Watching snowflakes and trying to play catch-up

Old Man Winter has moved back into town and brought his chum the North Wind with him this week! What began as a few delicate, minuscule flakes tumbling gracefully to the ashen pavement on Monday has morphed the landscape from one of rusty green grass into a world heavily carpeted with powdery snow. Despite the fiercely howling winds there is embedded tranquility that accompanies the initial (and certainly some of the subsequent) days of true winter weather that I cannot help but cherish.


{A few more inches to go and my husband and I can rush outside like gleeful little kids and try our gloved hands at imitating this adorable vintage couple and their charming snow bunnies. Image via superboma's Flickr stream.}


With the return of snow however, so ends, I hereby say “officially”, whatever semblance of autumn we had – or held onto a pipe dream of ever having. Granted the leaves changed colours, but this year lacked the vibrancy, the mellow warmth, the glistening beauty that autumn is supposed to arrive cloaked in.

Yet no sense in crying over seasons that didn’t come to proper fruition, onwards and upwards, I always like to say! With Christmas so very near, it’s hard to think of any other time of the year (though I couldn’t help but reflect for a moment this morning that tomorrow will mark five months since my birthday – or perhaps more tellingly, seven more until my next), and that suits me just fine. There’s a great deal to be said for living in the moment, whether a special day looms near or not.

To that extent I’m trying to catch up on about a week’s worth of terrifically kind comments that have been left on my most recent posts, by visiting the wonderful blogs of all those who share their thoughts with me here (thus allowing me to blog “in the moment” and try to stay on top of future comments through the second half of this week). I may not get quite through the whole kit and caboodle today, but I’m trying my best – despite the fact that our internet is being rather spotty presently and cutting out continually (which I’m keen to chalk up to the aforementioned barrage of snow and howling winds – but who knows?). I’m glued to my computer at the moment, save for the fact that I’ve got a scrumptious milk chocolate, nutmeg and banana cake baking away in the oven, its intoxicating scent permeating every inch of the apartment. It’s mostly for the mister, but I may nibble a crumb or two myself :)

Wishing you each a gorgeous Wednesday filled with as much serenity as the first snowflakes of winter.

Where have you been all my life, Worn magazine?

Fashion magazines are like peoples’ taste in their mates, sure there's certain common ground that the bulk of us strive to find, but ultimately it is the uniqueness of an individual, or a fashion mag, that draws us to it beyond the initial infatuation stage.

For many years now I’ve test drive magazines of all sorts, a good chunk of which centred around the fashion universe. Though there are a couple of glossies I subscribe to year round, the majority of magazines that cross my threshold do so on a trial basis. As in love, once burned, doubly cautious.

Having scrutinized my taste in magazines rather meticulously – and having brought home copies, at one point or another, of most fashion spreads that the North American market has to offer – I’ve come to understand what it is that I want, and expect, from a fashion publication.

Ideally I long for glossies that neither assume I’m a jet-set millionaire or a fashion idiot who wouldn’t know toile from tulle. I prefer fashion mags to centre around fashion (as opposed to, say, scores of pages of useless celebrity gossip or reams on the latest “It Diet”), a concept that I think fewer and fewer publications are staying in touch with. I like a magazine to feature real women in addition to the usual slew of lithe, taller than a giraffe models. I’m 5’2” and a curve bedecked hourglass with a petite frame, I have never, and will never, feel like I can see myself in something a magazine is promoting if the woman wearing it looks like Barbie after five hours on a medieval rack.

I like a hearty dose of imagery and intelligently written articles on a broad range of topics that actually relate to the kind of clothing that I wear and/or love, and a magazine that’s not afraid to find its own voice (and though this should go without saying, spell checking is an absolute must! Now I don’t claim that my writing is typo free, but there’s a substantial difference between being a one woman blogging show and a nationally syndicated magazine with a whole staff behind it – Nylon, I’m looking at you in particular when I mention this point). Creativity is a must, and diversity throughout an issue is a big plus.

My criteria is not impossible to fulfill, though the market is not exactly heavily saturated with publications that met my fashion magazine expectations. A couple of beloved titles aside, it seems that the hunt for further glossies to inspire my sartorial tastes is an ongoing adventure. It was with great excitement then I recently read a copy of a heretofore unknown to me Canadian fashion magazine by the name of Worn.

Published biannually out of Toronto, this independent publication, while not the largest (in terms of page numbers) of spreads, is by far one of the finest I’ve ever encountered. To say that Worn is nothing short of a breath of fresh air in a world of chain smoking fashion magazines would scarcely be doing it justice.
While issue number nine is the first I’ve had the pleasure of reading, if those that proceeded it and those that lay in store are to be judged on the same merits, Worn may be one of the few fashion magazines that I’ve ever fallen in love with after reading just one copy.


{Worn’s ninth issue sports one of their very own, Kate the copy editor (who did a marvellous job with this edition, may I add) on the cover.}


Worn, which bills itself as a “fashion journal”, feels just like that. Refreshingly its pages are not comprised mainly of ads, nor is it filled with the same sort of articles we’ve all read elsewhere about seven thousand times this year alone. In this edition many of the topics covered have a decidedly vintage feel to them that would make Worn a welcome read for anyone with a passion for old school style.

From an interview with renowned fashion collector, expert, author and museum curator hopeful Jonathan Walford (and his partner in vintage fashion collecting Kenn Norman), whose book Fashion Forties takes pride of place on my vintage related bookshelf, to a frank and excellently written piece on the legendary Italian muse (and all around wildly eccentric fashionista of yesteryear) Marchesa Luisa Casati, the fascinating articles in this edition of Worn ensured that I consumed it cover-to-cover in one sitting.

I did not rush through my time with this publication in the slightest though, instead I savoured each one of its 44 pages, adoring the fact that Worn spoke not only about vintage fashion, but also featured real world models, mentioned (and shot some of their images in) Toronto, and left me truly wanting more. Though 44 pages may not sound like much in a world of Vogue and Harpers Bazaar behemoth sized glossies, I gleamed more enjoyment from those well crafted and beautifully presented (nearly ad free) pages than I have from all the fashion magazines I’ve read in 2009 combined – hands down.

Worn is the kind of magazine you wish was published as frequently as the daily newspaper. While the paper version itself does only come out twice a year, those like myself who instantly find they’re craving more of all the insightful, fascinating goodness Worn has to offer can get their fix from the magazine’s frequently updated blog.

I fully believe in promoting both indie designers and indie publications, and so wanted to share my first encounter with Worn with you, my readers – especially since the current edition covers a broad array of vintage fashion related topics. I sincerely plan to keep on reading Worn and am definitely going to grab a subscription for myself. After a year of dismally lacklustre fashion magazines and the articles they housed (if I see one more piece toting the merits of boyfriend jeans and leather-look leggings I’m going to start throwing vintage shoes at the mainstream mags), Worn has given me a publication to eagerly look forward to reading in 2010.

If you’re interested in trying Worn out for a spin yourself, copies can be obtained from their website and etsy shop, as well small selection of online retailers and better bookstores across North America and abroad.

Thank you, Worn, for creating the sort of insightful, relevant, enjoyable fashion magazine I’m proud to leave out on my coffee table, happily rereading with gusto until your next stellar edition appears and I can fall even more in love with you!

What I wore to my first night at the opera

Towards the end of October my husband chanced up a wonderful programme (called Opera for a New Age) that’s in place from the Canadian Opera Company and The Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts in Toronto, which allows patrons under the age of thirty to purchase opera tickets at a deeply discounted rate. The idea behind this marvelous programme being that it helps to open up (more costly) events like attending an opera to Toronto’s youth. (They only release a select number of seats per show though, so you have to snap up these bargain rate tickets quickly.)

Having long dreamed of attending an opera, we both jumped at this fantastic opportunity and purchased a pair of tickets to a newly opened performance called “The Nightingale and Other Short Fables” by Igor Stravinsky. The show, which was delightfully experimental, proved to be a very unique foray into the world of opera.

Set against a backdrop of orchestral music and Russian songs, this two act, three part performance veered away from what many would think of as “traditional opera”. The two scenes composing the first act employed highly skilled shadow work (one used hand puppets, the other human silhouettes behind a curtain) and acted out various (short) Russian folk stories. The second act saw a portion of the orchestra pit flooded with water so that puppeteers along with intricately designed puppets could to turn the viscous black surface of the water into an almost transcendent stage upon which to tell the a fairytale-like story about a Chinese Emperor and a nightingale.

I am however, jumping ahead of myself here though! As soon as I knew I would be attending an opera, my first question was: what’s the dress code? After a bit of online sleuthing (the Centre’s site didn’t seem to talk about this point),for better or worse (depending on your personal feelings surrounding formal evening gowns and tuxedos – I love them dearly myself), we determined that the dress code seemed to be what I’d describe as "casual formal". While that might sound like an oxymoron, it in fact encompasses a certain style of dress that allows for everything from suits (for the gents) to cocktail dresses, business suits, skirts of varying lengths and other evening appropriate wear for ladies.

Having never dressed for the opera before, I debated my choice of outfit carefully before the big night arrived. I sidestepped an overtly vintage look, though not intentionally per se. I don’t own many “opera worthy” pieces and so turned to a classic black jersey frock that I felt would ensure I looked neither under or over dressed. In the mood for a smoky eye, I draped my lids in shades of grey and black, which I paired with a red lip (I wear red lips a good 75% of the time, it’s by far the lipstick shade I feel most comfortable in). I wore my hair (which is now at least three inches shorter than it appears in the photos below since I got it cut last week) down, pulling the centre front part back, but leaving the sides free to flow over my shoulders naturally.

My choice of garb for the evening proved to be spot on. Though the majority of the crowd at this particular event was older than my husband and I, I felt instantly at ease with what I was wearing and blended well into the crowd of elegantly dressed, often distinguished looking women and men who shared in the performance with us that night.

Before we headed out to catch the subway downtown, I asked my husband to take a few photographs of my outfit, knowing that many years down the road – and hopefully having scores of operas under my belt by that point – I would want to recall with absolute clarity what I wore to my first opera. Spurred on by the incredibly kind and encouraging feedback I received regarding my Halloween outfit photos, I wanted to share these snaps with you all.







Outfit details:

-Silver tone and pale sky blue plastic crystal earrings: bought from a mall in Dublin when I lived in Ireland, honestly not sure what store they came from (other little stud earrings worn in holes above bottom hoop earrings, also from Claire's)
-Light blue lace camisole: FashionMax
-Black jersey dress: FashionMax
-Black double brass buckle belt: Forever 21
-Black nylons with tiny white polka dots: From eBay a couple of years ago, no label
-Black round toed, faux suede pumps: Wal-Mart
-Lip colour: CoverGirl Outlast Lipstain in #440, over Annabelle lip liner in #205 “cherry”


Attending my inaugural opera was a truly wonderful experience – however the week got even more amazing, for on the Friday (of that same week), we attended a second performance (as my husband just happened to log onto the Canadian Opera Company’s site shortly after they released a new batch of seats to a different opera later in the week). What show was on the bill you may ask? Why none other than the romantic, though (in true opera form) tragic, tale of Madame Butterfly. But the story of that night, my dears, and the photos of what I wore (hint, think more of a 50s style look) to my second opera, are for another post... :)

The incredible joy of time spent with family

What an amazing past few days I’ve just had. Busy, but sublime. Memorable and deeply rejuvenating. My parents flew in on the 28th (of May) and visited for about a week with my husband and I (it’s the first time we’ve been able to get together in almost two and a half years). Though we spent each day with one another, filling the hours with sightseeing, home-cooked meals around the table, and many wonderful conversations, it feels as though their trip passed in the instantaneous blink of an eye. It seems no sooner was I hugging my mom and step-dad hello, then I was fighting back the tears as I embraced them good-bye.

I come from a small, broken (as in my biological parents divorced) family, and my relatives all live on the other side of the country, so time spent together is a rare and precious gift.

There are many daily stresses in my life, worries and concerns, those sorts of nagging thoughts that keep you up in the wee hours on the night sometimes, yet for a few brief days, in the light of my mother’s timeless smile I was able to sweep them out of my mind and reconnect with the simple act of having carefree fun and being in the presence of loved ones. During their visit my health held up surprising well and we were able to visit a number of interesting destinations around Toronto such as Black Creek Pioneer Village, the CN Tower, and Centreville Island, each of which I’d never been to before. Though they were technically the ones on vacation, it felt as though they were giving my husband and I a holiday as well.


{Darling husband and I on the ferry to Centreville Island. Despite the cheery sunshine there was a bitingly cold wind that was turning our cheeks and noses pink. Still it was so enjoyable to be on a ferry for the first time since I was 14!}


{Here hubby and I gaze out at downtown Toronto and the CN Tower from the shores of Centreville Island.}


{In this shot I'm admiring a lovely doll house that was on display in the foyer of the welcome centre at Black Creek Pioneer Village. Though this was a modern doll house, it was somewhat done up to resemble the Victorian homes that dot this charming historical site.}


{And here we have the back of my head ;D Or to be more detailed, a shot of me gazing out from the observation deck of the CN Tower as I scan the city looking for our apartment.}


{The little redhead on the left is me, the stunning blond in the middle is my mother, and the chap at the end is a statue of Canadian pianist Glenn Gould. This bench is located in downtown Toronto near the CBC building.}


{My mom was snapping photos of my cat, Stella, on our bed, and decided to turn the lens on me when Stella jumped off. This picture was taken on the afternoon of the last day of my parents trip. I can see a bit of fatigue in my face, but there is something about this shot - despite the dusty soles of my bare feet - that I genuinely like, which is a very rare thing for me to say regarding photos of myself.}

{All of the photos above were taken by either my mom or my step-dad during late May and early June 2009. I cherish them and the many others now saved on my hard drive. Thank you both for taking just as many family snaps these days as when I was a youngster. The memories they preserve are utterly priceless.}


Only time will tell when the four of us will be able to get together once more, but even without an exact date, I’m already counting down the days. Cherished relatives are too dear, too important, and too vital to not want to spend time with.

I’m afraid that the all this recent activity caught up with me yesterday though and now I’m a bit run down. That doesn’t matter though, I’m still abuzz with the wonderful feelings these past few days have filled my soul with, my head too full of bliss to mind if my body needs a while to recoup.

Tonight in the wee AM hours I’ve been responding to the awesome comments that have recently been left here, and have begun to catch up (slowly) on about two weeks worth of blog feeds. I hope that you are each well and would love to know how you’ve spent your days lately and what elements have been bringing joy into your lives.