FASHION Magazine

By Kate MacLennan

Deafened by persistent rumours that Chanel, Vuitton and other luxe labels are scouting for the perfect locations from which to provide Albertans with their divine indulgences—and flummoxed by the fact Calgary got Sephora and H&M before Vancouver—I recently hopped a WestJet flight and made my way to Calgary for 48 hours of investigative journalism.

Outdoor café. Lauren and Jason are lunching and laughing, but as usual, the good times last about 30 seconds before Jason screws things up.

By Kate MacLennan

Almost a decade ago, back when I was but a fashion kitten (not a full-blown fashion feline), I made the gross miscalculation of wearing a vintage Roots T-shirt whilst strolling through Sydney’s Paddington Market on a trip to Australia. There was nothing wrong with the shirt in and of itself—I even thought I looked pretty cute having paired it with denim capris (which were just gaining popularity then).

So I barely make my flight yesterday afternoon to New York, only to find out when I arrive at LaGuardia airport that my luggage didn’t make the one hour non-stop flight with me from Toronto. I tell myself to stay calm and think fast. It is 4:55 and I have an interview set up with Gwen Stefani for L.A.M.B. in two hours. Anyone who knows me knows that, post 9/11, I wear tracks and flip flops to the airport to ensure a seamless dance with U.S. Customs and Immigration. I have nothing else with me and I am told that the bag containing all my armour to face the fashionistas at Bryant Park will be arriving at my apartment around midnight just in time for bed.

Into each and every fashionably frenzied life, there comes a time to recharge the Energizer Bunny batteries. A time to find inner Zen, not the closest H&M. A time to acquire more chi than Gucci.

Recently, between drowning in work deadlines and tossing out a life preserver to save my sinking Visa (the summer sales had turned me into a trend-driven Tasmanian devil), I decided it was time to breathe and reboot on a stylish summer vacation. Unfortunately, the closest thing I had to the smell of sea air was the Michael Kors Island fragrance wafting over from our beauty department. But with my mind wandering from Mainbocher to Maine, and with no immediate getaway appearing in my crystal ball, the question was raised: In the summer, what is a city girl to do? The answer: Find a higher power, or rather tower. Destination: The Four Seasons Hotel’s rooftop pool for a little stylish summer sizzlin’.

When Charles Dickens wrote, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” he must have been referring to the weeks leading up to the holiday season. A frazzled yet fabulous time filled with eggnog, Amex bills and excess.

So naturally, what happened while riding the subway last week (while visions of Holt Renfrew danced in my head) came as a great surprise–a divine intervention. Pasted above an ad for a shopping mall, I noticed a sticker that read, “Consumption does not fill the void.” And suddenly, standing there with my parcels (a haute hostess prezzie and a fab new pair of bejewelled strappies to deck the halls in), I wondered: When did consumption begin to consume us?

In light of Toronto’s recent mayoral election–for which I dutifully cast my vote while doing a modern-day spin of Jackie O: a pink cropped wool jacket with 3/4-length sleeves, oversized sunglasses, pearls and a pair of skinny jeans–I have been thinking a great deal about polls, platform statements and promises.