morning hour. Spilling into our homes we set alarms with time ticking closer, and despite the cabs to call, bags to pack, and farewells to say, we blinked black windows away unbothered, thinking: this must be what it feels like to be young and in love.

The crazed ice queen, in the asylum after the war

By the final day of fashion week, we had all drifted firmly into insanity. Luckily, Mr. Lucian Matis was right there with us to open the door of the asylum.

As I wrote today on Canada.com, “The models looked like they had just escaped some magical, fashionable insane asylum. Strapped into studded headgear and dressed in flowing silver and gold gowns, the models in Lucian Matis’ fashion show on Friday looked like ice queens gone crazy.”

That the dresses didn’t necessarily flatter came secondary to the concept and construction. As I said in response to a reporter who complained that the dresses didn’t even look good on the models’ pin-thin bodies: fashion is not always about looking good.

Let that be the lesson from the week, if there is one at all. And for the record, Mr. Matis, I think your ice queens were gorgeous.

Haux headgear

Post-TV prodigy

Cut-eye from your favourites
*photo by theDavidPike
Miss Moshana Lundstrom as interviewed by yours truly
photo by theDavidPike
Bow-ties and four eyes, fashionably geeking out
Front row favourites
Degrassi darlings

Miss Biffi's dayglo set

Candy-coloured ice cream, from Pat NcDonagh

Let the last drip melt away

Men's fashion week?

Androgyny is in. Call it the Agyness appeal. Marc Jacobs is wearing  skirts, David Beckham is promoting   cosmetics, and Katie Holmes can't seem to stop wearing her husband's  jeans. Aesthetically, we're breaking boundaries, crushing glass ceilings, and ditching our long standing cultural gender dichotomy. 

But gender-bending isn't always as appealing as   David Bowie, champion of both sexes, makes it seem. Take the   menswear line Jean Paul Gaultier showed last week in Paris as an example. Skirts, halters, sequins, and exposed backs pulled together the collection. The  men's collection. But what Gaultier missed is not every man is Marc. And the frat-boy male models with swimmer sized muscles Gaultier chose did nothing but turn the looks into a cruel exercise in irony. 

Perhaps androgyny is a permanent fashion staple and not a passing trend, but Gaultier's over-emphasis on almost cartoonishly feminine clothing seems as dated as the phrase  metrosexual. The lazy reliance on cross dressing is distracting, dull, and unlikely to sell. 

Call me a traditionalist, but I'll take a suit over a skirt every time. Three pieces, please, tweaked with brave subtlety,  Thom Browne style. 

Watch what you wear

A nearly naked Victoria Beckham isn't exactly a sight for sore eyes. But that didn't stop locals from taking offense when Raffi Nernekian wore a t-shirt that pictures the celebrity in nothing but a pair of pumps to a Dubai bakery.

Though the Marc Jacobs charity tee (above) reveals nothing racier than skin covering skin, a man confronted Nernekian about the tee, apparently upset with its graphic, sexualized nature. Nernekian, a Lebanese native, reportedly left the bakery to change out of the offending shirt, but upon return police were waiting.

The 28-year-old, who works as a commercial eastern ambassador for Marc Jacobs and other luxury brands, was charged with offending public decency. He has been tossed in the slammer for a month and will be deported upon release.

If an incriminating tee is cause enough for jail time in Dubai, I'll avoid a visit--last time I wore the Posh grey tee I didn't even bother pulling on pants.

Good luck, Raffi.

The boys about town

Last night on my way out I ran into the guys from Freshly Educated, who have started a bi-weekly men's street style blog in Toronto.

What did I tell them my daily style inspiration? Marc Jacobs for Perry Ellis Spring/Summer 1992, of course. But to be frank, it was really she who had actually bought the sweater, which I unceremoniously raided. Style is all about your friends, period.

A true blue girl

Brittney Townson is a graphic designer, a fashion and culture blogger, and the former front-woman of a hyper stylized (new) new wave act. To me, she's a friend. The force behind Shirk, Townson has been blogging a series of Q&A sessions with her own style icons. This week, we both get to play interviewer and interviewee. First, Brit posted my response to her questions. Today, I'm posting her words.

They are as follows.

If you were a brand, which would you be?

Hm, can Value Village count as one? I guess not, eh? I'M GONNA BREAK THE RULES. I am a cornucopia of fashion styles from all eras and fads all rolled into one. You name it, I've shopped there. I even look for shoes and other accessories in those nasty old chinese dollar stores. I swear there's something cool everywhere as long as you dig deep!

Which would you rather give up, cigarettes or accessories?

Oh dear god. Please don't make me choose. Well, truth be told I actually don't wear that many accessories; I'm a very simple dresser. No earrings, you'll rarely see me wear a necklace, and I'm definitely not a bracelet girl. But I do love my rings. Well, at least accessories won't kill me.

You're interning at Vice, what's that like? Are you ever scared you'll wind up on the DON'T pages?

Vice is great, the people I'm working under are all very nice, funny and pleasant. The building I work in is a great atmosphere as well. Sure, isn't everyone afraid of being a DON'T? But I know that aI think I good when I leave the house, and I don't really give a fuck about anyone else's opinion after that.

Speaking of Vices, what is yours?

Many. Obviously smoking and drinking are two. Making fun of my multicultural friends is another. I kid, it's all in good fun! Becky's brown! But seriously: Mariah Carey. Sex and the City. Staying up until the sun comes up. Gold jewelry. Sale racks. Late night drives. Physical lovin'. Etc.
You also work part-time at American Apparel, has Dov Charney made a pass at you yet? Also, AA is all about basics, what's your favourite basic? And more importantly, can I use your discount?

I haven't had the PLEASURE of meeting Dov in person, but we hear a lot about him. I guess that would be a funny story to share if it happened. Yet, also terrifying. Basics are incredibly important, because like I said, I'm a very simplistic person. It's all about black pencil skirts, because they make any outfit look good. Black tights. Black shoes. And then white tank tops and t's. Everyone needs a good leather jacket, a good blazer, and a great purse that matches their shoes and coat. And a great hair cut; the hair makes the bod that makes the look. Oh, and English pea coats are a must for everyone.

Discount, check.

I've always thought of your look (and personality) as tough-but-sweet. How do you manage this dual look-life?

Haha, that's such a perfect way of putting it! I've never been much of a girly girl; it's something that I've only really discovered in the last three or four years. I used to be this jeans and chucks wearing girl with boyish haircuts. But mixing that with frills, lace, pastels, heels and blush; oh my god, heaven.

By trade, you're a graphic designer. How would you describe your personal design aesthetic?

I've always been an artist; a painter, illustrator, yet always fascinated with fancy fashion magazines and their typography, page layouts, etc. So I basically thought, what's the only sensical way to make money by being an artist these days? Graphic design. My "style", if you could call it that, is simple, bright, and fun. Big, bold typography and cleanliness. See? Simplicity is the way to go.

Celebrity or street style, pick your poison.

Street. Celebrities don't choose their outfits when they hit the red carpet; they have some Hollywood fashion-school graduate do it for them. These kids in Europe and Japan and all over roll out of bed and put together eye-explosions of outfits and go about daily life. It's incredible.

We both blog about our own lives on occasion, but is there anything you won't write about?

Anything too personal. For example, I was dumped by my boyfriend of three and half years today! But you won't see me blogging about that. I doubt some girl checking out my latest vintage purchase gives a flying fuck.

Wow, is it ok that I’m blogging this? You heard it here first: Brittney Townson, a single lady, roaming the web. Moving forward...

Spending so much time on the internet, we often forget fashion exists more in the moment than the photo. Do you have a favourite ensemble that you've worn out to an event this year?

Good question. As usual, I wear way too much black. But I triiieeddd my best a few weeks ago; I wore my black harem pants, hot pink Steve Madden pumps, a mint tube top and my jean jacket. I was happy.

Which season suits your style the best? Are you a spring/summer kind of girl, or more fall/winter?

As I mentioned, I love pea coats. Especially ones with big collars. Everyone looks FEIRCE in those. And leather boots. But I love summer because I can wear my flats and summer dresses again. I guess I like a little bit of every season's style musts. But obviously living in Canada, I'll stick with summer. It's not long enough to even enjoy, yet we spend all of this time prepping for it!

If you were to let me look through your wardrobe and borrow one item, what do you think I would want?

I love your jeans. I love your jackets, and I love your bow ties. Can I borrow all of those?

Whoops, I meant from your wardrobe. And yes, of course. We’ll do a trade.

Design work, last summer

Cigarettes and fur

Sunglasses, scarves, and girl who mostly wears accessories that start with "s"

New hair, every time

The last look

Dark denim days

Three from a set of 300 by the David Pike. More to come, soon.

Summertime Snakeskin.

The boys are back in town. Or, they will be, come May 14. That's the day H&M releases the second shipment of Matthew Williamson's designer collection. And while the flowing florals and peacock prints impressed the likes of Ms. Katy Perry, and made feisty female shoppers predictably fanatic, there was one thing missing from the first shipment: menswear. 

An expression of his own personal look, Williamson's H&M mens collection is one part boho-homo and another M.I.[M]A.[N]. With it's brighter-than-bright colours, loud prints, and indulgent details, the collection looks, well, not unlike the garments H&M regularly rips off designers like Williamson. 

But after Alexander McQueen for Target snubbed menswear, I'll take what I can get. Besides, snakeskin shorts suit is all I need to kick off another summer of Miami Vice. Maybe I'll even pick up a disco-speedo.

The beach? It's that way.