DRI E The $ 8 c a n / US
Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com *
fa s h i o n * t r a v e l * a u t o m o
life.in.motion
m e n ’s l i f e s t y l e
H t Issue Summer
styles
Nautical by nature
Heiress Socialite
Lydia superm del
Hearst New short fiction by
Pontypool’s Tony Burgess
The Prius is right Third gen’s the charm
Contents
42 44
The Hot issue
34 DEPECHE MODEL
Award-winning supermodel Lydia Hearst thrives in the fast lane. LYNN CROSBIE watches the fashionista, socialite and former New York Post columnist walking the (cat)walk—and wonders how she stays balanced, given the pressures of being heiress to the publishing fortune of Citizen Kane’s inspiration, being the daughter of the woman who was defined by a kidnapping, and being named “Best International Supermodel” at the 2008 Glamour Awards. Just don’t lump her in with Paris H. From Lydia’s column, August 10/2008: “I am a supermodel and I have the award to prove it. Paris Hilton is a celebrity. There’s no comparison.”
58 A PRIUS ABOVE RUBIES 34 On the cover LYDIA HEARST Photography Nicolas Wagner Styling Luke Langsdale Hair Eloise Cheung, courtesy of Next (nextmodels.com) Makeup David Tibolla, courtesy of Next (nextmodels.com) Location Brooklyn, NY loft/studio, courtesy of Shadrach Lindo TOYOTA PRIUS Photography Bill Petro LYDIA HEARST WEARS Cover Tights Trasparenze Above Silk Tank Alexander Wang, Lingerie “Kathleen” by Agent Provocateur, Shoes Christian Louboutin, Cut down tights Trasparenze fashion p42 ON Women Clockwise from left: Swimsuit Agent Provocateur, Glasses Sean Jean; Swimsuit OndadeMar, Glasses Fendi; Swimsuit OndadeMar, Glasses Zanzan; Swimsuit Hermès, Glasses Zanzan On Him Shirt Folk, Tie Folk woven signal tie, Belt woven Folk, Shorts Façonnable, Vest Mustang Survival life vest, Glasses Zanzan, Jacket Polo Ralph Lauren bleaker jacket; Location The Island at the RCYC
DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
The third generation of the car built with future generations in mind has plenty to offer today’s drivers. MARK HACKING rolls (silently) with Toyota’s 2010 Prius, and finds that the high-tech, low-emissions marvel is now, finally, fun to drive.
31 MORE THAN WORDS
Why has the generation gap become a Generation Lap? When did Cooltural institutions start implementing Responsibiz strategies? Who are the E-fluentials? Does text messaging have anything to do with all of these buzzwords? (No.) MARK MOYES finds that modern marketing terminology is arguably all talk.
Features 42 SMOOTH SAILING
Shot on location by MATTHEW STYLIANOU at Toronto’s Royal Canadian Yacht Club, summer styles that are decidedly ship-shapely
38 FICTION EXCLUSIVE
“Irreplaceable,” by TONY BURGESS
50 ICE’S NICE PRICE
Once among the world’s most expensive tourist destinations, Iceland could really use the traffic. We greenlit MARCUS TAMM, who reports that luxury is luxury, even if it’s an admittedly great deal
“Smooth sailing” fashion photo by Matthew Stylianou
Contents
62
20 17
54
Departments 17 Personality
Toronto Blue Jays manager Cito Gaston
25 Sport
The new Titleist Pro V1: Did the best actually just get better?
22 Food
Chacun son gras: fat for thought
24 Drink
Spicy summer cocktails. Don’t beat the heat—drink it
28 Flash
Fine art and finer wine: alternative investing offers the right touch of class
10 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
Automotive 20 Watches
Chimes with orange
18 Look
Less a case of “G.I. Joe” than “Camp David”
26 Play
Are iPhone apps signalling “Game over” for the PSP and Nintendo DS?
54 56 59
62 Graphique
Exclusive: a full-page teaser for Victor Santos & Brian Azzarello’s crime graphic novel, Filthy Rich
2010 Mercedes-Benz E-Class sedan
New web-exclusive features every issue, new content every weekday
>>
Kate Beckinsale The alluring Brit breaks the ice about her role as a resolute US Marshal in the upcoming Antarctic thriller, Whiteout
>>
2009 Aston Martin DBS Volante London is roughly 600 km from Le Mans. The new Aston Martin DBS Volante does 300 km/h. The math does itself
>>
South beach Babylon Inhibitions be damned—Miami summers are made for open shirts, rich desserts, and jellyfish alerts. DRIVEN visits southernmost South Beach for one hot weekend
>>
I’m with the banned What do a Dutch xenophobe, a homophobic Jamaican music star and Bob Rae have in common? Each has been declared unwelcome by a national government. A look at the pros and cons of simply locking out your political problems
61 Buyer’s Market Style guide for July
2009 Lamborghini Gallardo LP 560-4 Spyder
DRIVENmag.com
29 Personality
Climate-change philosopher Dr. Dale Jamieson
2010 Jaguar XKR and XFR
Cito Gaston photo by Leanna Gosse; Filthy Rich girl, by Victor Santos; watches, by Robert Watson
From the Editor HOT CROSS-PURPOSES There was some debate among the DRIVEN editorial staff over the fact that the current issue of the magazine does not contain the admittedly popular Sex column. Seeing as we called this one the “Hot” issue. Blame me for that. I run a (mostly) democratic office. The brackets indicate my publisher-given right to arbitrary veto power—for the greater good of the brand, of course, with that fabled “big picture” in mind. If you’ll tolerate an irresistible double entendre: There were two reasons behind my decision to skip Sex this month. First, it occurred to me that an exclusive photoshoot with title-holding “Best International Supermodel” Lydia Hearst would surely constitute the visual equivalent of the department in question. As you’ll see, the Hearst photos speak—write?—for themselves: at 1,000 words per (classically measured), I’d estimate that any number of Sex columns are deftly dispatched in that feature. For her part, and for the record,
the lady disdains Sports Illustrated “swimsuit” packages and ‘lad’s mag’ covers. Hearst is all for sexiness, mind; she just wants—demands—sophistication, class. Hence her fairly saucy, yet indisputably sophisticated and classy, headline-grabbing photoshoots for European editions of magazines such as GQ and Playboy. And now her shoot for this issue of DRIVEN. Back to the main debate. Sex is a front-of-book department. The better part of 20 such departments comprise DRIVEN’s roster; some ten of them appear in any given issue, while the rest go into rotation. The idea there is to keep the editorial package fresh but familiar. That being said, the Sex column has been a constant in this publication for almost a full year now. (Shocker: men’s lifestyle magazine exhibits inordinate fascination with sex.) So, a breather. Popular wisdom says you’ll like it more, later, for missing it, now. Let me know how that works for you. -GARY BUTLER
It bears mentioning, not with a little pride, that DRIVEN’s December 2008 issue recently won two awards of distinction. “Prêt à parcour,” an eight-page fashion shoot that was literally off-the-wall, took Gold in the highly competitive “Fashion & Beauty” category at the Canadian National Magazine Awards ( June 2009), and our untitled series of nine fake ads was
a winner in the “Editorial photography” category for Applied Arts’ Photography Annual (May 2009). I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone involved in the creation of these ambitious, imaginative features, notably their inspired photographers, Mark Zibert (Parcour) and Lee Towndrow (Ads).
Canadian National Magazine Awards (June 2009)
Applied Arts’ annual photography awards (May 2009)
12 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
Editor’s photo by Richard Sibbald; styling by Luke Langsdale, suit and shirt by Hugo Boss
contributors
DRIVEN: life.in.motion Editor-in-chief Gary Butler Creative director Kelly Kirkpatrick Managing editor Mark Moyes Assistant editor Eric Grant Automotive Mark Hacking Fashion Luke Langsdale Fiction Nathan Whitlock Editor at large Zach Feldberg
NICOLAS WAGNER Though born in France, New York–based celebrity and fashion photographer Nicolas Wagner (“The Fast and the Fabulous,” pp34-37) is pretty sure that he will be staying in North America for the foreseeable future, what with being an admittedly nervous flyer and all. Life in the “Grande Pomme” certainly seems to suit: Since establishing himself in the Tribeca area, Wagner has shot for Vibe, Flaunt and Interview, predominantly focussing on famous and beautiful women, including Lauren Hutton, Cindy Crawford, Ellen Page and Isabella Rossellini. But he admits that one model in particular stands out from the others: “Easy to work with, fun to be around, I’ll tell you this: After two terrific shoots, I have developed a crush on Lydia Hearst.”
TONY BURGESS Fiction author Tony Burgess is perhaps best known for Pontypool Changes Everything (1998), which he adapted for director Bruce McDonald’s screen version, Pontypool, released in March and out on DVD this month. In light of the fact that Pontypool is an existential horror nightmare that seamlessly weaves zombies, radio waves and unspeakable words, Burgess might seem a curious fit to contribute original short fiction for DRIVEN’s “Hot” issue. But if Pontypool was a claustrophobic pressure cooker— featuring three people trapped in a church basement—this new story is a psychological pot boiler—featuring a man trapped in his own head. Which makes Burgess curious, sure, but also “Irreplaceable” (pp38-41). Currently at work on two Pontypool sequels, the Stayner, Ont., resident has also completed Idaho Winter, a novel suitable for young adults, and Ravenna Gets, a novel suitable for no one.
Graphic design Jennifer Cottreau
MATTHEW STYLIANOU Widely recognized for a signature style that uses light rather than depth of focus to create the illusion of threedimensional imagery, photographer Matthew Stylianou has been featured in publications including F1 Racing magazine, British GQ and Men’s Health. As he told the British Journal of Photography, “I shoot with very hard light that gets into and under flesh and fabric, so that the subject is almost lit from within.” This luminous quality is vibrantly on display in Ship to Shore (pp42-49), a project that necessitated the transportation of some 400 pounds of lighting and camera equipment across the notquite-treacherous waters of Toronto harbour, to the island home of the Royal Canadian Yacht Club. The artist notes that the RCYC’s fine cucumber sandwiches justified the heavy lifting, and then some.
VICTOR SANTOS & BRIAN AZZARELLO Voted Spain’s best comic book artist three times this decade (Salón Internacional del Cómic de Barcelona), Victor Santos makes his major international debut this August with the graphic novel Filthy Rich, the first release from Vertigo Crime, a new DC Comics imprint. Written by Eisner Award–winning author Brian Azzarello (100 Bullets: “Hang Up on the Hang Low”), Filthy Rich touches on every shadowy trope of classic noir: hard-luck heroes, femmes fatales, money, sex, and crimes that are anything but victimless. Written and illustrated exclusively for DRIVEN, “Femme Finale” (p62)—appropriately, the “Hot” issue’s final page—is a self-contained Filthy Rich teaser, starring bad girl Vicky Soeffer and what can only be called her dirty money. “Doing noir for North America, I feel like little Vito ‘The Godfather’ Corleone, crossing through customs,” says Santos. Adds Azzarello: “I guess that makes me Don ‘The Godfather Part II’ Fanucci.”
14 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
Editorial intern Kyle Carpenter Art interns Carla Poirier, Dzeneta Zunic Contributors Brian Azzarello, Gaynor Black, Tony Burgess, Katherine Carothers, Lynn Crosbie, Leanna Gosse, Carl Nadeau, Bill Petro, John Reid, Victor Santos, Emma Segal, Richard Sibbald, Matthew Stylianou, Marcus Tamm, Nicolas Wagner, Robert Watson, Steve Waxman, Betty Wong, George Zicarelli Account managers Stéphanie Massé stephanie@DRIVENmag.com, 514.476.1171 Vincent Nöel vincent@DRIVENmag.com, 514.824.7191 Advertising coordinator Melissa Bissett, 514.684.6426 Finance director Micheline Caza, 450.308.0741 x227 Administration assistant Mélissa Brochu, 450.308.0741 Printer Solisco Marketing director Larry Futers, 416.407.8338 InField Marketing Group Publisher Michel Crépault DRIVEN magazine 412 Richmond Street East, suite 200 Toronto, Ont. M5A 1P8 416.682.3493 DRIVENmag.com Issue #27 ISSN 1712-1906 Auto Journal Inc. CP 930 Coteau-du-Lac, Que. J0P 1B0 450.308.0741 DRIVEN is published five times per year. No part of this periodical may be copied or reprinted without the written consent of the publisher. Subscription for one year: $30 (plus applicable taxes); $60 US surface; all other countries, $120 airmail. For subscription inquiries, call 450.308.0741 x250.
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8. GRAND OPENING, FERRARI MASERATI OF ONTARIO (1, 2) Ferrari Maserati of Ontario introduced its new full-service dealership in Vaughan, just north of Toronto, on May 21. In attendance were Remo Ferri, President, Ferrari Maserati of Ontario, Amedeo Felisa, CEO, Ferrari S.p.A. and Maurizio Parlato, CEO, Ferrari North America [photo 2, left to right]. The opening featured the Canadian premiere of Ferrari’s new Grand Tourer, the California.
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EMIRATES GROUP’S INAUGURAL A380 CANADIAN FLIGHT (3, 4) Piloted by Canadian Captain David Heino [photo 4, left], the world’s largest passenger aircraft, capacity 525 travellers, touched down in Toronto for its first commercial flight to Canada on June 5. Luxury features on the Emirates Group’s A380 airbus include: shower spas in first class; 1,200 on-board entertainment channels; and room for 20 people—and 20 only, please!—in the swank business class bar-lounge. GRAND OPENING, THE MAISON DU FESTIVAL RIO TINTO ALCAN AT THE FESTIVAL INTERNATIONAL DE JAZZ DE MONTRÉAL (5, 6) VIPS and fellow musicians were treated to a concert by Oliver Jones and friends on June 29, at the launch of the new year-round home of Montréal’s legendary jazz festival. Attendees included Line Beauchamp, Québec’s Minister of Sustainable Development [photo 6, left], and Mayor Gérald Tremblay [photo 6, right]. GLENFIDDICH TASTE AND TALK WITH EXPLORER COLIN ANGUS (7) On June 24, the intrepid Colin Angus regaled guests with tales from his two-year long, self-propelled circumnavigation of the planet, at Toronto’s Six Steps Lounge. The Canadian’s rip-roaring tales of adventure were chased—additionally, made easier to believe—with a tasting of Glenfiddich’s 12-, 15-, 18- and 21-year-old single malts. GRAND OPENING, STEVE NASH SPORTS CLUB IN RICHMOND, BC (8, 9, 10) A celebrity basketball shoot out raised money for Steven Nash’s Children’s Foundation at the launch of the NBA superstar’s new sports club, on July 2. Guests included actor Adrian Holmes [photo 9, right] and events promoter Frances Hui [photo 10].
16 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
EVENT PHOTOS: Ferrari Maserati, by Lucas Scarfone; A380, courtesy of Punch Communications; FIJM, by Victor Diaz Lamich; Colin Angus, by Cliff Spicer; Steve Nash, by Visionphoto.ca
Personality *
Of strikes and streaks The Toronto Blue Jays’ winningest manager, Cito Gaston, remains grounded whether or not he’s on a roll By Zach Feldberg
The clubhouse office of Cito Gaston reflects either a minimalist approach to design, or a pragmatic approach to life. The quarters of the Toronto Blue Jays manager are spacious, yet relatively empty—enough to make notable the couch, desk and private bathroom. No reminders here of the legendary teams the transplanted Texan helmed in the ’90s, no framed glory-days victory headlines. Is he a man who lives in the now? Perhaps; then again, considering Gaston’s history with the club, the bareness of the cupboards is no great mystery. “It’s not often guys go back to the same organization that they were fired from twice,” he laughs. Gaston was relieved of his supervisory duties first in 1997 and again in 2001, despite having led the Blue Jays to the
Photo by Leanna Gosse
team’s only World Series victories, in 1992 and 1993. “You win a couple of World Series and within three years you’re let go,” he says, pauses, then shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s the way to do it.” This season, Gaston is back in Toronto, back as manager, and back in stride. One does not get the sense that the soft-spoken 65-year-old feels bitterness towards his employer. The Jays organization summoned him from retirement in hopes of resuscitating its then last-place team. Years ago, Gaston told General Manager J.P. Ricciardi that if someone called to offer the manager job, he’d take it. On one condition. “I wouldn’t go for any interviews. I felt like I was just being interviewed to say they interviewed someone—a minority, whatever you want to call it.” He describes the interview process as baffling: “What do you ask a manager? ‘Do you hit and run?’ ‘Do you like to play the line?’ I think resumés should be a big part of what’s going on there.” Gaston’s current resumé can cite kick-starting a flagging team: With his return, the Jays finally put up some impressive numbers, winning 51 of 88 remaining games in 2008. By May 2009, the team’s record in the period since he had taken over was the best in the American League. For the first time since, well, the Cito Gaston days, the Blue Jays were red hot. Gaston kept his cool throughout. “I learned from [Hall of Famer and one-time Atlanta Braves teammate] Hank Aaron: Don’t bring the last game over into the next game. Even if you went 4-for-4 and had a great night,” he says. “Plus, I don’t read the papers. I’m not joking—I don’t see it, I don’t hear it. I don’t think it’s healthy.” Gaston admits to being slightly superstitious, particularly when things are going well. If he takes the elevator up from the garage, and the Jays win, he’ll take that elevator every day—until they lose, at which point he’ll hit the stairs. An otherwise grounded person, he admires players who elude such behaviour. “I take my hat off to those guys,” he says. “They don’t have to go to the same restaurant every day. Or, like [Wade] Boggs, eat chicken every day. Nothing wrong with chicken—but every day?” Regardless of team performance, one constant for Gaston is his belief that the 162-game baseball season must be approached one day at a time, with an eye on the big picture. “Writers get frustrated with me saying that, but I really believe it.” In mid-May, the Blue Jays cooled; over the next month they dropped in the standings to a more familiar fourth place. Critics of Gaston’s style maintain that he’s too hands-off. It’s not unusual, after a loss, to see reporters and fans questioning his decision to, say, leave a struggling pitcher in the game, or maintain a slumping hitter’s spot in the batting order. “People don’t understand that, they don’t know the insides of it,” he says. “Giving a guy a bit of a chance, letting him stay out there and prove himself, gives him confidence. “I’ll lose a game tonight. But I’ll win two or three down the road because of something I did tonight.”
DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com 17
Look *
ATTENTION:
All gear tested and reviewed at DRIVENmag.com/GEAR
Photo: Richard Sibbald Styling: Luke Langsdale Grooming: Anita Cane model: David (NAM Personal Management )
x ST 5000 11. Tahitian Noni Juice, Hiro 12. Zamberlan 996 Vioz Gt 13. Nike Zoom Ashiko 14. Arc’teryx Arrakis 50 pack 15. Pendleton Glacier National Park blanket, MSR Titan kettle
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ACTION figure wears Arc’teryx Alpha SV GORe-TEX hardshell
torin o
On Him Russell Moccasin hand-crafted Thula Thula safari boots; Filson tin cloth pants; Pendleton for Opening Ceremony wool shirt; Nike ACG softshell
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On belt Primus fuel container; do Mammut Luci p m la ad he 1 TX
. e 10 st ax 1. GoLite Valhalla 2+ tent 2. GoLite Adrenaline bag 3. MEC Hybrid bag 4. Therm-A-Rest Trail Light mattress 5. Hbc point blanket 6. MSR Quick 2 System cookset 7. Primus Himalaya stove 8. Victorinox Soldier knife 9. Gränsfors Bruks small fore
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Fob *
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Clockwork
orange Photography by Robert watson
20 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
Photo by Tktktk tktk
Watches *
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Spring-powered masterpieces get added sizzle from a hot shot of the colour orange. Fresh-squeezed for time, so to speak By John Reid 1 Doxa Sub 1000T Professional Dive watches are Doxa’s signature; the Swiss manufacturer has been specializing in this type of timepiece since 1967. Why are virtually all of the dials on Doxa’s models orange? Simple: orange shows up well under water. The 1000T, a replica of the original Doxa Sub, was released on the 40th anniversary of the company’s first orange-faced pro dive watch. Constructed from a single piece of steel, this model is water-resistant to a depth of 1,000 metres. Its slightly domed cover helps capture the feel of the early plastic crystals. >>Price: $1,490 USD (limited to 5,000 pieces); exclusive to doxawatches.com
2 Hublot Big Bang Orange Carat A versatile watch equally appropriate for soirees or sports, the Orange Carat earns the name with its 41-mm, 18K red gold case set with 48 orange sapphire baguettes (approx. 2.23 carats). There are even orange inserts in the crown. >>Price: $33,000; hublot.com
3 Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean
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George Clooney wears an Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean. If that doesn’t automatically qualify this classy piece as “hot,” there’s enough orange at play to suggest a very robust fire: in the fluted-unidirectional-rotating bezel, the leather strap, the Arabic numerals at the quarters... Even the centre-seconds hand boasts an orange tip. The 42-mm steel case is water-resistant to 2,000 feet and features a helium release valve. Its automatic, chronometer-rated Omega calibre 2500 CoAxial escapement and free sprung-balance both reduce friction, offering greater accuracy over long periods of time. In fact, Seamaster inventor George Daniels calls the Co-Axial “the first practical new watch escapement in the last 250 years.” >>Price: $4,250 on orange leather strap; omegawatches.com
4 Blancpain Collection Sport Speed Command Chronograph The latest sports watch from Blancpain is a racing companion. Bound to appeal to instant-measurement enthusiasts, the Speed Command Chronograph has a “flyback” chronograph function that the manufacturer has spent two decades popularizing. Historically used by pilots, this function enables resetting and instant restarting of the chronograph by a single press on the “start” pusher. Other racing influences include the checkered-effect carbon-fibre dial, featuring stylized orange or yellow Arabic numerals (inspired by the dashboards of prominent sports cars) and the raised five-arm rotor, suggesting race-car wheel rims. >>Price: $20,400; blancpain.com
5 Rolex Oyster Perpetual Milgauss 5
Photo by Tktktk tktk
Part of the Oyster Perpetual Rolex series, the Milgauss is so-named because it is impervious to magnetic fields of up to 1,000 gauss; it’s also water-resistant to 300 feet. (Not only did Rolex invent the first “waterproof ” watch—the Oyster, 1926—the company still leads the way today, with the water-resistant-to12,800-feet Sea-Dweller Deepsea.) The Milgauss’s automatic Rolex calibre 3131 movement is thought by many to be the market’s best. The orange lightning bolt second hand reflects the electro-magnetic connection; combine that with the orange accents at the indices, the tinted green crystal, and the large (for Rolex) 40-mm case, and the result is a timepiece that’s elegant yet technical. >>Price: $7,640; rolex.com
DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com 21
The Fat Came Back Today’s most adventurous chefs are embracing the culinary world’s three-letter word By Mark Moyes
T
he cromesquis de foie gras appetizer at Montréal’s Au Pied de Cochon comes with instructions. The gourmet equivalent of a deep-fried Mars bar, it’s a small cube of foie gras, battered and fried until the fatty goose liver inside liquefies. “Pop it into your mouth whole,” warns the waiter, “because the contents will squirt out when you take a bite.” Despite his warning, I underestimate the force of it; a tiny stream escapes my lips and leaps across our table, sending my date into fits of mortified laughter. “That’s pure fat!” she exclaims. Chef Martin Picard is infamous for his love of foie gras (there’s a whole section on the menu devoted to it) and animal fat in general. Those accustomed to a
22 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
leaner diet may be shocked by his restaurant’s huge, rich portions—not to mention his obsession with using every part of the animal. Pied de Cochon— pig’s foot—is not only the name of the restaurant: it’s on the menu. “It’s what I am,” Picard told the Food Network (where he hosts his own show, Wild Chef). “We’re doing what we want, without any taboos.” Celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain has called Picard “one of five or six classic figures in culinary history dating back to Roman times.” Picard may be an original, but he’s not alone. Upscale restaurants with similarly adventurous philosophies—eschewing the low-fat trend and embracing animal fat with an eagerness that’s best
Chef Mario Batali
The Black Hoof restaurant and food photos by Betty Wang; Mario Batali, by Melanie Dunea
Food *
described as rapacious—have been popping up in culinary circles. In New York, Mario Batali sings the praises of cured pork fatback (also known as lardo). Essentially pure pig fat, it’s traditionally served on toast; Batali recommends dropping it directly onto the tongue. In Toronto, at the charcuterie restaurant The Black Hoof, the duck confit sandwich coats your fingers, literally dripping with grease. If the sandwich were served in a brown paper bag, the bottom would fall out. Michael Symon’s Roast in Detroit serves ‘crispy fresh bacon’ as an appetizer. For some chefs, it goes beyond selecting the right slice of meat; it’s about selecting the right fat. Batali coaches lardo newcomers to taste for what the pig had eaten before it died. “Whatever the animal eats resides in its fat,” says Jennifer McLagan, author of Fat: An Appreciation of a Misunderstood Ingredient, With Recipes (see below). “You want to eat organic, naturally raised animals. If you can get pasture-raised, it’s even better.” At last year’s Taste3 conference, chef Dan Barber gushed about an unseasoned foie gras that tasted of star-anise and pepper because of the wild plants that grew on the farm.
Though it may sound reactionary—a gourmand’s response to the fat-averse health campaign in North America—the return to fat is more of a back-tobasics movement. “Even in this young country, we have tradition,” Picard told the Food Network. Selecting naturally raised animals (those that are mass-farmed are killed earlier, and have less fat), using the whole animal, buying local—all of these trends come together in the reevaluation of meat’s blubberier half. Not long after our night at Au Pied de Cochon, my date and I spend an evening at The Black Hoof. Our meal consists of a superb charcuterie plate, the aforementioned duck confit sandwich, and pork belly pastrami. At the end of the meal, our waitress asks how we enjoyed it. “It was delicious,” my date says, “but next time, we might order a salad. Something to cut the grease.” “Well, that’s kind of what we’re all about,” the waitress replies. “Even the salads…” She trails off, leaving us to wonder how that sentence could possibly end. A second later, though, she returns with a flash of inspiration: “Maybe the cheese plate?”
H
ere’s a tasty and tasteful love letter to butter, suet, lard, and other natural fats. And it’s one with a surprising thesis: They’re good for you. In her 2008 book Fat: An Appreciation of a Misunderstood Ingredient,With Recipes, Canadian food stylist Jennifer McLagan argues that the campaign against animal fat has us consuming higher levels of polyunsaturated fat in vegetable oils (which can lead
to depression) and trans fats. Animal fats, on the other hand—especially from animals fed naturally—contain fatty acids that help fight disease and lower cholesterol. With or without the health angle, it’s a sensuous read: a nostalgic ode to simpler times when people appreciated the silky texture of homemade butter and savoured the rich pleasure of meat before the fat (and therefore, flavour) had been bred out of our food.
DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com 23
Drink *
Thirst-degree burn Grill-friendly cocktails add sophisticated spice to a summer sizzle By Stephanie Marcus
At our request, Frankie Solarik, mixologist/beverage designer at Toronto’s tony BarChef, custom-created this trio of heatpacked cocktails, each of which plays off of a different flame-grilled food flavour. So tasty are these three little devils, we’ll overlook the minor detail that not one of them is actually called “The DRIVEN.” Truffle Brewing (ingredients pictured) 750 mL gin 2 bird’s eye chilies 3 sprigs of thyme 0.5 oz truffle oil 2 garlic cloves 1 chopped shallot Combine ingredients in a sealable glass mason jar; allow contents to macerate for one week. After seven days of anxious frittering, pour two ounces of gin into a martini glass. Garnish with a sprig of thyme. Realize it was well worth the wait. Shogun Caesar 2 oz nigori sake 3 oz tomato juice 0.5 oz soy sauce 0.5 tbsp wasabi 5 Thai basil leaves A pinch of coriander sprouts Combine ingredients in an empty cocktail shaker; muddle for approximately five seconds. Add ice, shake and strain into a martini glass. Garnish with a skewered piece of tuna sashimi. Sgt. Pepper, M.D. 0.5 oz Green Chartreuse 1.5 oz vanilla cognac 2 oz fresh squeezed orange juice 1 white of egg (discard yolk) 2 oz half-and-half cream Half a pinch cracked black pepper Combine ingredients in an ice-filled shaker; shake vigorously for approximately 10 seconds (until a nice, dense froth is yielded). Strain into a wine glass. Garnish with as much fresh cracked black pepper as personal taste allows.
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Photography by Robert Watson
Sport *
Sphere of influence Golfers get caught in the orbit of the coveted Pro V1 By Steve Waxman It is the one ball golfers never throw away. If it’s hit into the trees, they search a little longer. If it’s hit into the pond, they fish a little deeper. If they find one lost by another player on another day, they pocket it and wash it to a shine at the next tee box. It is the Pro V1, and since its introduction in 2000, it has become pro golf ’s most popular ball. In the 160 years since the introduction of the gutta percha rubber golf ball, the plain white dimpled orb has become arguably the most complex and scientifically researched piece of equipment in all of sports. In that time, inventors have experimented with the dimple pattern to reduce wind resistance, added and subtracted materials inside the core to affect distance, and constantly worked to engineer a longer-lasting, more efficient cover. By the mid-1990s, balls tended to sport solid cores most often made of polybutadiene—the same material Wham-O used in the ’60s to make Super Balls. Predictably, these balls gave pros added off-tee distance. At the same time, professionals and better amateurs used “wound” (rhymes with ‘sound’) balls that had a liquid core wrapped with elastic thread. The general feeling was that the wound ball had more feel around the greens. In 1999, Michael J. Sullivan, then employed by the Top-Flite Golf Company, wrapped a synthetic material called urethane elastomer around a solid core. A revolution was born: The new ball maximized distance while offering the feel that tour players demanded. By the spring of 2000, Callaway Golf and Nike had introduced their own version of the new solid-core ball, to universal success. But in October of that same year, when Titleist introduced the Pro V1 golf ball, everything changed: 13 of the next 17 pro tournaments were won by golfers using the new Titleist. “I played with the Pro V1 up until 2005,” says South African golfer Alan McLean, who plays on the European Tour. “I switched to another ball that year but I wasn’t happy with my performance. Then in 2006, the first time I put the Pro V1 back in play, I won a tournament. Those kinds of results lead to loyalty.”
Always wanting to emulate its heroes, the general public has created a demand so great that despite the fact that the Pro V1 is more expensive than most balls on the shelves, it commands 22 per cent of the global market, with world-wide sales estimates of close to $200 million a year. In December 2007, Callaway Golf, one of Titleist’s main competitors and the owner of Sullivan’s original patents, threw a spanner in the works when a jury ruled that the Pro V1 infringed on multiple Callaway-owned patents. As a result, beginning January 1, 2009, Titleist could no longer sell the Pro V1 with the same specs it had used for the past nine years. Undaunted by the ruling, Titleist launched its latest version of the Pro V1 on February 1. “The production of the existing Pro V1 model golf balls is outside the scope of the patents in question,” says Joe Gomes, Director of Communications, Acushnet Company. “We’ve reworked the ball inside and out.” Alterations Gomes describes include: a larger core, a new casing layer (between the core and the cover) and a new cover made from a more abrasion-resistant urethane polymer. With so many changes to its design, can this new golf ball actually be called a Pro V1? That’s like asking if the band that recorded Zooropa can be called U2. The DNA that went in to making the Pro V1 remains the same and in the end it is the equipment’s harshest critics—the professional golfers—who are left with the deserved last word. The first week the new ball was available on the PGA Tour, 71 of the 91 players using the Pro V1 put the ‘upgrade’ in play. “At this point, all top-of-the-line balls are pretty much on the same page,” says McLean. “It’s really around the greens that the Pro V1 shows its stuff.” When asked if push came to shove whether the new Pro V1 was superior to Titleist’s older model, McLean takes a long breath and finally says, “Yes, I would put the new ball in my bag.”
DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com 25
Play *
Casual specs Getting into bed with iPhone gaming By Mark Moyes
echnology news site Ars Technica got a surprise last year, when it informally polled attendees of E3—North America’s largest video-game expo—about their favourite titles. AT found that the buzz wasn’t about games for Sony PlayStation 3 or even Nintendo Wii. “To my shock, many people answered with the name of their favorite iPhone game or application,” wrote AT reporter Ben Kuchera. iPhone users love talking about their apps—at bars, on the street, over coffee. But the buzz among game pundits transcends more than casual banter. “The industry may be seeing the birth of a very powerful, casual-gaming platform,” Kuchera gushed. A few months later, Apple executive John Geleynse would boast that the iPhone is “not a phone—it’s a console experience,” and position it as a direct competitor to Nintendo’s popular portable game console, the Nintendo DS. The DS comparison isn’t just hyperbolic marketing. For one thing, the iPhone’s unique controls—a combination of touchscreen and “accelerometer” (which senses tilt)—make it a sort of Wii/DS hybrid, as far as input goes. It gives developers a lot of creative freedom. For example, ngmoco’s hit, Rolando—a platform-like title in which you control sentient balls—uses touch and tilt together to roll the characters around. Then there’s the graphics: Though Apple won’t release the specs, the iPhone raises the mobile standard. When SEGA’s developers
26 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
were working on the iPhone port of Super Monkey Ball, they underestimated its capabilities; they admitted at the software development kit launch that they “had to fly in an extra artist to scale up the art.” This year’s iPhone 3GS is twice as fast. Should Nintendo and Sony be worrying? Eight months after Apple’s iPhone App Store launched, over 4,000 games were available—four times the combined number of titles for the DS and Sony’s PSP. One of the reasons is that Apple’s development kit makes cobbling apps together an incredibly quick process. According to industry number-crunching outfit Game Developer Research, half of all iPhone apps are completed in less than three months, versus an estimated six months to a year or more for DS and PSP titles. There’s money, too: Venturecapital firm KPCB launched the iFund initiative last year to invest $100 million in companies developing apps for the iPhone; ngmoco was a recipient. But all these points may be moot. Mike Pagano, Producer on EA’s iPhone version of Need for Speed Undercover, believes that in terms of market share, the iPhone is a different beast altogether. “We wondered if it might be the PSP-killer, but we’re seeing that they can co-exist,” he says, adding that iPhone territory “is more of a casual marketplace.” Case in point: The top 100 paid iPhone games have an average cost of less than $3—a fraction of the price of new DS or PSP titles. There’s no guarantee that prices will stay down—EA’s Magano says that his company is charging what the market will support. For now, most iPhone games cost less than DVD rentals, which explains why users talk about them the way they talk about movies or music. Because the iPhone, unlike the Wii, DS or PSP, offers what the casual market has always been missing: games at casual prices.
Photo illustration by Carla Poirier
Flash *
POSITIVE RETURN
44 18 %
FINE ART FUND (annualized)
%
NEGATIVE RETURN
WINE GROWTH FUND
41
Class assets
% NASDAQ
34 35 %
%
DOW JONES
TSX
Alternative investments: capital to appreciate, in both senses By George Zicarelli Grandma would have made an astute investment manager. Had we heeded her advice and stuffed our mattresses with cash, we’d have emerged on the other side of the fiendish markets of 2008 in decent financial health. Globally, stock exchanges shed $17 trillion US last year, according to Standard & Poor’s. The S&P 500 and NASDAQ each fell about 40 per cent in 2008; and the Dow Jones, 34 per cent. (Pity those who socked money into the Icelandic stock market: Their 2008 return was a Nortel-ish 94 per cent on the down side.) If you were looking for a winning investment strategy in 2008, ol’ gran’s “do nothing” approach would have had your funds outperforming virtually every major equity index. But the world of equities is just one vehicle—admittedly, the one that generates hands-down the most business headlines—available to investors seeking capital appreciation. There exists a lesser-known group of niche products that have always held their value well. Imagine an industry valued at almost $50 billion and whose relative worth is virtually untouched by the relentless peaks and troughs of business cycles. That’s the pitch offered by Philip Hoffmann, chief executive of The Fine Art Fund (thefineartfund.com). Instead of common shares, the FAF’s group of investment funds include original Picassos and other museum-quality pieces of fine art. Entry level is $250,000, although typical investors stake between $1,000,000
[
28 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
and $5,000,000 in one of five funds targeting various international territories. At 33, Hoffman is the youngest member to ever serve on Christie’s International Managing Board. Since it was founded in 2003, his flagship Fine Art Fund I (now closed to investors) boasts an average annualized return of 44 per cent. Another notable niche product with virtually no correlation to stock market trends or averages is The Wine Growth Fund (winegrowthfund.com). This fund’s objective is to maximize growth of capital through the buying and selling of Bordeaux wines deemed investment-grade (translation: sourced exclusively from private collections). The WGF is registered in the tax haven of the Cayman Islands; it offers three classes of funds, with minimum investments ranging from €100,000 to €5,000,000. The demographics of this class look promising. Vinexpo expects global wine consumption to continue to grow until 2012. Emerging upper classes in Russia and China are fuelling demand for wines at the premium end while decades-old wine-growing laws in Bordeaux keep supplies extremely tight. The fund hasn’t had a negative month in the past six years; in 2008, its worst year over that span, it still returned close to 18 per cent. If all of this should inspire you to start your own investment fund, be sure to bear in mind ol’ gran’s other mantra: With fine art, you won’t be tempted to drink away your capital.
If you were looking for a winning investment strategy in 2008, then ol’ gran’s “do nothing” approach would have had your funds outperforming virtually every major equity index
]
Personality *
Inconvenient truth and justice
For enviro-ethicist Dale Jamieson, climate change is an issue as fundamental as civil rights By Eric Grant When it comes to the topic of global climate change, between the politicos, pundits, activists, and lobbyists (not to mention the sanctimonious grade-schoolers), it seems like our current public debate offers too much heat and precious little light. There are few heads as cool as Dr. Dale Jamieson, well-known in progressive circles for editing the pioneering book A Companion to Environmental Philosophy (1991) and, more recently, authoring Ethics and the Environment: An Introduction (2008). Ignore the dry titles: Jamieson is a refreshing and
Photo by Katherine Carothers
persuasive essayist and debater whose work makes the case that climate change’s challenges should be regarded as a matter of fundamental ethics. “We have this idea of what it is to be a ‘good person’—but it’s an idea that isn’t very responsive to the world we live in,” says Jamieson, Director of Environmental Studies at New York University, where he is also a Professor of Environmental Studies and Philosophy. “There are so many of us that each of us can do something very small and very modest and collectively it can have disastrous consequences.”
By way of example of personal acts that are small, modest and damaging, Jamieson’s Ethics and the Environment offers the living stereotype of the ‘soccer mom,’ “driving her kids to school, sporting events and music lessons. A soccer mom does not intend to change the climate, yet in a small way, that is exactly what she is doing.” While Jamieson assures DRIVEN he has nothing against the demographic per se— “Some of my best friends are probably soccer moms,” he laughs—his point in E. and E. is that while a great deal of environmentally destructive behaviour can rightly be denounced as greedy or vicious, “much of it is humdrum, ordinary.” Further, actions that can harm people a few decades in the future may stem from otherwise virtuous impulses—like wanting one’s kids to enjoy a rich childhood. Does Jamieson believe that the world can avert serious climate change–related disaster? “The odds are against us,” he admits. “It’s by no means a forgone conclusion, but it’s one of those issues where the politicians are not going to act unless citizens see it as something like a civil-rights issue—one of fundamental justice, carrying that kind of urgency.” It’s not a huge leap from civil rights to personal ethics. “The solution, ultimately, has to be top-down regulation,” he continues, “but lifestyle changes are essential because they send a message that we’re serious about the issue—we’re so serious, we’re willing to make sacrifices before regulation. Political leaders, it’s not dangerous [career-wise] for you to tell me I have to change how I live because I’ve been doing it on my own!” So though Jamieson believes that what we need is an effective Kyoto Protocol successor (including national and international capand-trade or carbon tax systems, with any proceeds to be used to compensate those hardest hit by the new rules), he also argues that morality on an individual level will be what pushes it through. For all his level-headed arguing, the man has little patience for those who doubt the veracity of climate-change science. “There are always people who disbelieve the science,” he says. “There are still people who don’t believe HIV causes AIDS, there are still people who believe that smoking doesn’t cause lung cancer. In the US, there are a lot of people who don’t believe in evolution.” How does someone who thinks this much about climate change live his own life? Aside from intentionally basing himself in a large urban centre (where it’s easy to get by without a car), Jamieson says his greatest act of green living is probably that he does not eat meat. His greatest environmental vice: the miles he racks up in airplane travel. “I’m just a guy who lives in the city, and does the best he can, backsliding like we all do. I don’t hold myself up as a paragon of virtue, by any means.”
DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com 29
I
f you bought a flat-screen TV in the last nine months, you were—whether you knew it or not—Cocooning. Also, at some point, you went from being a consumer to a Prosumer to a Sellsumer. There are Recessionistas wearing Credit Crunch Couture, and Gen Z Adaptives exerting their Kidfluence over Grateful Dads. Addicted to your cellphone and web access? More evidence that you’re a Master of the Youniverse. If you were born after 1980, you’re a member of Generation Y, or the Net Generation, or maybe you’re a Millennial, or even a Millenniadult. It depends on who’s selling you. The creators of these buzzwords—mostly firms whose business it is to research and analyze trends and, essentially, market them to marketers—coin new words and phrases at a rate that would shame Shakespeare. The preceding is just a tiny sampling. There are often dozens of punny portmanteaus, of varying degrees of cleverness, to describe a single demographic or consumer trend. There are so many, in fact, that it all starts to feel a little like meaningless mumbo-jumbo.
Which is funny, because the pithy terms they develop are used to market pretty much every single aspect of our lives: they influence the ads we see, the packaging we buy and the news we read. When Moosehead launched its new beer this May, the product marketing was anchored on four “top trends of 2009”: Holistic Health, The Experiential Lifestyle, Back to Basics and Life in the Fast Lane. These were fed into an equation and the result became Cracked Canoe, Moosehead’s slow-brewed light beer, with its unique-in-Canada slim-bottle format and ad campaign featuring high-speed sporting events played back in ultra-slow-motion. These terms are the products sold by the Trend Spotters—or Trend Hunters, or Trend Analysts, or Trend Consultants; fittingly, there’s no consensus on terminology. Every single one of them is offering the same thing: information on customer demographics and buying habits, which is something product manufacturers and advertising firms all need. And just like we all need shoes but have to choose whether to buy the Nikes or Adidas or Converse, marketers have
to choose whether to buy the dataset for the Millennials or the Millenniadults or Gen Yers. Back in the real world, the general public doesn’t care much about those terms. But we’re obsessed with what they describe. The world has gone trend-crazy: There are blogs and aggregators like BuzzFeed.com that tell us what’s hot; Google News and Google Zeitgeist quantify popularity in the media and world at large; WhatTheTrend.com shows what’s top-of-mind among Twitter users. Because we’re so enthusiastic, more and more we provide information for free. But what’s really interesting is, the most progressive outlets give it back to us, also for free. So while this is an article about terminology, it’s also about a significant shift in what was once known as Coolhunting. This new generation of firms—let’s call them Coolhunters 2.0 (albeit with a wink and a nudge, since both Coolhunting and the 2.0 thing are so passé)—uses a more inclusive model. A model that is more, to use another buzzword, ‘open.’ Every industry coins terms, and market researchers have been doing it for as long as there have been
DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com 31
perkonomics
sellsumer
milleniadult
brand butler
market researchers. (Marketing consultant Paul Niquette and statistician John Tukey popularized the term ‘software’ in the ’50s; Al Ries coined ‘positioning’ in the ’70s.) But the fascination with trends and buzzwords probably starts with a woman whose name sounds jargon-friendly, and is certainly memorable regardless. Faith Popcorn is a marketing consultant who became a household name about 20 years ago for her self-professed ability to predict consumer trends with 95 per cent accuracy. In 1991, she published The Popcorn Report—not a business report sold to manufacturers, but a bestselling book. ‘Cocooning’ was one of her predictions for the ’90s (although recently the media has appropriated it for the economic downturn). Same goes for the lesser-known but equally catchy Foodaceutical, Socioquake and Egonomics. Popcorn was so obsessed with words that a decade later, her Dictionary of the Future offered 432 pages of definitions of things that often did not yet exist. t wasn’t until 1997 that things really exploded. That was the year that Malcolm Gladwell published an article in the New Yorker called “The Coolhunt.” It described coolhunters Baysie Wightman and DeeDee Gordon (“the Lewis and Clark of cool”), who wandered
I
32 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
around the hippest neighbourhoods interviewing the hippest kids to find out what was going to be, well, the hippest. For Gladwell, the duo’s talent was almost mystical: It would be impossible to write a manual of cool, he wrote, since it was based on instinct. And it would be impossible for all but a tiny percentage of the population to be effective coolhunters: In order to recognize the coolest people, you had to be as cool as them—as cool as Baysie and DeeDee themselves. Takes one to know one. But things turned on the coolhunters quickly. In 2001, Frontline ran a critical, hour-long documentary called “The Merchants of Cool.” It explored what it called MTV’s “feedback loop,” suggesting that the exaggerated images that MTV reflected back to teens were then being reflected back to MTV by its audience—turning them, effectively, into caricatures of themselves. In one scene, 13-year-old Barbara, who exudes fragile innocence in an earlier interview, grinds her rear against a teenage boy when she sees the documentary cameras, mimicking—according to Frontline—MTV’s own programming. In 2003, Time published what read as the moratorium on coolhunting. There were two things of note in the article: Although the word “cool” appeared more than 50 times, the experts didn’t call themselves coolhunters anymore—the terminology
had changed. Now called trend watchers, they were busy reworking their image. The article ended with Time’s key interviewee, Irma Zandl, speculating that “the center is the new edge.” Writer Lev Grossman’s final words? “Maybe there’s hope for us all.” There’s another, seemingly unrelated thread to this little history lesson. The key event took place almost exactly a year after the New Yorker article appeared. In March of 1998, IBM began negotiations with the head of a group of programmers who worked on the Apache server software. Apache is an open-source project, which means that anyone can work on it on a volunteer basis. It’s also free for anyone to install and use. This was a huge and unparalleled business decision for IBM, which had built its business on proprietary everything. You bought IBM software to run on IBM hardware and when you needed support, you got it from IBM. But that year, the company agreed to contribute code to the Apache project—and later to the Linux operating system—which would yield no direct profit. Why? Because IBM was able to tap the collective power of thousands of programmers—essentially, free labour—and refocus on creating Linux and Apache “services” and “solutions.” Money was made by putting together all the pieces in ways that made sense to the customers.
genetocracy
econcierge
kidfluence
cooltural
T
oday, some of the most popular trend-spotting websites are giving out a surprising amount of information for free. TrendHunter.com (source of “Credit Crunch Couture”) is essentially a Facebooklike social network devoted to trends, where anyone can see popular submissions without paying a dime. There’s also a free weekly newsletter. The site’s aesthetic suggests more of a tabloid-style media outlet than a business consultancy, but its clients include eBay and Microsoft. Its founder, Jeremy Gutsche, is happy to describe himself as a coolhunter (“Especially for the content on the front page,” he writes in an email, suggesting, perhaps, that he may be less willing to describe himself thusly for his business reports) and his bio on the site lists gushing, cred-establishing media references from MTV, the CBC and others. The page embeds more than a dozen videos showcasing Gutsche’s television appearances and boasts that he is “one of North America’s most requested keynote speakers.” Like Popcorn and many a coolhunter, he’s a tireless self-promoter. Another site, Trendwatching.com (“Sellsumers”, “Masters of the Youniverse”) gives away monthly trend reports for free. It has more of a businessy feel, although much of the content is written in the tone and language of informal internet communica-
tions (the otherwise professional-looking reports sometimes contain emoticons). Its founder, Reinier Evans, acknowledges his debt to Popcorn where terminology is concerned. But Evans insists he is not a coolhunter. “We don’t look for cool stuff per se, but rather for changes in consumer behaviour that may impact a company’s strategy. We don’t see ourselves as market researchers, either: we look at market and innovation opportunities based on understanding changing consumer behaviour. So, our reports are mainly used to get fresh ideas and examples for any [business-to-consumer] industry.” Both sites provide tons of content gratis, but monetize it by charging for the detailed analysis in their annual reports. (Trendwatching sold 1,500 reports to various companies last year, at $799 US a pop.) If the 12 months of free reports at Trendwatching.com weren’t ‘open’ enough for you, the site also offers a 5,000-word how-to guide that teaches you to do what Evans does: from identifying trends, to naming them, to developing your own trend-spotting network. It’s also 100 per cent free. This idea, that anyone can do it, that maybe there is hope for all of us (as Time so wistfully suggested), is a radical departure from the days of Gladwell’s coolhunters and their quest to find the ultra-hip tipsters. The theory of particularly influential
people has been around for years and is especially seductive to marketers; Gladwell wrote about a similar group of people—the 20 per cent who did 80 per cent of the work—in The Tipping Point. And although he had different terminology for them (of course), his Mavens and Connectors and Salesmen shared a number of characteristics. They were exceptional, they could spark social epidemics and, most of all, they were rare. They were almost certainly not you. Which is why it’s kind of surprising that trendanalysis sites are relying on you for information. Trend Hunter and Trendwatching.com both solicit ‘spottings’ (the latter firm’s term) from anyone who wants to contribute. In addition, Trend Hunter doesn’t use a coolhunter’s instincts to identify the ‘best’ trends—it relies on its everyday users’ clicks. Trend Hunter uses its 300,000 daily views to sort through the 100 new trends posted by its contributors; the most popular ones end up in its reports. So what happened to these visionary types who can sort the true Influentials from the rabble? Trend Hunter is relying on a principle popularized by the open-source movement. In his book The Wisdom of Crowds (2004), James Surowiecki provides examples of how large groups of people sharing information can be smarter than any expert. [CONTINUED ON p60]
DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com 33
Story by Lynn Crosbie
+
Photography by Nicolas Wagner
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Styled by Luke Langsdale
The Fast and the
Fabulous Supermodel
Lydia Hearst can’t talk to you right now because everybody’s looking
H
34 DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com
er beauty is a poem about collisions between matter and black holes; a Jaguar and black ice; Man Ray’s glass tears in a slick of black, smeared mascara. The swollen eyes, the aristocratic nose—a sculptural exclamation—the big bitten lips revealing a regiment of blunt, blinding teeth. The loose, purposeful mass of just-red, white hair, the generous and lean flesh, the fast curves, the navel slit by a mass of ice. Lydia Hearst is a supermodel, an activist, a celebutante, and—like her 1960s spiritual sister, Edie Sedgwick—a “youthquake” in practised, wild motion. She is the granddaughter of William Randolph Hearst, whom Orson Welles imagined, in Citizen Kane, as dying with the name of his lover’s clitoris on his lips (Rosebud!). And she is the daughter of Patricia Hearst, whose image (under the chic direction of her kidnappers, the Symbionese Liberation Army), dressed as “Tonya” in nihilistic and slinky black with a beret and loaded rifle, remains one of the greatest-ever instances of fashion iconography.
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This Page
Lingerie “Jodie,” by Agent Provocateur Tee Elijah bracelet b-side Stockings Voila! see buyer’s market for details p. 61
Photo by Tktktk tktk
“Her look is, by huge, heroic US standards, so exotic”
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ice pedigree: Hearst, while composing “Socializer,” her now-defunct column for the New York Post’s infamous Page Six (which was revealed to be not so much written as orally transmitted), likes to sit at her “idol”: the desk of her grandfather—the man’s own life a crash between high style and jaundiced trash. In the column, she would dish about nude roles and her acting career (“There is a difference,” she admonishes “between being Meg Ryan in In the Cut and being in American Pie”); about enormous dry-cleaning bills incurred while running amok in the Hamptons; about luxe items that caught her eye in the curatorial section called “Right now I am loving...” Capriciously disdainful of Sports Illustrated and other red-blooded American showcases for the
unveiled female form, Hearst has appeared nude and semi-nude for a variety of European magazines, including French Playboy. Why? Possibly because her look is, by huge, heroic US standards, so exotic: at 5'7", she is a runway midget; and her disaligned patrician features are both chic and chienne, an intoxicating French cocktail, not unlike Kate Moss’s own distinctive, monstrous beauty. In a now-notorious New York Observer interview, Hearst spoke about her clique, an elite group of young artists called the 2.0 (perhaps named after a crystal structure of Thermus thermophilus methionyl-tRNA synthetase?), who share skeleton key tattoos and invite NYC-comparisons to the louche Factory denizens, the decadent Club Kids and the literary Brat pack that was Jay McInerney, Bret Easton Ellis [CONTINUED ON p60]
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Silk Tank Alexander Wang Lingerie “Kathleen,” by Agent Provocateur Shoes Christian Louboutin Tights Trasparenze
Opposite
Tights Trasperenze
Irreplaceable By Tony Burgess Illustrations By Emma Segal
Day One
Y
eah, so anyway, I used to work at Kiehl’s Foods. For, like, 17 years. On the fork lift. We get a lot of temps in, mostly guys whose lawyers tell them to get straight jobs while they wait to appear in court. Kiehl’s hires anybody. One woman has, like, a leg that’s about to fall off. I kid you not. Her one hip looks like it isn’t even there, and she drags that fucking leg behind her like it was some dead guy stuck to her ass. And they work her same as everyone else—that is, till they
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Fiction * can’t stand up on two legs, let alone one and something. The fork lift is okay, though. Just beetle around the warehouse, try not to hit people. Old people lost in the plant and loaded guys and women who move in herds. The worst job is cherries. Forty or so ladies stand on either side of a conveyor belt and fitch through pink sugar goo for loose stems. All day. Some have done it for 20 years. They got candy-colored chins and fingertips and their eyes are sucked up into the back of their skulls. And dates and raisins and coconut. Glace and vinegar and bulk coconut. None of it is going to kill you to do, but you learn to rely on variation to keep you sane. Coconut, you pack 375 gm cello bags into boxes, four long and three deep off a turning table. You have to keep up, but you also get to push the box through the tape machine, so that changes it up. Plus one person has to skid, so for two hours a day you get to do that and fill out the shipping log. Not like date lines, where you do the same thing, packing plastic tubs, or the dreaded cherries. I’ve done them all. None of them will kill you. But the fork lift is the best. Not the best. The best is Suavé’s job. The old ladies call him “Suavé” because he’s got this thin little moustache across his upper lip and he’s thin as a broom. Suavé’s the mechanical engineer though I don’t think he ever even graduated high school. That doesn’t mean he isn’t a talent. Suavé’s job is to make sure all the machines, the sorters, and toasters sound like they’re running properly. He listens. That’s how he gets the Suavé walk going. He prowls and leans and tilts and stands. He knows exactly where to stand and how to move in order to hear the insides of machines. It’s amazing, really. He’ll be standing at one end of the plant and hear some distant tick through the roar and he’ll seek it out not by walking toward it but by isolating it somewhere else. I saw him once figure out that one of the coconut chutes was about to jam by leaning against a loading bay door. He said he could only hear that one if he included some traffic noise.
I loved working there. Nobody would ever know, I guess, because I was always in a bad mood. But that was a put on. It was just my thing to appear angry all the time. I really almost never was. In fact, until I got laid off, I was almost never in a bad mood. People think my mood has evened off since I left. They don’t know that sitting on that fork lift, blaring that radio, with a fuck-you face on as I veered around Suavé and rolled my eyes at the cherry girls was not bad—it was me doing what I wanted to do with my life. Now I am doing nothing. I guess I’m being pleasant about it, but I’m very aware that this has nothing to do with how I really am. I am actually a little scared.
Day Twenty-one
M
y wife has a job at Backyard Install. I took a decongestant this morning for a cold I’m getting, and have done more around the house than usual today. Bagged the garbage out of the basement. Set up a recycle centre in the kitchen. Got the laundry in early. I’ve been showering and shaving every morning. I think I know what’s up. It’s Martin Luther King Jr. day in the States, and they aired the entire “I Have a Dream” speech. Halfway through, my scalp started tingling and the hair was
DRIVEN Summer 2009 * drivenmag.com 39
standing up. At first I thought I was having this big reaction to the speech, then I realized it was the pseudoephedrine in the decongestant. A friend of mine was charged with assaulting his girlfriend on September 11, 2001. He never ever shook the feeling that the world had come to an end and he drank himself to death over the next six months. I do like the speech but also think that Martin Luther King Jr. might have been a little nuts.
Day Thirty-eight
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had a cold 17 days ago. Now I don’t. Now I got the freaking Alps on the top of my head and all these hikers with spiked feet skritching down in my hair. Pseudoephedrine. I took it for the first time 17 days ago because I had a cold. Then I just kept going. Every morning I pop two and then two at noon and then two at four. I try to keep it four hours apart, but I did not intend to still be taking them 17 goddam days later. Now my head feels like a big empty mint. I don’t know if it’s numbness in my hands and feet but they feel like they’re not there. I have to look at things I touch. That’s weird. I can only touch things that I can see now. Pseudoephedrine completely remaps you over time. I like it I guess because it makes me feel busy. I feel busy even when I’m breathing. Like now: holy shit I am breathing—bam bam bam. Or is that my heart? All my organs are my heart now, I think. No stomach anyway. Can’t eat. My wife’s working at Backyard Install. She’s gone all day. I have absorbed daytime TV into my body. There are women arguing about politics in the back of my skull, and music videos play constantly across my face. I can feel this even when the TV is off. There’s a light rap at the door. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is and when I jump up, I move too
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fast. Little white badgers threaten to come in over the ridge but they go back. I open the door and the cold of me meets the cold of the day. Snow in the sunlight. There’s two old ladies with clip boards. I stand crooked, with no pants on. I can feel cold water running backwards up my legs. “Hello sir, we’re here again for cancer research. You donated twenty-five dollars last year. Can we put you down for the same this year?” I have no fucking money. I can’t even afford pseudoephedrine. I pat my pockets to show they’re empty but I have no pants on. Both ladies turn away and say they’ll come back, but I reach out, maybe because I. Maybe because I. Maybe because I have absolutely nothing in my head to finish that sentence with, so I reach out and across to the tiny mirror drawer where I know the wife keeps forty bucks and I give it to them. I come back into the room and go blind. I have to stand for ten minutes before I can make anything out. Cancer. I have cancer in my mouth. Some on the side of my stomach and a lot of it in my intestines. I forgot but I have to find out more. Online there are millions of people like me. Riddled with hundreds of cancers and looking for answers. I flip through some cancer chat rooms and, yep, that’s me alright. Can’t sleep. Check. Spastic Bowel. Check. Weight loss. Yes. Fatigue. Maybe. Who really knows with this one? I listen to hear myself lately: “I’m just too tired.” Seems I say that a lot. So, check. And on and on and check and check. I roll my tongue over the hard cancer nuggets in my gums. I push the little cancer bumps on my belly with my thumb. I think cancer might be in my spine, sucked up through a straw directly out of my ass cancer. Then where can it go? Cancer is always on the move. Roots in my bowel, a hard stem up my back and a stunning malignant sunflower pressed up in my skull. Head cancer? No. No. That’s insane. It’s always a relief to feel insane. It means I may be wrong about all the cancer. The opposite of denial. Cancer fantasy. That’s what you have when you don’t have cancers. This is pseudoephedrine, I think. Lighting me up like an incendiary MRI. The cancer is clearly everywhere. It competes with daytime talk shows for control of my body. So what do I do? I gave forty bucks for research. I can’t afford that. Why the fuck did I do that? Okay. I can slow this down. I either have or don’t have cancer. I probably, for sure, don’t have cancer everywhere. This thing on my gum is a cyst.
The thing on my belly is a tag. And I could be fatigued because I don’t sleep anymore. In fact, I clearly am not fatigued. This is the problem. I have abnormal awarenesses now. Anything I think sucks me into the certainty that the opposite is true. Diabetes. Heart Attack. No. Probably my heart is getting such a workout that it’s going to fist its way out of my chest and go get the job I can’t get. My heart. A thrusting mighty goat’s head of blood webs sitting up on that fork lift. My heart. I need air. I step back to the door, taking in the white badgers again—this time they advance a little closer. Pseudoephedrine. I don’t want to exaggerate but there are plateaus, levels and fields of things going on, connections that are utterly mindless, constantly mapping and remapping themselves in the vain hope of amounting to something. Hoping against hope to be recognized. That’s what I think. I think that random arrangements have emotions. Three forks and two knives feel differently than five spoons. Oh for sure. You can feel it yourself. Listen to this: about ten years ago a, like, twenty-year study done by a university in England proved beyond any shadow of any doubt that everyone possesses extra sensory perception. I am not kidding. Do you believe in ESP? Whatever. It is a proven fact. Fact. So you would think that this would be big, right? That the way we see ourselves and what we are would undergo this big shift, right? Wrong. The scientists who confirmed the findings—saying, yes, irrefutable, we all posses the ability to read minds and see the future—also said that until we have a theory as to how or why, it doesn’t really go anywhere. It ain’t a fundable thing. It makes no difference.
Day Thirty-nine
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here’s a knock on the door. I don’t want to answer it. To tell you the truth, I think the pseudoephedrine has started to wear out its welcome. My hands are shaking and I jumped straight into the air just now. I’m going to close the mud-room door so they can’t look in and see that the TV is on. Okay, it’s closed but he did see me and now he’s hammering on the door. I sneak into the kitchen and lean over to look out the window. His face is four inches from mine. I think I even nod at him a bit before I pull back. It’s the water meter guy. Shit. There’s this big controversy right now about sump pumps
Fiction *
draining into the city’s sewers. You’re supposed to pump it out onto your lawn. Mine is hooked up to the city and was that way when we bought the house. This guy for sure now knows this. For a second, I picture myself letting him in then clocking him on the back of the head with a hammer. He’s probably banging my wife, anyway. I picture laying them side by side in the basement. There’s life insurance on her that pays off the balance owing on the house. There’s a part of you that reserves these things as options. You build adulthood out of a deep skepticism, knowing that one day you will do the one thing that has always been necessary: scorched earth. Give it all back to the system. It was what we did when we were kids. It’s what we will do now. I forgot to pay. I stole some things. I set a fire. I killed a person. And now I’m sitting alone, a grown man, crying and sorry and hated and worthless. So take me back. Take me into the giant hide tent where others like us wait for firm and merciful judgment. Ink my fingertips. Press them down softly and roll. It’s three forty-five in the afternoon. In fifteen minutes I will have to take two more pseudoephedrine.
First Day Back at Work
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he great beige exterior of Kiehl’s reaches up around us. At its bleak top, coming off the tar-pinched corners, are today’s clouds, and they come in low and soft and fast. We notice this because it tells us that while every day isn’t exactly the same as any other, it is probably a lot like some. We ascend the concrete stoop beside the first loading bay and note the bright orange tire stops stacked in the shallow water. Our fob passes over the door and it clicks open. The interior seems much larger than the exterior suggests. Fans howling and forklifts beeping and people in gauzy mushroom caps. The first person who sees us is former CNN newsanchor Aaron Brown. He has just punched in, and pauses in front of paper taped to glass. He runs his finger down it, looking for his name. He’s looking for what line he’s on today, and we know he should have already done this.
He should have punched in that code first. It’s odd: not having seen him for so long, we almost forgot him. How he turned his back on the camera to see if he could find the north tower in the debris cloud and then turning back, unable to look up when he said, “I think that’s sky where the tower should have been.” We nod to him and he nods back. Nobody here makes much of anything. We climb the wooden stairs to the change room just past some women. We pull off our shirt and stuff it on top of our boots. Then toe off our street shoes. Lady GaGa’s cheek jewellery clips on first. Someone suggests a glue that will not irritate the skin and we pretend to listen. Then Beyoncé’s glove, which should have had a ring on it, but we don’t make a big thing out of this. Rihanna’s broken lips. The bruising. We hunch our shoulders to hide our neck. Everybody has something they’re hiding. This is just a job and we hide ourselves here out of respect for whatever you’re hiding. Call it a code. I tuck my hair up under my hat. Good bye Elizabeth. Good bye Barbara and Whoopi. And Good bye Joy. *
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On Her Swimsuit Agent Provocateur Shoes Hermès
For more swimsuits see DRIVENmag.com 42
On Him Tie Vintage Polo Ralph Lauren (stylist’s own) Jacket Paul&Shark Shirt and shorts Louis Vuitton RCYC crest RCYC Pro Shop
Ship to shore Photography Matthew Stylianou Fashion Direction Luke Langsdale Art Direction Kelly Kirkpatrick Hair and Makeup by Edouardo Mella using TRESemmé Hair Care ( Judyinc.com)
Fashion Assistant Jessica Maiorano Models Alex, Andrea, Hannah, John and Paulina (Ford Models Inc.) Location The Royal Canadian Yacht Club, Toronto Island Boat Kazulin Boats Where to buy? See “Buyer’s Market” on page 61 43
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Opposite On Him Jacket Bamford & Sons Tie Polo Ralph Lauren Shirt Lacoste Belt Folk Shorts Polo Ralph Lauren Shoes Sebago RCYC crest RCYC Pro Shop
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This page On Him Suit Polo Ralph Lauren Shirt Paul Smith Belt Folk Shoes Kanye West Collection by Louis Vuitton Vest Mustang Survival
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Proud internationalists that we are, Canadians constantly decamp to Europe, en route perhaps catching a fly-by glimpse of a tiny island in the middle of the cold ocean. What is that place? A viking-encrusted volcano, piercing the remote North Atlantic? A blasted heath? A whimsical land filled with pixie women garbed in swan dresses, ululating to a tribal disco beat? Iceland? All of the above? Yes. (Just the one swan dress, though.)
Reykjavik’s progress
For open minds and spirits, Iceland finds a world of opportunities By Marcus Tamm
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arrive in Iceland for a whirlwind four-day press excursion, organized courtesy of a handful of the Northern European island country’s corporate concerns. The trip is completely coincident to the recent economic crisis; even if it weren’t, the mission would be the same. Iceland, I have been brought here to learn, is keen to make a good impression. Within moments of embarking on the bus ride from Keflavik International Airport into the capital city, Reykjavik, an intensely bleak, starkly beautiful picture takes shape. Iceland is immediately impressive, looking unlike any place most people will ever visit. The country is a jumble of mountains in a vast expanse of tumbled lava rock, punctuated by the occasional tuft of moss or, much rarer, stunted tree. About the size of the island of Newfoundland, Iceland is picturesque in the same way that the surface of the moon might be, incomprehensibly exotic and nearly silent, leaving one to contemplate the inner self. It is an atmosphere suited to cultivating artists and dreamers, misfits and eccentrics—most often inside the same skin, one suspects. The aforementioned eager hospitality reaches directly to the top: an early press-tour stop is a visit with President Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson, at his official countryside residence, a whitewashed building something between a plantation manor and a farmhouse. A functionary leads the dozen Canadian media representatives into a reception room, stocked with champagne and macaroons. Ólafur enters, deftly selects a flute filled with water and mingles with the slurping assembled. The president speaks of his country’s role as a leader in the global fight against climate change (Iceland being among those most immediately threatened) and of the perilous economic times. Indeed, Iceland’s economy imploded last October and the government had to nationalize its three largest banks in order to stave off complete collapse. The fall in value of the Icelandic króna has turned one of the world’s most expensive countries into a relative bargain.
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The gentleman eagerly mentions his nation’s affinity for Canada, there being a cluster of Icelanders on the edge of Lake Winnipeg since the late 19th century. The point is well-intended, even if it stretches further than Ólafur’s handshake. (While our countries may enjoy an ancient friendship, I should clarify that one needs not be personally chummy with Iceland’s head of state to address him on a first-name basis. There are no family names in Iceland. If a father’s given name is Grím, his son’s last name is Grímsson, his daughter’s, Grímsdottir. Since the title “Mr. President” carries baggage laden with images of Kennedys, birthdays and breathy starlets, ‘Ólafur’ it shall be.) If naming conventions differ slightly between Canada and Iceland, when it comes to dining, national tastes are a literal ocean apart. Sea Baron, a little place off the Reykjavik wharf recommended for its lobster soup, serves various kinds of fruits de mer, including what would surely be forbidden food back home: whale meat. Iceland is one of the few countries still hunting and harvesting whales, ostensibly for research purposes. Visitors open to conducting personal culinary experiments, and willing to surrender social ethics at the airport, will find Minke whale very tasty; visually, texturally and in flavour, it is like a fine beef steak. As an accompaniment, try Brennivín, the traditional Icelandic spirit colloquially called Black Death. The potato and caraway-based schnapps, reminiscent of the Danish Akvavit, pairs perfectly with whale kebab. For my part, I enjoy a slice of leviathan with a squeeze of lemon. At day’s end, I sleep with the clear conscience of Ahab. he morning after the presidential audience, the press corps boards a pair of monstrous trucks and sets off for Iceland’s rugged interior. At our first stop we marvel: Lake Thingvallavatn, Iceland’s largest lake, on one side of us, and the gap between the North American and European tectonic plates on the other. The geologic border here is a chasm almost narrow enough to straddle, though our guide advises that jumping into the two-lane-wide gully would have a person committing suicide in one continent but dying in another. The group proceeds to a glacier, which leaves every visitor awestruck in the presence of its pristine, natural beauty. The irony is sadly palpable, given that necessary transportation to this site involved beefy vehicles driving for two hours over what barely pass for roads, and roaring snowmobiles racing across the top of millennia of frozen history. If the ostentatious consumption of fossil fuel weren’t sufficient to cause internal reflection, the fact that a fall of unknowable depth would follow the slightest steering error should inspire sober thoughts on the shortness of the human lifespan in the face of geologic time. Instead, between the speed, noise and exotic terrain, I see myself as James Bond, earning that martini by shaking
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off baddies on helicopters. (One could suffer worse delusions. And when an actual whirlybird lands perhaps a hundred metres away, I feel somewhat justified in mine.) After removing crash helmets and downing shots of vodka, the group returns to the trucks for the long road off the glacier, to bear witness to one of Iceland’s countless geysers. From the patch where we stop, one spouts every few minutes, while the granddaddy of
all geysers (it’s actually named Geysir and is the namesake for all members of its class) sits quietly contemplating its unhurried next move. These eruptions, titteringly suggestive as they are of certain sexual functions, symbolize the source of Iceland’s power: geothermal energy. Icelanders get 99 per cent of their electric power and radiant home heating from renewable sources; a full 30 per cent of that is geothermal. This has the unintended side effect of making the people poor conservers of energy, their geothermal bounty being relatively easy to exploit. As a man at the power plant confesses, his countrymen are not unlike spoiled children, unwilling to curtail fun for sensible sacrifice. In fact, one is hard pressed to find a single recycling bin anywhere in Iceland. For all their Scandinavian cool, modernity and good looks, they might as well put every plastic water bottle directly into a Minke whale’s blowhole. Speaking of indignities visited upon sea creatures: You may have previously heard stories about Icelanders urinating on shark corpses and then burying them in the ground, only to dig up and eat the carcasses months later. The fables of hákarl—bluntly: rotten shark meat—are surely exaggerated, but there’s justification for the hyperbole. Our guide promises that there is neither urinating nor burying involved; nonetheless, this is rotten shark. Served in a bus-terminal café, the shark arrives on a platter, cut into cubes, speared by toothpicks and looking much like many smoked
Aurora photo (opposite) courtesy of Visit Reykjavik; Blue Lagoon spa (above), courtesy of Blue Lagoon
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fishes this writer has eaten with gusto. The illusion of familiarity shatters the moment the dish comes within two feet of the nostrils. Aromatic qualities are not to be understated. This is ammonia. These are smelling salts. This is the bus-station bathroom. Count among Iceland’s more challenging dishes to the North American palate the seared sheep’s head, marinated ram’s testicles, puffin and, most memorably, putrefied shark. Within two hits of hákarl, my sinuses are awash with ammonia, each chew releasing more. Only later do I gather that this ritual includes cutting the aftertaste with a shot of vodka. I acquiesce—better late than never. n Iceland, the vodka of choice is Reyka. The manufacturer’s distillery is a nondescript warehouse building near Borgarnes, 45 minutes from Reykjavik. Enthusiastic master distiller Kristmar Olafsson operates the world’s only vodka-deployed Carter Head still (the few others in existence make gin). Upon exit from the top of the still—distinctive for its honeycomb of internal copper work, where the steam passes—Reyka vodka is filtered through lava rock. Upon request, Kristmar takes me to this spot where the ‘real thing’ exits the system at roughly 180 proof (90 per cent alcohol). From the spirit locker, he pours a little glass and warns not to drink it before adding water. Pish posh, says I. How often does one find oneself standing atop a still, able to drink nectar just as it comes?
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Having stripped the surface layer of flesh from my mouth with but one sip, I feel better prepared to taste the diluted product to follow. I add water and drink again. I add still more water and drink further. Reyka is sparkling clean, notable for its startling absence of discernible taste—exactly as a fine vodka should be. Later, Kristmar’s assistant invites me to sample the ‘tails’ of the vodka—the last portion of the distillate, which is not up to the company’s exacting standards. Though they will never be bottled, even the cast-off ounces taste very much like other reputable vodkas. These things are subjective, of course, and drinking standards are highly personal. And research-oriented. Abstinence is another personal choice, except when enforced from above. Iceland suffered its own period of prohibition in the early part of the 20th century, as did many Nordic countries. For reasons Icelanders themselves were unable to account for, though, beer remained a forbidden beverage until quite recently: 1989. Presumably to make up for lost time, some not-insubstantial number of Icelanders have taken up beer with an enthusiasm that occasionally results in disturbances of the local peace.
eykjavik, particularly quiet of a weekday, is home to some twothirds of Iceland’s 300,000-plus inhabitants, although a tourist wandering about during sunlit hours will wonder where exactly those souls are hiding. Over the course of my stay, on any given day, I see perhaps a dozen people out and about before the hour of 5 p.m., no exaggeration. Nighttime is an entirely other matter, offering the best opportunity to spot locals in their element. My final evening in Iceland falls on a Saturday, the day of the week said to be the height of Reykjavik nightlife. I resolve to experience the Icelandic Rúntur as it reaches a roiling boil. The Rúntur is a pub crawl turned epic saga. Hordes of people, young and old, emerge from wherever they hide during the workdays and flit from bar to bar in the centre of town until, and even through, the wee hours. Dutifully, I follow the crowds from bar to pub to disco to tavern and make as many acquaintances as possible, including: an Icelandic lass who insists I rub her fish-skin boots; an Englishman moving to Iceland to escape Britain’s “crushing boredom”; and a local fellow who had just visited Canada to sing with, believe it, our Manitoban Icelanders. The night culminates in yet another of Reykjavik’s storied culinary experiences. Almost everyone will ask if you’ve tried the hot dogs from Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur, a Fotomat-sized stand that has been serving missiles of combined lamb, pork and beef since 1937. Former U.S. president Bill Clinton numbers among its famous clients and, while his gastronomic preferences have generally fallen a constellation short of a Michelin star, a visit to Iceland likely isn’t complete without trying at least one dog. Ever the researcher, I take three, with the works. For those who have polluted themselves with all manner of meat and drink during a hard night’s Rúntur, a cleansing and restorative stop at the Blue Lagoon spa just outside Reykjavik is an excellent way to revive. At the spa, an oasis of sorts at the edge of a power plant, the patrons soak out the toxins as they splash about in the milky blue geothermal pool. Shortly before boarding the flight back to Canada, I find myself wallowing in the Blue Lagoon’s soothing waters, enjoying for one last time the view of the mountains and lava rock and tufts of moss. I am already feeling that I will miss this sparse but compelling vista. If Iceland’s króna stays low and Canada’s loonie manages to keep its head above water, I expect that I’ll return within the next year. After all, I have yet to eat puffin. D
Glacier field photo courtesy of Icelandic Tourist Board
Fob *
> > 2010 Jaguar XKR and XFR TWO CLAWS UP By Carl Nadeau Provence, France—Oh, how we anticipated this moment, even if we sometimes doubted it would ever come. Finally, Jaguar has returned to its roots, abandoning the entry-level category and concentrating on the company’s original raison d’être: blending luxury, simplicity and chivalry into pure bliss on wheels. As recently as a decade ago, an invitation to drive a Jaguar—in fact, two of them—on Provence’s picture-perfect roads would have been the equivalent of, well, driving a Ford around same. With the Ford deal ended, the cats are free to roam again. Not to mention, run as fast as their feline namesakes. For this year’s trials, both the two-door XKR and four-door XFR were on hand, and both proved equally exhilarating. The 5.0-litre engine’s performance (510 hp, 461 lb-ft) announces itself the moment the starter motor is engaged, maintaining the growl, via its supercharger, right to the red line. Talk about an improvement: 23 per cent more power, 13 per cent more torque than the brand’s previous R models. And here’s the mark of a true performer: None of this
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refined power affects fuel consumption, while reduced emission levels fulfill the stringent ULEV II standard. The six-speed gearbox is a pure delight, silky smooth when put through its paces and ably transforming itself into a beast when the twisting roads, reminiscent of Monte Carlo, demand aggressive performance. Lightning-fast shifting is on-hand via steering-wheel mounted paddles; automatic mode, while admittedly less fun, also provides shock-free transitions—all the more notable given that gearboxes of this type are often plagued by less-thansmooth shifting. True sports car lovers will be thrilled to know that Jaguar’s transmission and fly-by-wire engine system automatically rev the new engine to the optimal point upon downshifting,
Automotive * simulating a true heel-and-toe manoeuvre. Matching the engine and transmission speeds results in a decidedly smoother ride. It also prevents unwanted weight transfer in moments of spirited acceleration.
As expected, the interiors of both vehicles are luxuriously appointed. Seats allow for multi-dimensional adjustments, accommodating any body frame with ease. Lateral support is nothing short of phenomenal, keeping the driver in place while attacking tight corners. Enhancing the ambiance is an audio system powerful enough to block any outside noise—even in the convertible. On the handling side, Jaguar’s engineers went the extra mile with the inception of CVD—continuous variable damping suspension—which adapts the damping pressure to the driver’s input during quick cornering and acceleration. When combined with a true dynamic control mode, which uses a real active differential (not to be confused with the simple ABS-assisted systems offered by many competitors), this system provides just the right amount of control and stability to keep the car grounded in difficult situations. The XKR boosts any driver’s confidence. Its lightweight, all-aluminum chassis—a design recently adopted by Jaguar and long-espoused by competitors such as Audi—creates a fluid driving experience. In the case of the XFR, added weight and doors do not negatively impact the drive in any way whatsoever; the vehicle still handles like a dream. We must admit, we were sceptical when Jaguar was sold by Ford. We needn’t have been. Despite being undermined by its previous owner’s influence and a significant financial burden, Jaguar’s new owners have proven that they understand what the purists really want: a truly refined breed of automobile, the quintessence of chivalry itself.*
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Fob *
> > 2009 Lamborghini Gallardo LP 560-4 Spyder Italian masterpiece theatre By Mark Hacking
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Tenerife, Canary Islands—El Teide is an active yet dormant volcano situated close to the south shore of Tenerife, the largest of the seven Canary Islands. The volcano, which also happens to be the highest mountain in Spain, last erupted in 1909. Precisely one hundred years later, El Teide became ground zero for an eruption of an entirely different kind as a fleet of twenty 2009 Lamborghini Gallardo LP 560-4 Spyders raced up and then back down the mountain. There was no lava present this time around; nevertheless, damage was done. In preparing for this latest round of sensory overload from Italian supercar manufacturer Lamborghini, I wondered how it would all play out. The return trip from our hotel to the Parque Nacional del Teide comprised an 80-km drive route—not a long distance at all when it comes to evaluating a new car. But here’s the thing: A review of the Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder pretty much writes itself.
Last year, I experienced the fixed-roof version of the car (see DRIVEN, summer 2008) and came away impressed with its sheer speed and ease of operation. What were the chances, then, that a convertible version with the same underpinnings and only about 100 kg in added weight would be any less impressive? Answer: slim to none—and slim just left town. Boasting the same 5.2-litre V10 as found in the engine bay of the Gallardo LP 560-4, the Spyder benefits from a huge amount of horsepower (560) and only a relatively slightly less huge amount of torque (398 lb-ft). The car can accelerate to 100 km/h from a standing start in just four seconds flat, a few tenths off the pace set by the coupe. Top speed is also down a bit compared to the hardtop, by a sole marker to a (measly) 324 km/h. These numbers very clearly place the Spyder in the category of “super-sports car”—a lofty designation that distinguishes this mechanical work of art in much the same way Heidi Klum is different from your average Sears catalogue model. Sports cars are fast, but super-sports cars are fast. If there were any doubt about this fact coming in to Tenerife, the visit removed it once and for all. Now, I’m not about to claim that the drive towards the precipice was anywhere near as exhilarating as attempting Everest without the benefit of oxygen or Sherpas, but it had its moments. Consider that at one
Automotive *
The Gallardo Spyder is a stunning piece of machinery, a flying wedge of a car that is most definitely built for speed
point, a train of five of us, absolutely nose-to-tail, was weaving its way up the narrow road, V10 engines screaming, just this side of terrorizing the local gente. Does this make it sound like our group’s behaviour was bordering on the irresponsible? Actually, we crossed that border, had our passports stamped and were well up the road before anyone had the chance to become suspicious. (A pair of drivers within our pack of 20, we later learned, even inflicted visible damage on their rides.) This is the effect a car like the Gallardo LP 560-4 Spyder can have on otherwise sensible men and women. Bishops, nuns, Gandhi, Mother Teresa—all would be powerless to resist the temptation of a sunny day, a curvy road, an Italian super-sports car and something that can only be described as a misplaced sense of diplomatic immunity. The truth be told, the locals didn’t terrorize easily—even when they were being thoroughly dusted by a total of 2,800 horsepower, in the hands of five foreign, ego-fuelled journalists. Instead, they took the opportunity to snap cell-phone photos as we hurtled past and inquire about the new Gallardo Spyder whenever our vertical progress was interrupted for more than a heartbeat, such as during lunch break in the park. And little wonder: With its motorized soft-top stowed away, parked or under power, the Gallardo Spyder is a stunning piece of machinery,
a flying wedge of a car that is most definitely built for speed. (With the top up, it’s admittedly a somewhat less compelling story, but this is true of many convertibles, no?) Under the skin, there are other hints that this is a no-nonsense driving machine: an all-wheel drive system that generates a death grip around corners and the e-gear 6-speed automatic transmission that allows drivers to shift gears in mere milliseconds. No question, then: The Gallardo is the real deal. But is it the ultimate super-sports car? Hardcore enthusiasts will note that the Spyder doesn’t have a twin-clutch automatic transmission
like Porsche, so shifts are more brutal and a shade less rapid. Also, with peak torque not appearing until 6,500 rpm, it actually takes a little longer than you’d expect to launch this missile from a start. Finally, though we are talking about a Lamborghini, the vehicle only has 560 horsepower—and when is that ever enough? While Lamborghini Gallardo LP 560-4 Spyder is neither the fastest nor most outrageous of the supersports set, it may just be the easiest to drive fast, and that alone may be worth the price of admission ($290,000). Regardless, it remains an incredible machine from tip to tail.*
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Automotive *
> > 2010 Toyota Prius More chic, more geek By Mark Hacking Yountville, California—Way back in the dark days of the late 20th century, the idea that a gas/electric hybrid car would be popular with the masses was a fantasy largely shared by science-fiction authors and the likes of Ed Begley, Jr. Now, just over a decade later, you can’t swing a pair of Fluevogs without smacking into a handful of the vehicles. Blame Toyota. More specifically, blame the trailblazing Toyota engineers responsible for the first mass-produced hybrid: the Toyota Prius (pictured above, RIGHT), which debuted in Japan back in 1997. While this car was a mild success in key markets, its main purpose was to pave the way for the secondgeneration Prius (Above, left), which became an
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environmental and political powerhouse around the globe after taking centre stage in 2004. Five years on, there’s another new Prius in town (Above, centre). Toyota claims that this third generation is another major step forward for the poster child of eco-chic motoring. Given that the 2010 model comes armed with no fewer than 1,000 patented products and/or systems, this does not seem like an exaggeration. The new version boasts a larger, 1.8-litre gas engine linked to a permanent magnet synchronous motor—the stuff behind a hybrid system 90 per cent changed from the previous version. The engines create a boost in power (+24 hp), torque (+22 lb-ft) and fuel efficiency (to an estimated 3.8 L/100 km combined city/highway). The Prius can now run in four different modes: standard, power, eco and EV, the last of which uses battery power alone for brief periods at up to 40 km/h. Naturally, the car produces near-zero tailpipe emissions—in all modes. On the road, the new model is definitely more engaging: the Prius no longer handles like a wet blanket, there’s some fun to the driving experience
and the addition of the EV mode is a very solid move. The regenerative braking system is improved, too, possibly from the addition of 4-wheel disc brakes. Regardless, the impressive result is that there’s only a hint of the “dead zone” in braking feel, for which these systems have become infamous. While still instantly recognizable as a Prius, the 2010 model gains a more aggressive front fascia and a profile slightly closer to that of a classic sporthatchback. Meanwhile, the interior is sleeker, more dynamic and more hi-tech. Steering-wheel touch pads trigger a heads-up display for the audio system and on-board computer, while an optional moonroof, with integrated solar panels, powers an air conditioning system that can be remote-operated. All things considered, it’s a significant accomplishment to take the most successful hybrid car in the world and make it just that much more desirable, for the average commuter, science-fiction authors and the likes of Ed Begley, Jr. Did Toyota need to improve the Prius? If the answer indeed happens to be yes, then the slogan for the 2010 model is obvious enough—it should read: mission accomplished.*
Photography by Bill Petro
Automotive *
2010 Mercedes-Benz E-Class sedan King of the middle of the road By Mark Hacking Madrid, Spain—There’s every chance that Mercedes-Benz will not appreciate this sentiment, but I’ve always considered the E-Class sedan to be one of the company’s least-interesting models. Of course, being a Mercedes-Benz, it’s always been a thoroughly competent bit of engineering and some of the car’s variations—notably the factory-pimped AMG models—have unquestionable appeal. Still, compared to other exciting Benzes, the E has always been difficult to classify. (And at times, it’s been found a bit wanting.) It’s not a flagship sedan, showcasing all the latest gadgetry and wizardry—that’s the S-Class. Neither is it the sedan that brings in new customers looking for a taste of German engineering at an “entry-level” price—that’s the C-Class. Finally, it’s not even the manufacturer’s most desirable mid-size sedan—that’s the CLS-Class (a “4-door coupe” that’s so sexy, it’s inspired a whole new category of automobile). So where does the E-Class fit in the hierarchy of Mercedes-Benz sedans? Well, right in the middle. The E is the perfect car for the business type who wants to make a bit of a statement—just not too loud of one. It’s the sedan for those who demand a certain level of luxury without appearing too ostentatious. In other words, it’s a bit of a sleeper. The forthcoming 2010 E-Class, introduced to the global media in early spring, continues this tradition. Style-wise, it’s bolder than the outgoing version, courtesy of a radically redesigned nose, rectangular headlights, a steeply-raked side profile and bulbous rear wheel arches that echo those of the S-Class. Initially, both the E350 and E550, the first two variations to arrive in Canada, will come standard with the AMG sports package—a solid decision that equips the sedan with a more aggressive front fascia, a lowered sport suspension and lightweight 18-inch wheels. Inside the cabin, the theme continues, with sports seats and an AMG steering wheel with gearshift paddles to operate the 7-speed automatic. For our market, the E350 and E550 will also come standard with Mercedes’ 4MATIC all-wheel drive system. While we didn’t get to drive any of the specific Canadian models during our time in and around Madrid, we did have a number of versions of the E-Class at our disposal, all of them rear-wheel drive variations. Many aspects of the E are new; for example, it’s longer, lower and wider. Still, the engines in the E350 and E550 are direct carry-overs from the previous version, albeit with improved fuel efficiency. As a result, the driving experience was fairly predictable:
both vehicles are stable, competent and just a little bit lacking in star power. The E550 was the more interesting example, not just because of the vehicle’s roaring 5.5-litre V8 engine (382 hp; 391 lb-ft) but also because it featured an adjustable air-suspension system. While all models have adaptive shock absorbers that automatically adjust according to road conditions, speed and cornering angle, air suspension takes it further, allowing the driver to select ride quality, from cushy to sporty. While the E is no corner-carver in the classic sense—it’s more of an open-road cruiser—this version displayed great composure in the bends. Also, the optional multi-contour front seats provide automatic inflatable side support during cornering, a feature that’s likely to surprise when experienced for the first time. (The seats also have a massage setting, appreciated the first time and every time.) Apart from the trick suspension and tricky seats, there are other exceptionally cool features on display. For example, adaptive high-beam headlights automatically operate in high-beam mode until a camera in the windshield detects traffic ahead; at this point, the lights dim to prevent the blinding of other drivers. While driving through the dark countryside on a particularly curvy secondary road, the system worked incredibly well, responding within fractions of locating another car in the vicinity.
The new E also has some technologies carried over from the pricier S-Class, including a nightvision feature that helps detect moving foreground objects—animals, pedestrians, UFOs and the like. The CIA-style camera view is projected onto the navigation screen in the centre console. Also from the S: a brake-assist system that applies emergency stopping power if the driver is braking with too little force, or simply isn’t paying attention. Finally, a drowsiness monitor sends audible and visual signals if the driver shows a pattern of erratic behaviour, such as wandering from the lane. The visual signal, set in the instrument panel, is a graphic of a hot cup of coffee (sponsorship deal with Starbucks pending). At this point, the critic in me would write that the drowsiness warning will be on all the time no matter how the 2010 Mercedes-Benz E-Class is being driven. Speed is not this new sedan’s primary purpose—a business type’s special, this vehicle targets those who don’t want to appear too flashy or frivolous. Prices for the new E-Class are expected to start in the low-$70s. More excitement will be on tap when the BlueTEC diesel and AMG power-monger versions appear down the road. But for the time being, there is absolutely no debate that this E has enough performance, luxury and technology to rank among the best in the mid-size segment, if it’s not in fact the absolute class leader.*
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“COOLHUNTING 2.0” BY MARK MOYES, CONTINUED FROM p33 Duncan Watts, a University of Columbia sociology professor and principal research scientist at Yahoo! Research, believes Gladwell was wrong. He believes that highly-connected Influentials are simply not that influential, and that in large enough networks of people, everyone has a chance to propagate a trend.In an experiment he ran in 2001, he asked 61,000 people from 166 countries to attempt to send emails to 18 subjects, in a sort of proof of the six-degrees-of-separation chain. (A similar but much smaller experiment was described in The Tipping Point.) According to Watts, most of the emails that successfully reached their recipients were passed on by regular people. Only 5 per cent were delivered thanks to the most-connected participants, which is a far cry from the 20-/80-per cent ratio Gladwell claimed. Still, not everyone agrees with Watts. Neither is there consensus that the The Wisdom of Crowds model is the right one. Denis Hancock, Manager of the Marketing & Sales 2.0 research program at nGenera (a firm that helps companies take advantage of collaborative technologies) explains: “Oftentimes when we’re talking about crowd-sourcing, people naturally jump to the model where you need to have this open system where millions and millions of people are collaborating. But in some of the more effective crowd-sourcing models, you’re just trying to find those one or two people, or maybe the 30 or 40 people in a closed system, that can really contribute.” So, we’re essentially back to the “influential” model. Interestingly, Trendwatching has two submission sites. Both are closed, meaning the general public can’t browse the entries. One invites contributions from everyone, and the other is by invitation only. People with no trend experience need not apply. It almost feels as if Evans, unable to choose sides in the debate over Influentials, is hedging his bets.
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Because of the sheer wealth of information, the web is a marketer’s dream come true. Hancock mentions a Dell ‘swat team’ that would monitor the web and read and respond to anything that was written about the company. Andrea Wojnicki, associate Professor of Marketing at the Rotman School of Management, gives another example: “Record companies might hire a company like Electric Artists to go online and search for who is being talked about, and whether it is positive or negative, and who’s doing the talking.” But the open-source (or crowd-sourcing) model—where instead of marketers going out and scouring the web for your feedback, you voluntarily deliver it directly to them—is particularly attractive. It’s cheap labour. (Cheap but not necessarily free: Trendwatching rewards accepted submissions with gifts; TrendHunter parcels out its Google ad profits to members.) It also sounds more legit. Trend Hunter’s site boasts that its Crowd Sourced Insight™ is crowd filtered, measured and hyperlinked. The terminology—all-important—grounds trend hunting in a veneer of statistics and science, distancing the practice from the intuition-based image of earlier forecasters. But as trend spotters scramble to remake their image, the question remains: Is the open-source model the correct one for marketing? Does it even work? Wojnicki, whose word-of-mouth research focuses on why consumers talk and what they say about brands on-and offline, points out that there are a couple inherent problems. The first has to do with the way that data is interpreted. Record companies seeking data on how their albums are received may be doing themselves a disservice. Marketers are “very often quantifying the proportion of positive versus negative comments, assuming that positive is good and negative is not, but there’s actually real academic research out there showing the old adage from PR that any news is good
news. So valence [the emotional value attached to something] doesn’t matter as much as noise.” Movie ticket sales, for example, are linked to the number of people talking about the films, not how the films are received. Worse, all this free information we’re giving the trend hunters about what interests us may not actually reflect what we’re interested in purchasing. “The worst way to figure out what customers want is to ask them,” says nGenera’s Hancock. “People have these ideas of what they want, but in reality what drives their behaviour and purchase decisions isn’t what they think it is.” U of T’s Wojnicki mentions Chrysler’s Minivan as an example: all of the company’s research indicated that the vehicle would be a poor seller, but when released, it proved to be an immediate success. The question is, are these aggregated contributions showing trends in what we find interesting, or what we want to buy? The trend reports are certainly great conversation starters and popular with outfits whose primary role is communication (the media, ad agencies), but they may be less solidly useful to manufacturers themselves. Despite the fact that nobody can really agree on whether they work, the industry’s fascination with trends is only increasing. You can purchase trend tours from CScout to visit locations like L.A., Berlin, Tokyo and Sao Paolo; you can attend trend school with the Intelligence Group. The open-source model, by engaging more people, boosts awareness. And every month, more trends are named. There are so many new words that it all starts to sound like noise. While we may laugh dismissively at the naming conventions and what the terms claim to describe, this is where perhaps Gladwell was right after all: Maybe trend spotters do have superior intuition about what starts a trend. Or maybe they just know how to ride one. After all, they’re in the sales business. And between valence and noise, it’s noise that predicts what will sell. D
“THE FAST AND THE FABULOUS” BY LYNN CROSBIE CONTINUED FROM p36 and Tama Janowitz. Hearst also talked about politics, to the wicked amusement of most commentators, and has since gone on, this last while, to try to keep her earnest ideals afloat. She co-founded and co-chairs Designers for Darfur, which endows the Save Darfur Coalition; she was in the news recently speaking about the global economic crisis, and she spoke very well. It is hard to find her words, however, as they are always quoted in or pressed between masses of sarcastic loathing for the gorgeous doll who loves to dance on tabletops in déshabille (so one assumes) while harbouring opinions about culture and technology (an element of her major at Sacred Heart University).
“Her words are always quoted in between masses of sarcastic loathing for the gorgeous doll who loves to dance on tabletops in déshabille (so one assumes)” Having just passed a semi-precious kidney stone, and making world-wide headlines for doing so, Hearst is currently promoting her starring role in Steve Clark’s The Last International Playboy, a US indie film. The film looks like fun trash; but, notably, Hearst’s loveliness is here so compelling, it would seem that the complicated message about brains, beauty and ambition has found its medium at last. “He was unstoppable,” says Hearst of her grandfather. Try stopping her. D
Buyer’s Market Table of Contents (Page 8) Lydia Hearst: See entry for COVER FEATURE, Page 37, below. Ship to Shore: Yellow swimsuit by Agent Provocateur available from agentprovocateur.com; glasses by Sean Jean available from seanjean.com. Blue and white two-piece by OndadeMar available from ondademar.com; glasses by Fendi available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). Blue onepiece by OndadeMar available from ondademar.com; glasses by Zanzan available from farfetch.com. Rainbow swimsuit by Hermès available at Hermès (hermes.com); glasses by Zanzan available from farfetch.com. On him: Vest by Mustang Survival available from mustangsurvival.com. Bleaker jacket by Polo Ralph Lauren available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). Woven signal tie, shirt, woven belt, all by Folk available from folkclothing.com. Shorts by Façonnable available at Harry Rosen (harryrosen.com). Red Chuck Taylor All-Star Shoes by Converse available from converse.com. Editor’s Letter (Page 12) Suit and Shirt by Hugo Boss available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). Gear (Page 18) Russell Moccasin handcrafted Thula Thula safari boots available from russellmoccasin.com. Filson tin cloth pants available from filson.com. Pendleton for Opening Ceremony wool shirt to be released fall/winter 2009. Nike ACG soft shell jacket available from store.nike.com. Arc’teryx alpha SV GORE-TEX hard shell jacket available from trailspace.com. Primus fuel container and MEC Hybrid Sleeping Bag -20C available from Mountain Equipment Co-op (mec.ca). Mammut Lucido TX1 head lamp available from basegear.com. GoLite Valhalla 2+ tent and Adrenaline 0° bag available from golite.com. Therm-a-Rest Trail Lite camping mattress available from monodsports.com. Hbc point blanket available at the Bay (thebay.com). MSR Quick 2 System cookset available from Mountain Equipment Co-op (mec.ca). Primus Himalaya Multi-Fuel stove available from backpackingdeals.com. Victorinox Soldier knife and Victorinox ST 5000 Digital Compass available from swissarmy.com. Gränsfors Bruks small forest axe available at The Canadian Outdoor Equipment Company (canadianoutdoorequipment.com). Tahitian Noni Juice and Hiro widely available. Zamberlan Vioz GT boots available from zamberlan.com. Nike ACG Ashiko Boot to be released this
Photo by Nicolas Wagner
winter. Arc’teryx Arrakis 50 pack available from arcteryx.com. Pendleton Glacier National Park blanket available from pendleton-usa.com. MSR Titan kettle available at Mountain Equipment Co-op (mec.ca). Clockwork Orange (Pages 20 – 21) Doxa Sub 1000T Professional available from doxawatches.com (exclusive). Hublot Big Bang Orange Carat available at Royal De Versailles (416.967.7201). Rolex Oyster Perpetual Milgauss available at retailers across Canada (store locator at rolex.com). Blancpain Collection Sport Speed Command Chronograph available at Royal De Versailles (416.967.7201). Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean available at retailers across Canada (store locator at omegawatches.com). Cover Feature (Pages 34 – 37) Page 35: “Jodie” lingerie set by Agent Provocateur available from agentprovocateur.com. Tee by Elijah, Graffiti bracelet by b-side, both available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). Stockings by Voila! available at Nearly Naked Lingerie (416.588.7090). Page 36: Tights by Trasparenze available at Nearly Naked Lingerie (416.588.7090). Page 37: Silk tank by Alexander Wang, patent shoes by Christian Louboutin, both available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). “Kathleen” lingerie set by Agent Provocateur available from agentprovocateur.com. Cut down tights by Trasparenze available at Nearly Naked Lingerie (416.588.7090). Ship to Shore (Pages 42 – 49) Special thanks to Woodland Marine Muskoka (woodlandmarine.ca) for providing the Canadian-designed, Canadian-manufactured Kavalk Adriatic 24. For more information, please contact Brian at 705.769.2151, kazulinboats.com.
Page 44: Jacket by Bamford & Sons, tie and pants by Polo Ralph Lauren, all available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). Shirt by Lacoste (lacoste.com). Belt by Folk available from folkclothing.com. Shoes by Sebago available from sebago.com. Page 45: Glasses by Zanzan available from farfetch.com. Jacket by Paul&Shark (paulshark.com). RCYC crest available at the Royal Canadian Yacht Club Pro Shop (416.967.7245). White shirt by Paul&Shark Bretagne (paulshark.com). Blue shirt by Harry Rosen available at Harry Rosen (harryrosen.com). Belt by Paul&Shark (paulshark.com). Pants by Polo Ralph Lauren available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). Silk blouse by Raquelle available from raquelle.net. Page 46: Hat by Paul&Shark Bretagne (paulshark.com). Jacket by Prada available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). Shirt by Burberry available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). Belt by Folk available from folkclothing.com. Kanye West Collection shoes by Louis Vuitton available from louisvuitton.com (1-866-VUITTON). Page 47: Glasses by Zanzan available from farfetch.com. Shirt by Raquelle available from raquelle.net. Swimsuit by OndadeMar available from ondademar.com. Shoes by Hermès available at Hermès (hermes.com). Page 48: Necklace by Ben-Amun available from ben-amun.com. Swimsuit by Agent Provocateur available from agentprovocateur.com. Shoes by Hermès (hermes.com). Page 49: Suit by Polo Ralph Lauren, shirt by Paul Smith, both available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). Belt by Folk Clothing available from folkclothing.com. Shoes by Kanye West for Louis Vuitton to be released. Vest by Mustang Survival available from mustangsurvival.com. This Page
Page 42: Bathing suit by Agent Provocateur, available from agentprovocateur.com. Shoes by Hermès available at Hermès (hermes.com).
Smock by Fendi, boots by Christian Louboutin, both available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com).
Page 43: Tie by Polo Ralph Lauren available at Holt Renfrew (holtrenfrew.com). RCYC crest available at the Royal Canadian Yacht Club Pro Shop (416.967.7245). Jacket by Paul&Shark (paulshark.com). Shirt and Shorts by Louis Vuitton available from louisvuitton.com (1-866-VUITTON).
Special thanks to The Royal Canadian Yacht Club For membership information: Karen Xekominos Director of Membership & Marketing 416.943.4407 RCYC.ca
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