Toronto
2 min

Scene and be seen

Want to broaden your hedonistic horizons? Why not journey with a clothes horse as he gallops around Toronto. In this town, it seems, clothes make the men who make the scene. Nothin’ like a new look to get you out the door and into some serious play.







There’s always a relationship between music, fashion and attitude. I dress depending on my moods; the fundamentals of my style are found in the wildly different types of music I listen to.



So here are the looks that get looks (and sometimes more!) night after night.





Monday night

“Martini or beer,” I ask myself while getting ready to go out. Suddenly, I hear Lenny Kravitz doing a cover of “American Woman” on the radio. Ding. Ding. Ding. That’s it!

I’ll put on my best Northbound Leather pants (flared and retro fit), engineer boots, my little brother’s white tank top (very tight), a Confederate flag bandanna, my feather and leather choker, black bone-straight hair, very smoky eyes.



Let’s see, hmmm? Very Gucci, very Cher circa ’74.



What’s missing? Aha! Leather cuffs and a 10-gallon Stetson hat.



I’m ready to go to the Phoenix (410 Sherbourne St). Monday nights is Strange Paradise with Joanne Wilder of Q-107. They play new rock and classic bell bottom rock… yeah!

While standing at the bar, a really cute “rubbie” (as in rich, urban biker, a dilettante weekend road warrior with outlaw aspirations and money to burn) asks if he could buy me a drink.



“Of course. I’ll have a Bud, please.”



Five minutes later, he comes back with a beer and a glass. “I drink from the bottle.” He smiles and asks for my name. “Sadie. Sexy Sadie,” I reply with a wink.



As for the rest of the night – it’s a secret.



Wednesday night

Tonight I spend my rent money.



Sky blue, tight, Vivienne Westwood shirt, stretch dark denim Capri pants from Betsey Johnson, white fisherman’s hat from Kangol, white belt and my baby blue and navy sneakers from Candies…. I smell a “candy raver” surfacing.



I look in a full length mirror and say: “Hi, I’m Cindy. I’m 18 years old… Ha.”



I see myself with braided pig tails, cool blue eye shadow, rosy cheeks, pale lips (lots of lip gloss from Mac)… tres cool.



What’s missing? Aha. My Winnie-the-Pooh knapsack.



Okay, it’s Wednesday night’s Pure at Limelight with DJ John E spinning progressive and classic house. After a few hours of dancing and perspiring, I haul my derrière to the washroom for some touch-ups and suddenly I feel like I’m in a Amy Heckerling movie.

I see a friend and say hello to this jaded queen. “Girrrl! Aren’t you a little too big for 16?” she jokes.



“You know people like you shouldn’t be out in the night,” I reply. Back to the dance floor.



How dare she! But let’s see her pull a candy raver look… I rest my case.



Saturday night

I feel like getting down and dirty. I just bought Gap khaki, low-waist, hip-hugging, very cool pants. The TV ad inspired me – oh, my “khaki soul.” So I run to my beau’s place and secretly put on his Khaki cargo pants and his Destroy clunky army boots

I’m seeing Tank Girl, with my army green halter top and utility belt. Stringy, over processed hair.



I think it’s Industry (901 King St W), for this post-modern chick. I’ve got my super model armor.



What else do I need? I grab the phone: “Hey Izzy, yeah, I’m going to Industry tonight. Sure, I’ll see you there. Same spot okay? Do I? Maybe two…. make that three. Okay, make sure you’re there. No worries, I’ve already put us on the list. Ciao amore.”



“You know, when I’m good, I am good. But when I’m bad, I’m goddam better.”



Clothing really makes the man – with a side-order of potent potables, the right attitude and a bitchin’ DJ.