Column: New York State of Mind


Today was one of those days of uneventful doings: I woke up at 3:39 p.m., bought an overpriced frappucino at Starbucks and one per cent milk, and returned home. The weather, being Toronto et all, was also quite uneventful: slight overcast, about 20 degrees Celsius, warm wind.

But the feeling I often get, which is also often associated with this kind of weather, is anything but.

One can call it an illness or just obsessive love (it’s an illness) but sometimes, just sometimes, I’ll find myself in a New York state of mind. Not just in a poetic sense but literally. I’ll look at the freshly-blossomed trees outside a concreted crumbling building and I’ll, just for a second, forget that I’m in Toronto. I often say I can’t explain this feeling but I’m going to try here.

Specific images, whether it be trees, cabbies yelling out the window of their cars, or tall slender woman smoking and walking at the same time, will trigger it. My soul (heart? weight of my shoulders?) will suddenly feel lifted, my thoughts will go blank, and I’ll be in New York. I know that I’m still in Toronto, of course, but I guess for a second I will choose to be in New York.

Is there a treatment for this illness? I can move to New York, for one, but that seems a highly impractical solution given I have two years of school left. I can do a quick getaway to New York, but that will only delay the symptoms, like a sleeping pill or morphine. I can try and ignore these bursts of ‘self-removal’ but why would I want to? In fact, I wouldn’t even call this weird thing an illness but a coping mechanism – a way to deal with being away from the one place I shouldn’t be away from.

I know. I should see a doctor, right?

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Column: Style and Its Effects

– Image via Jak & Jil

Part out of laziness and part out of style fatigue, I decided to step out in jeans and a t-shirt today. And I’m not talking designer jeans with a splashy-printed tee, no, I’m talking worn-in jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt; self-dressing in the simplest form.

While I shouldn’t care about what other people think of my outfit, I was kind of curious as to how people would react to my untypical ‘pedestrian’ outfit (yep, I said it). So I observed. Not only did people not really notice me, a refreshing change from the stares I usually get on a daily basis — either because I’m tall or my outfit is weird or people are just essentially rude — but they seemed overall nicer too. Is that weird? I literally felt like strangers smiled at me more and even talked to me more.

Maybe I looked more approachable. Or maybe I looked so drab that people took pity on me. Either or, it’s clear the way you dress certainly has an impact on those around you. It has an impact on yourself, too – unfashion-y clothes allow for not having to fuss or worry about your shirt getting dirty or wrinkled. You end up just walking, and living.

But I think I’ll stick to the stay-away clothes I currently have in my closet. Because that’s why we vacation right? I’d rather stay stressed (but happy) and unspoken to until the next holiday.

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Column: The Four Burner Theory

As I grow up in (or into?) life and experience different levels of successes and/or failures, I’m beginning to wonder if one can truly ‘have it all.’ With a career comes a blow to your social life, with personal happiness comes unemployment, with bad health comes closer family ties. Can we truly have a great job, great friends, great family, and great health in a world that, often, guarantees none of the above?

According to this essay by David Sedaris in The New Yorker, we can’t.

Although the article is from 2009 (I know, so old it’s practically dead!) I think it applies to me, right here, right now. In the article, Sedaris’ friend suggests a four-burner theory of sorts, suggesting “‘One burner represents your family, one is your friends, the third is your health, and the fourth is your work’… The gist, she said, was that in order to be successful you have to cut off one of your burners. And in order to be really successful you have to cut off two.”

So does success really only come in twos, like a couple or good pair of shoes? The answer is blurred, but seems likely. When I think to my life, I do often only experience two of the four when I seem to be doing really ‘well’. Love my job and have a great social life? My parents probably worry that I’m overworked, and I probably am. Enjoying my freedom while reconnecting with family back up North? I’m most likely unemployed, and unhealthy (read: eating too much). Healthy and loving my job? I’m working 24/7 and have no time for family nor friends.

I don’t know if it’s possible or not to achieve all four, I certainly haven’t achieved that yet, but even if we are – are we really? Or is what we perceive as ‘perfectly happy’ in all four areas just what we have accepted as ‘perfectly happy?’ Is our social life really that engaging, or do our one-hour dinners of meaningless conversation actually mean nothing? And is our health really in tip-top shape, or are we brushing off symptoms (like headaches or fatigue) as normal? Again, unknown, but food for thought. Success surely must come at the sacrifice of something, though. It has to.

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Thought: Success

People, by nature, don’t like it when others succeed. Admit it; I’ll admit it; let’s all admit it. Whenever we hear good news or opportunities that come about for someone, no matter how happy we are about it, we secretly wish they were happening to us. I don’t know why we do it but we do. We don’t feel happy for them, but sad for ourselves. And if you’re lucky enough to surround yourself with people who don’t get green with envy, who genuinely support you and are proud of your accomplishments, don’t ever let them go. Because they are the minority in today’s world. Just thought you should know that.

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Fashion Meltdown: A Soliloquy On Dressing

[He stands centerstage left, under spotlight, by a hilariously large closet] I woke up this morning and just hated everything. All of it. I opened the door, stood there, and could not, for the life of me, bring myself to smile at any or every piece of clothing in my closet. They should make pills for this sort of thing. And it’s not like I wasn’t in good company; boy was I ever – fashion friends included Alexander McQueen, 3.1 Phillip Lim, Acne Studios, Surface to Air. Shit, even some Topman was thrown into the mix. But nothing. I felt nothing. My heart felt as cold as the tinge of my now-lifeless red Rag & Bone polo, which I had obsessed over just a few months prior. My smile as limp as that worn-out grey Balmain t-shirt, which I shelled out far too much money for just last summer. My Marc Jacobs army green trousers now, just, trousers. Dressing has become a chore now, man, a goddamn Joe Job with little to no pay. In fact, it eats up your pay. All of it. You pay to be a part of this sadistic torture. I’ve become a… a… a victim to this ruthless consumerism. I’ve turned into a capitalistic, self-centered, Club Monaco-wearing consumer. And you know what? My life, now, is nothing but a vicious cycle of buying, wearing, and loathing – that’s what it is! Mostly loathing, mind you, but yeah! [He slowly moves to centerstage center, the spotlight follows] And living in Toronto doesn’t appreciate the situation either, being constantly surrounded by stores and fashionistas/os and billboards and all. All the enticements. They get to you. They speak to you, to me. They say buy me or nobody will love you. They fuck with your mind, I tell you, and your Visa card – so I do. I buy. Boy do I buy. I should own a cowboy hat or boot just to survive this Wild, Wild West city we call ‘Toronto’ – these are the trenches of fashion. The Great Depression of a Dior Homme-less closet. [He arrives at centerstage center, spotlight on him] Well, enough complaining, I gotta get to my Shopaholics Anonymous meeting in 15 minutes. Bogus, really. Court ordered. [Long sigh] I guess I’ll just have to succumb to the deep despairs of my morning (or mourning) routine, yet again, and pick something out. What shall today’s drabtastic outfit be? Theory? Shall I go the way of Opening Ceremony x Rodarte? Go like a weasel and slap on some Diesel? [Sudden realization] I know! I’ll stop by the Bay on my way to the meeting – just to browse, of course – and see if anything is on sale in their contemporary space. Maybe some Flippa K will be dirt cheap, or that Simon Spurr jacket I’ve been eyeing. Or Klaxon Howl! Of course, that is what I said last time… when I ended up buying that $90 t-shirt … which, now, naturally, just looks like any ol’ regular t-shirt buried on the bottom shelf … with the tags still attached … hidden in shame and embarrassment from my roommate … I should probably just return it, actually … but that’s such a hassle… and it’s so pretty…  I’ll wear it soon… [fade to black].

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Thought: Laughter

Today I got sad while listening to Amy Winehouse. Which made me think, I can’t even remember the last time I laughed and truly meant it – is that sad/pathetic? It’s easy to make me chuckle, but a good laugh, a good laugh is hard to come by these days. Maybe things just aren’t as funny as they used to be. Or maybe I’ve lost all sense of a sense of humour. One of the two. Either or, all I know is somebody better fall down or say something funny soon, otherwise I may go all Medusa on your ass and turn somebody to stone soon. On second thought I did laugh recently – I laughed when I jumped on the trampoline during easter weekend, after much coaxing from cousins. I laughed because I realized what the hell I was doing/was about to break a hip/I don’t do ‘fun’ games. Do you ever play with kids and then go inside and try and have an adult conversation? It’s hard – you kind of lose all sense of maturity for a bit. I guess that’s funny too – somewhere along the lines you forget to be a kid and get caught up in adult-y ‘important’ things. Well, as of now, 2012 will be the year of fun – of trampoline jumping, outdoor running, soccer playing fun. Yes I’m (half) serious.

This is the sad song, guys.

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Column: Misconceptions of Aboriginal Culture


I’m Aboriginal.

And although I may not look it, I was graced with my dad’s french-italian skin colour, a lot of people see my Aboriginal background as a narrow number of things; a cultural signifier that strictly defines me and my background. People are scared to ask questions about my culture, and are of course intrigued and confused by it, but rarely make any effort to try and fully understand it.

I would like to start out by saying I do not and my family does not live in teepees. I don’t understand how this question can even be asked in the year 2012. We have heard of houses, you know; of cable television and central air conditioning (although, the way funding has been allocated to reserves, I doubt many have been able to afford the luxury.) We do have flooring; we do not hunt our food every single day; and we do recycle, but not because we have to out of spirituality. We do it because we fucking care about the world we live, much like you, yeah?

Number two: yes my university education is paid for. No, it is not ‘free’ – the most offensive thing you can say to me on any given day. On a fiscal sense, yes, my education is ‘free,’ but do you know exactly why it is free? Did you know that one of Canada’s biggest uh-ohs in terms of our history was forcing Aboriginal children into residential schools in the 19th century, dominating them into white culture and abusing them verbally, physically, emotionally, and sexually? Did you know that it took the government 60+ years to apologize for it? And do you know that Aboriginal cultures are still, to this day, segregated into poorly-run reserves, where schooling is so under-funded that the majority of students don’t even qualify for post-secondary education? So yes, my education is free, but in making up for our horrible history it is nowhere near enough.

And don’t every say we need to ‘get over it’ – that funding should be ‘cut’ in order to focus money on more ‘important issues.’ Just, don’t ever say that in my presence. Do yourself a favour there.

Also noteworthy: I don’t drink! Sure, a glass of wine here and a scotch there, but socially. Not pathologically. I do not have a problem, we do not all have a drinking problem – we aren’t all members of the AA. Those ‘drunk natives’ you see on the street, do you ever wonder why they are the way they are? Maybe they’ve grown up in poor conditions and have not been able to support themselves, thus turning a dark leaf in their life not because of choice but because of circumstance. If you grew up in a place where your school couldn’t even afford heating or electricity, I’m pretty sure your future wouldn’t look so bright either. It’s easy to lose hope, as many do.

These are just a few of the joyous things I hear from day-to-day; I’ve gotten people ask me to use my status card for a shopping discount, if long hair is required for our culture, if white people are allowed onto reserves. No, no, and yes. In fact – I recommend you visit a reserve from time to time, then maybe you could see what third world conditions Aboriginal people truly live in. Then, just maybe, you’ll understand why we get ‘free’ education or ‘drink a lot.’ Wouldn’t you?

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Opinion: Has Style Lost Its Soul?

Fashion Then vs. Fashion Now: Has Style Lost Its Soul?

In the 1960s, fashion ignited its first true spark of rebellion and innovation. Social changes were sweeping the nation, both political and apolitical; youth culture was on the incline; designers began exploring more daring and bolder fashion choices – all of which pointed to a more demanding and thrill-seeking consumer audience than ever before….

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