The Kit Compact July 2017 — Vancouver

JULY 2017 | VANCOUVER

GLORY DAYS Fashion adventures in suburbia, obsession-worthy festival uniforms, summer fiction to read in one big gulp

EDITOR’S LETTER

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Laura deCarufel @LauradeCarufel

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

Jessica Hotson @jesshotson EXECUTIVE EDITOR

Kathryn Hudson (on leave) @hudsonkat BEAUTY DIRECTOR

Rani Sheen @ranisheen

FASHION EDITOR

HEY, GIRL

This is me at 13, reading Seventeen in my bedroom.

(Shoutout, Orleans, Ontario!)

ON OUR JULY MOOD BOARD

YOU FEEL SO DEEPLY AT THAT AGE— NO SURFACE, ALL FEELING

Edward Scissorhands’ soothing suburban uniformity and classic preppy chic.

With so much sameness in the burbs, you need to make your own fun—like these girls in this half-dreamy, halfattitude-y snap by Toronto photog Petra Collins.

Jillian Vieira @JillianVieira

DIGITAL EDITOR

Caitlin Kenny @caitlinken_insta MANAGING EDITOR

Eden Boileau @lilyedenface

Nothing like reading Jack Kerouac to make you feel the ennui of trawling the mall.

ASSISTANT EDITOR

Veronica Saroli @vsaroli

ASSOCIATE ART DIRECTORS

Sonya van Heyningen @svanh7 Kristy Wright (on leave) @creativewithak Aimee Nishitoba @studio.aimee

PUBLISHER

Giorgina Bigioni PROJECT DIRECTOR, DIGITAL MEDIA

Kelly Matthews COLLAB DIRECTOR

Evie Begy eb@thekit.ca

SENIOR INNOVATIONS DESIGNER

Amber Hickson

COLLAB COORDINATOR

Sarah Chan

MARKETING COORDINATOR

Nikki Lewis

CONTRIBUTORS

Ania B., Luke Bergen, Shanelle Fredrickson, Samra Habib, Sarah Hagi, Katie Hession, Sandy Joe Karpetz, Avery Kua, Hamin Lee, Melanie Mah, Lauren McKeon, Kamara Morozuk, Racquelle Nembhard, Grace O’Connell, Shima Ra’eesi, Louise Reimer, Jesse Sand, Saty & Pratha, Kiara Schwartz, Briony Smith, Tyler Stalman, Meaghan Strimas, Ronnie Tremblay, Jenna Marie Wakani, Arden Wray, Aaron Wynia INTERNS

Nabra Badr, Naomi Brearley, Alanna Fairey, Paige Furtney, Sade Lewis, Krizia Peluso The Kit is Canada’s beauty and style leader © 2017, The Kit, a division of Toronto Star Newspapers Limited.

PRESIDENT AND CEO, TORSTAR, AND PUBLISHER, TORONTO STAR

John Boynton

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF, TORONTO STAR

Michael Cooke

THEKIT.CA | JULY 2017 |

THE GREAT ESCAPE When you’re a teen in the suburbs, your bedroom is your sanctuary. Mine was painted lilac, my bed laden with stuffed animals I stuffed in the closet when my cooler friends came over. I had the nicest life with the nicest family, but I was fixated on escape.

Magazines offered it: first Seventeen, then Vogue, then The Face, the Brit bible of cool that made London seem like an intoxicating dream spiked with septum rings and possibility. Music and books also gave glimpses of a future beyond Saturday nights spent endlessly waiting for the 95 bus. I mouthed along to “Disco 2000” on my yellow Walkman, as I flipped through the teen angst canon: Salinger, Kerouac, Plath. “Life is a capital letter!” I announced in loopy calligraphy on a friend’s birthday card. You feel so deeply at that age—no surface, all feeling.

When our brilliant creative director, Jessica Hotson, recently suggested that we do a Suburbs Issue, I said “Yes” during her second syllable. Everything about the suburbs feels so now—normcore fashion, the return of the major mall, society’s collective yearning for comfort. Today’s big boxes and green lawns may resemble the burbs of my youth, but the feeling is different. Something is happening as cities get pricier and push people to the outskirts, disrupting demographics and shifting the creative landscape Or maybe I’m feeling that way because I recently moved out of Toronto to Hamilton, where we shot the fashion feature in our mammoth “Welcome to the Burbs” package (page 4). It’s made me think about my parents and how their move to the burbs was all about giving my sister and me the best start in life. The subdivision where we grew up may have been boring, but my mom and dad certainly weren’t.

Our family car was a yellow Mustang with sticky black seats that we dug through for quarters at the McDonald’s drive-through.

When I was seven and my sister was five, they brought us to Sri Lanka for six months.

compact

They collected art; their books numbered in the thousands. I wasn’t paying attention to the right things.

EVERYTHING ABOUT THE SUBURBS FEELS SO NOW— NORMCORE FASHION, THE RETURN OF THE MAJOR MALL, SOCIETY’S COLLECTIVE YEARNING FOR COMFORT

The tragic sisters of Sofia Coppola’s The Virgin Suicides glamourized suicide way before 13 Reasons Why.

At The Kit Compact, our attention is always focused on celebrating creative women, like the foursome in “Meet Your Makers” (page 29), a portfolio helmed by fashion editor Jillian Vieira. To me, they embody everything I wanted to be, dreaming of freedom in that lilac room: Smart and talented, they had the guts to go after what they want.

I hope you find them as inspiring as I do. Keep in touch this summer @Laura_deCarufel and @TheKit with #thekitcompact. See you back here in September.

LAURA DE CARUFEL, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF @thekitca

@thekit

thekitca

Burby tunes for marathon bus rides: Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs and the “King City” single by Majid Jordan.

P.S. If you’re in Ontario, July 28 to 31, join us at the WayHome Music Festival—The Kit is the fashion and beauty media sponsor and I. Can’t. Wait. Solange is playing. Solange!

ON THE COVER PHOTOGRAPHY BY AARON WYNIA. HAIR AND MAKEUP: RONNIE TREMBLAY FOR TEAMM/NARS/KEVIN MURPHY. HAIR AND MAKEUP ASSISTANT: RACQUELLE NEMBHARD MODELS: DESIREE FOR ELITE MODEL MANAGEMENT, HENRIETTE FOR SUTHERLAND MODELS, JORDAN DARLING FOR ANITA NORRIS MODEL MANAGEMENT. CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: SEA DRESS, $600, SHOPBOP.COM. RAG & BONE JACKET, $370, DRESS, $605, RAG-BONE.COM. VERSUS JACKET, $1,125, SHORTS, $465, VERSACE.COM. COS SWIM TOP, $39, COS

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We’re calling it: The suburbs are the place to be this summer. (Downtown in July is like being licked by a hot, furry tongue.) Escape to the outskirts, where the vibe is anything but cookie-cutter. The people are chill, the soft-serve is creamy and memories swell like a flooding fire hydrant cooling the sidewalks in a quiet cul-de-sac Photography by Aaron Wynia | Fashion direction by Jillian Vieira

WELCOME TO THE BURBS

VERSUS VERSACE JACKET, $1,125, SHORTS, $465, VERSACE.COM. COS SWIM TOP, $39, COS

Sun-scorched sidewalks call for breezy denim and summery crochet.

TANYA TAYLOR DRESS (FAR LEFT), $435, TANYATAYLOR. COM. COS SWIM TOP, $35, BOTTOMS, $35, COS. VANS SHOES (THROUGHOUT), $90, VANS. SEA DRESS, $600, SHOPBOP.COM

SEA DRESS, $600, SHOPBOP. COM

SATURDAY NIGHT IN SUBURBIA

Ride-or-die city girl Briony Smith reports back from the land of strip malls and roller rinks There is often a familiar path beaten between the suburbs and downtown: We’re born somewhere leafy; we flee to the core to party away our youth; we limp back to Meadow Gardens or Pine Terrace or Waterfall Drive to possibly procreate, then pass into dust. I hail from the burbs, but for the past 11 years I’ve lived in Toronto, where I so enjoy the glitz and grit of downtown that I assumed I’d spend my whole life here, with a new taco joint opening every 10 minutes and the possibility of a greasy adventure just a 2 a.m. cab away. The fact that I don’t drive—

can’t drive—means that I rarely, if ever, venture outside the core. But lately, I’ve been wondering what lurks beyond. What was out there? Bowling? A drive-in? It was time to leave the city, if only for a night.

5 p.m.: The journey My Uber hit the highway to my first destination: the mall, naturally. En route to Mississauga, we zipped past other shopping centres, hulking, blank monoliths. As someone who generally avoids chains, I felt nervous. Thankfully, the suburbs are designed to lull: The expressway shrunk into streets so wide they appear stretched, framed by carpets of kelly green grass and punctuated only by an occasional bus stop pole or basketball net peeking out of a yard.

Stores were clustered into small strip malls with cheerful, straightforward names: Books N Taxes, Tubs: The Ultimate Bath Store, > 5

Just Incredible! Hair for Every Woman. There was something refreshing about it—an antidote to Toronto’s sun-dappled, painted-white ateliers with vague double-barrelled monikers combining the proprietors’ maiden aunts’ names and filled with beautiful objets, like a tape dispenser crafted from a single piece of amethyst crystal.

Books. Tubs. Hair. What you see is what you get.

5:30 p.m.: The big mall We arrived at Square One, the second-largest shopping centre in the country, where two Canada geese had taken up residence in a patch of grass marooned among the many, many parking lots. If aliens ever needed to build a terrarium for their human collection, it would probably look like a mall. It has all the comforts to keep you sated: bountiful skylights to let in actual sunlight, taupe leather banquettes for lounging and a constant hum of inoffensive jazz. Smells of Cinnabon and popcorn filled the air, as teen girls scurried about with fistfuls of tiny square pink paper bags. Wild-haired young dudes roved in packs, shouting, laughing and shoving. A pair of cute baby nerds huddled over their fresh comic hauls, magenta pigtails and thick-rimmed glasses bobbing with excitement. It brought me right back to my childhood spent in Canada’s first and best-named mall, Park Royal. I spent my teen years listening to movie soundtracks on CD at Future Shop, getting a plate piled high with chow mein from the packed food court and sneaking into Trainspotting at the two-screen movie theatre. I even worked a summer at the Claire’s, piercing babies’ ears and shoplifting with abandon.

I asked to interview the baby nerds. “How old are you?” “Sixteen!” one squeaked, as they both collapsed into giggles. This happened over and over as I attempted to find legal adults to talk to, confirming that the mall is the province of teens: teens with friends, teens with their moms, teens with kids of their own. They were at ease here. Even the baby nerds felt comfortable taking up room,

SENSING A FELLOW FASHION FAN, I ASKED HOW SHE LIKED LIVING IN THE SUBURBS. “YOU CALL THIS A SUBURB?” SHE SAID, EYES NARROWING. “I LIVE HERE.”

MARCO DE VINCENZO DRESS, $1,605, TOP, $1,035, MARCODEVINCENZO.COM. CONVERSE SHOES (THROUGHOUT), $65, CONVERSE.CA

Light-as-air dresses get their look-at-me moment even on an anchored swing set.

FROM LEFT: APIECE APART DRESS, $515, NET-A-PORTER. COM. TORY BURCH DRESS, $798, TORY BURCH. COACH 1941 TOP, $685, SKIRT, $520, COACH.COM

sprawled out on the banquette, claiming just as much space as their prom-queen brethren.

7:30 p.m.: The strip mall While I was mighty tempted by the delicious trash on offer at the food court (apparently Chipotle is the hottest seller), I knew from Nancy, my coolest friend and a burbs dining aficionado, that the outskirts are filled with superior chow.

I decided on Kenzo, the Mississauga outpost of the popular ramen chain, which boasted dauntingly long wait times with a silver lining: the chance to suck up tapioca balls at Chatime, the bubble tea place next door. When I arrived at the strip mall, the Kenzo line snaked out the door.

A woman beside me was overdressed by the ’Saugs standards, with a slick bob and a sharp camel coat. Sensing a fellow fashion fan, I asked how she liked living in the suburbs. “You call this a suburb?” she said, eyes narrowing. “I live here.” More and more people arrived, in ripped jeans and sensible hoodies, with the most suburban of accessories: a giant, dangling ring of car keys. One couple waited out the line in their car, a giant crossover with a vanity plate that read REMAXRAJ. Inside, Remax Raj and his companion scrolled through their phones, taking gulps of bubble tea, as they reclined in carefree bliss.

8:30 p.m.: The ice cream After almost an hour of waiting and no ramen, I Ubered on to Dairy Cream, a small red shack that has been dishing out beautiful soft-serve for the past 59 years. Instagramming the quaint interior is discouraged via a stern sign posted directly beside the plastic-lettered menus. The prices are just as old-fashioned: My caramel sundae (with nuts) cost a mere $4.40. I nestled into a picnic table, which over the next hour played host to many guests: cyclists; plaid-shirted teens clutching those huge

car keys; three generations of a family, including three kids, their parents and their grandmother. The son badgered his mom about getting more data for his phone, while the grandmother serenely surveyed the action. I asked the group what they liked about the suburbs. “We love the parking out here,” the father said. He turned to his family, waggling his sundae spoon. “Remember the time we drove into the city for that thing? We drove around for an hour looking to park, so eventually we just turned around and came right back!” Behind us, the line swelled to dozens and dozens of people, but no one seemed to be having an ironic kitschy experience. They just wanted some funnel cake.

9:50 p.m.: The roller rink Scooter’s Roller Palace was everything I wanted it to be. Inside, the first thing I saw was a placard with the names of all the birthday celebrants lit up in neon pink, green and blue, along with approximately 100 signs running down the safety regulations (no gum chewing!). And the first thing I felt? The soft >

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GLOSS MY HEART Sweet as a lollipop, shiny as a just-washed convenience store window and subversive as a pair of Lolita heart sunglasses, juicy lipgloss is an essential summer treat.

lush carpeting—black shot through with fluorescent curlicues, of course. Other childhood throwbacks crammed into the lounge: a Love Meter, a claw prize game and a foosball table. Here was the dream of the normcore burbs come alive: people of all ages and ethnicities, laughing, courting and not caring if they fell on their butt. I relaxed into the carpeted block at the side of the rink, chin propped on my hands as I watched people skate by. There was the older lady with hair down to her waist dancing by herself to “Billie Jean,” kicking her skates out to the beat. Two girls in ripped jeans inched along, shrieking with every wobble. A slick bro raced around the rink, his legs scissoring impossibly fast. One portly elderly gent in rainbow suspenders gracefully shimmied around the perimeter with his son. Later he returned, this time in a Scooter’s uniform and with a whistle, bopping to the beat of Biggie rapping “Back to Cali.” People wore yellow velour, baggy overalls, Metallica tees.

Ed Hardy, even. One girl wore a tight pink sweater, slicked-on jeans and huge vintage glasses. I tried to ask her a few questions, but she breezed past me. “I just wanted to interview her,” I blustered to her friend, a more shy-looking girl in an army jacket. “For a fashion magazine,” I added. “You probably won’t get her,” she replied. “It’s her birthday,” as if I should know better than to violate the sanctity of this sacred outing: their friends, the skating, the summer night, their name proclaimed in neon at the door. It all looked so pure, so free, so uncool it was cool. “Downtown is try-hard city,” as my friend Nancy had said.

“The only realness is in the burbs.” Could this realness be my reality? A small house rented with my boyfriend, playing with a rescue dog in our little yard, swanning about the mall by day, mooning at each other over velvety softserve at night? The coloured lights slipped over the skaters’ faces, turning them blue, then green, red, then yellow, and the song melted into One Way’s ’70s jam, “Don’t Fight the Feeling.” n

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“DOWNTOWN IS TRY-HARD CITY,” AS NANCY, MY COOLEST FRIEND, HAD SAID. “THE ONLY REALNESS IS IN THE BURBS.”

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11 1. BIOTHERM AQUASOURCE PLUMP AND GLOW, $23, BIOTHERM.CA. 2. DIOR LIP GLOW POMADE, $41, THEBAY.COM. 3. SEPHORA COLLECTION COLOURFUL GLOSS BALM IN IT AIN’T EASY, $13, SEPHORA.CA. 4. SOAP AND GLORY SEXY MOTHER PUCKER XXL PILLOW PLUMP, $24, BEAUTYBOUTIQUE.CA. 5. CLARINS INSTANT LIGHT NATURAL LIP PERFECTOR, $20, CLARINS.CA. 6. L’ORÉAL PARIS INFALLIBLE LIP PAINTS IN 300, $13, DRUGSTORES. 7. FRESH SUGAR LIP CREAM IN GUILT, $29, SEPHORA.CA. 8. KOPARI COCONUT LIP LOVE, $12, SEPHORA.CA. 9. RODIAL DRAGON’S BLOOD XXL LIP PLUMPER, $30, MURALE. 10. ESSENCE BB BEAUTY BALM IN FLIRTYLICIOUS, $5, SHOPPERS DRUG MART. 11. FLICKABLE LIP GLOSS IN BETTER OFF RED, $6, THEBAY.COM

SUBURBS STREETERS We asked: “What do you love best about the burbs?”

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“It’s quiet. I don’t like the noise of downtown.”

Brenda, 18

“There’s so much green space.”

Veronica, 21

“In Nigeria, I can’t really walkaround at night because it’s dangerous, but here it’s really safe.”

Harriet, 17

Gabi , 18

“You’re with the same people throughout elementary and high school, so you see everyone grow up. It’s comforting knowing the streets and knowing who’s who.”

Illustrations by Louise Reimer

THE HANDBOOK

t h a t f r e s h c a r s m e l l

Take your summer scent inspo from air freshener classics

Black Ice: Citrusy and woody notes smell like your most heavily cologned uncle has you locked in a bear hug. =

This fragrance shares Black Ice’s sandalwood and citrusy notes (with lime and yuzu instead of lemon and bergamot), while sea salt and violet create a relaxed, beachy mood.

“The fashion. You have the trends that you see in cities but it’s also a little bit more lax ’cause you also have your cozy home life.”

PINROSE SUN SAINT EAU DE PARFUM, $88 (50 ML), SEPHORA.CA

C LOC K WISE FROM TOP LEF T: FATCO L AVEN DER + C L ARY SAGE STANK STOP DEODORANT, $12, FATCO.COM. FAT AND THE MOON DEODORANT CREAM, $25, LIKELYGENERAL.COM. LEAVES OF TREES LAVENDER TANGERINE DEODORANT, $18, LEAVESOFTREES.COM. ROUTINE THE CURATOR DEODORANT, $28, ROUTINECREAM.COM. MEOW MEOW TWEET LAVENDER DEODORANT CREAM, $21, WELL.CA. URSA MAJOR HOPPIN’ FRESH DEODORANT, $24, PETALANDPOST.COM. CAPTAIN BLANKENSHIP LIME AND VETIVER CREAM DEODORANT, $22, THEDETOXMARKET. CA. LOVEFRESH GRAPEFRUIT DEODORANT, $24, LOVEFRESH.COM

LEGEND

The clear winner, this deodorant stood up to a midday game of badminton.

Natural deodorant winners and stinkers

Like most awkward teenagers, I was mortified by the fact that I sweat.

One summer, I made my mom take me to Walgreens during a family trip to Florida so I could buy a not-available-in-Canada industrialstrength medical-grade antiperspirant that a camp friend had told me about. I don’t think I had a pit stain until September. In fact, I didn’t really sweat properly for years after. I began to worry that I was taking years off my life through chemical exposure, so I gave myself a cooling off period where I didn’t wear anything—I wanted to give my pits time to breathe. I started noticing how my sweat and body odour would change from day to day—there was workout sweat, hangover sweat, period sweat, heat sweat and of course stress sweat, and each one felt and smelled slightly different. My body seemed to be communicating with me through my sweat, and I paid attention. Now I no longer tell my pits to shut the hell up; I’ve found a new love and respect for them. That said, no one wants to reek. So I embarked on a quest for the perfect natural deodorant, and test drove basically all of them so you don’t have to.

Amanda, 22

PHOTOGRAPHY: HAMIN LEE (LIP GLOSS). ART DIRECTION: SONYA VAN HEYNINGEN (LIP GLOSS). TEXT: BRIONY SMITH (STREETERS). CHUPA CHUPS COURTESY OF TOSUTA INTERNATIONAL.

“I NO LONGER TELL MY PITS TO SHUT T H E H E L L U P.” J E S S I C A H O T S O N O N LISTENING TO HER SWEAT

Smells nice Spreadable creamy texture D ries right away Stands up during sports Stays strong under stress Withstands the end-of-the-day sniff test Reasonable cost per wear Stays dry all day M ade in Canada

“I TRIED ON MY VERY FIRST STRING BIKINI.” JILLIAN VIEIRA ON TAKING THE PLUNGE

In the eighth grade, I towered over the tallest boys in my class and was lovingly dubbed “Skinnian,” a play on both my first name and my bony, boyish frame. When an invitation to the Capitano twins’ co-ed pool party arrived, I felt my stomach drop.

Mentally rifling through my sporty, juvenile swimsuit options at home, I realized each was purchased with practicality in mind, not how it would make me feel. I was due for a confidence-boosting upgrade. On my next trip to the mall, I tried on my very first string bikini: navy blue and tiny, it threatened to unravel at any tug. I squirmed in the changing room, sizing myself up.

My body didn’t capture attention like my friends’ C-cup chests, but after the initial shock wore off, I began to actually recognize—and appreciate—my own brand of femininity. A few weeks later, when I walked into the backyard, the party was in full swing. I barely had time to feel the burn of the new two-piece hiding under my shorts and tee before I was pushed into the pool. My swimsuit, stripped of its sole purpose, became irrelevant, but I didn’t care. I knew I was wearing it and that’s what mattered.

MARYSIA SWIM TOP, $185, BOTTOMS, $185, MARYSIASWIM.COM

ROXANA SALEHOUN SWIM TOP, $220, BOTTOMS, $170, MATCHESFASHION.COM

HEIDI KLEIN, $315, HEIDIKLEIN.COM

MELISSA ODABASH, $290, ODABASH.COM

Summer’s splashiest suits, from itsy-bitsy to deep(ish) cover

AERIE SWIM TOP, $43, BOTTOMS, $35, AERIE.COM

H&M TOP, $30, BOTTOMS, $20, HM.COM

RED CARTER SWIM TOP, $99, BOTTOMS, $68, SWIMCO.COM

ADORE ME, $50, ADOREME.COM

ERES, $760, ERES TORONTO

MINNOWBATHERS, $176, MINNOWBATHERS.COM

LISA MARIE FERNANDEZ, $565, LISAMARIEFERNANDEZ.COM

MIKOH, $285, MIKOH.COM

ARAKS, $375, ARAKS.COM

LA VIE EN ROSE, $80, LAVIEENROSE.COM

FELLA, $370, FELLASWIM.COM

SOLID & STRIPED, $210, SOLIDANDSTRIPED.COM

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UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL

How Samra Habib let go of her summer beauty hang-ups A couple of years ago, my phone vibrated in the middle of the night. It was my younger sister, who was on her honeymoon in Morocco. “I just wanted to tell you: I’m so happy! We’re camping in in the middle of nowhere and I’m looking at the stars!” she gushed. As thrilled as I was for her, I could think about only one thing.

“Wait, where are you shaving your beard?” I asked.

I had been shaving my face for years, since that one scorching summer I pulled my hair up into a bun and realized that my facial hair was more noticeable when I didn’t have a veil of waves to cover it. Threading my chin and upper lip was as much fun as attacking my skin with glass shards, while waxing left my bathroom—and soul—a sticky mess. Plus, I just didn’t have time. It was my sister who let me in on a special secret: shaving. (She has since moved on to expensive laser hair removal, hence her camping freedom.) The more I thought about it, the more badass it seemed. I didn’t have control over my facial hair, but I could control how I dealt with it: cheaply and efficiently. I’ve since shaved in public bathrooms, at McDonald’s, in airports after 30-hour flights and, during desperate times, at truck stops in really scary parts of America.

I used to consider shaving my deepest, darkest secret, but it’s shaped my relationships in surprising ways. It’s often how I bond with other brown girls who reveal that it’s part of their daily routine and no big deal. It’s also how I gauge my level of comfort with a new lover—if I can tell them without feeling judged, it’s a good sign. But it wasn’t until recently that I really made peace with it. I had lunch with my mom and when I kissed her goodbye, I felt her stubble—at least a twoday growth—against my cheek. Something stopped me from asking her about it—shyness, maybe, or an instinct not to embarrass—but in that unspoken moment, cheek to cheek, I had never felt closer to her.

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SOMETHING BORROWED Grace O’Connell discovers her summer style by slipping on her besties’ clothes

Sporty pool cover-ups take you from backyard bliss to the 10-cent candy bins.

TOMMY HILFIGER TOP, $390, TOMMY.COM. J.CREW SWIM BOTTOMS, $40, JCREW. COM. J.CREW SWIM TOP, $44, JCREW.COM. MONSE PANTS, $1,010, SAKS.COM

I’ve never had a coherent fashion identity. There was the summer of crop tops, the junior high thrift shop stage, that year I wore nothing but skater dresses (thank you, Topshop student discount). I remember being 13, creeping into my 19-year-old sister’s room when she was out (at parties! with boys! the glamour!) and sneaking her slip dresses. I worshiped her and thought her clothes, as an intrinsic part of her, might cast some kind of spell on me, a suburban tween with a fashion sense honed in malls and crumbling arcades. Turns out that style doesn’t transfer through proximity—or genetics, apparently.

Almost two decades later, I’m living in Toronto, not so far from the suburbs, but it feels like I’ve ventured into a new country. I feel at home in the city, but not in my closet.

I keep trying to re-invent, to find signature pieces, but a part of me is still the unsure 13-year old, wanting to turn to a considerably cooler older sister.

So I decide to parlay the optimism of summer into a new approach to fashion. My sister lives out of town (and has suffered enough), so I consult my two most stylish friends, Tracy and Dani, who each agree to prop up my fashion confidence like an invisible spike heel by lending me their favourite outfits.

I start with Tracy, who is effortless cool personified. She forged her fashion identity as an only child in a small farming town and now wears badass boots, drapey sweaters and high-waisted pants she has made in China. Tall and willowy with artfully mussed, coal black bedhead, she looks like a bartender in some Sundance-sweeping indie movie. And yet she’s the most easygoing person I’ve ever met, and will make you laugh until you can’t breathe.

Tracy loans me one of her favourite pieces: a pink-on-black floral dress.

Cropped mid-calf, it’s My So-Called Life by way of The Craft. I pull it on, not quite sure how I feel in it, and head to my local breakfast spot. I’m fidgeting uncomfortably through eggs over easy when my boyfriend runs into childhood friends. While he leaps up for hugs, I pull my coat on over the dress without thinking about it. I retreat into my own controlled version of myself, worried about what these people will think about me. I don’t feel like myself in this dress, which looks delicate on Tracy, but makes me feel like a frumpy cast-off from Little House on the Prairie.

A few days later, I try Dani’s look. Her vintage style, defined by throwing a leather jacket over dresses that nip in at the waist, still has an undercurrent of the tough girl who snuck across the Windsor-Detroit border to party and knows how to shoot a rifle.

She’s my protector, the one who will kick a guy’s ass if he does me wrong. She’d help you move and bury a body—plus, she can execute perfectly winged eyeliner.

She lends me a black mini-dress and a long, geometricpatterned sweater. I feel half-naked in the short hemline, but as I leave my house, I realize I also feel prettier than I have in ages. I’d happily walk into any bar in the city right now—I’d voluntarily run into an ex-boyfriend. At my local watering hole, I sidle up to the bar and order something called a “Violet Hour.” I stand up a little straighter, look around the room a little more. This is the opposite of that hopeless feeling I normally have in front of my closet, searching for some version of me that feels good.

When it comes to clothing, I realize, a tiny risk can reap real emotional rewards. Maybe my friends already knew that; maybe that’s why they offered up clothes they love—something so personal—without blinking. And maybe my sister knew that, too: Even though she grumbled, she never outright banned me from her closet. Style and taste may change, but it’s nice to know that I can still wrap myself in the confidence that comes from the women I love and who love me—and that it’s as easy as borrowing a sweater. n

DANI WOULD HELP YOU MOVE AND BURY A BODY—PLUS SHE CAN EXECUTE PERFECT WINGED LINER

OFF-WHITE C/O VIRGIL ABLOH DRESS, $993, OFF--WHITE.COM

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SUBURB STREETERS

DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES

I wasn’t supposed to be there. It was a 19-plus concert, but I got permission to go because I loved The Roots so much. The crowd was full of energy and good vibes, and then someone on stage grabbed Questlove’s drumstick and tossed it out into the sea of fans. I tried to shield myself from being shoved by holding my hand in front of my face. Suddenly, thwack! The drumstick hit my palm and, miraculously, I held on. People around me praised my catch as the band played on.

Vanilla, coconut and sugarcane—imagine someone pie-facing you with a fluorescent butterscotch dessert. =

Vanilla brings the deliciousness while frozen Italian mandarin and pear sorbet add an icy edge.

VIVA LA JUICY GLACÉ EAU DE PARFUM, $89 (50 ML), HUDSON’S BAY

Solange

Frank Ocean

Feist

Dashboard Confessional

Head-to-toe looks inspired by this summer’s most exciting festival headliners

Stone Age Wilma Flintstone, The Flintstones Wilma was a cigarette waitress before she married Fred. After her kids left home, she started a catering biz.

1897 Nora Helmer, A Doll’s House Or: How Nora got her groove back, after ditching her jerk husband in 19th-century Norway.

Illustrations by Louise Reimer

“ That we’re country bumpkins. The suburbs are very up-and-coming now.

Everyone has their own little life.”

t h a t s w e e t c a r s m e l l

Tanya, 31

“SUDDENLY, THWACK!” NABRA BADR ON HER MOST MEMORABLE SUMMER CONCERT

We chart the enduring pop culture archetype of smart women forced by society or spouse to curb their ambition.

(Apparently, Valium helps)

1925 Daisy Buchanan, The Great Gatsby “That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”

Heavy, Daisy.

1967 Séverine Serizy, Belle de Jour Bored-to-death Séverine joins an upscale brothel.

(The Yves Saint Laurent wardrobe isn’t worth it.)

2005 – 2017 The Real Housewives Yep.

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GANNI DRESS, $330, GANNI. COM. NOOR FARES NECKLACE, $7,130, NOORFARES. COM. MANSUR GAVRIEL BAG, $1,050, MANSURGAVRIEL.COM. RUDSAK JACKET, $695, RUDSAK.COM

“THERE’S ONLY ONE SOLUTION TO THE HIJAB TAN.” SARAH HAGI ON MAKING PEACE WITH A TWO-TONE FACE I’ve been wearing a hijab for so much of my life that now I barely remember I have it on. That changes in the summer, when I get home and take it off. My hijab covers only a portion of my truly huge forehead, so the top part of my face is considerably lighter than the rest. I spend the entire summer looking like an alien with two foreheads.

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There’s only one solution to the hijab tan: Tan the rest of your body until it’s as dark as your face. I tried that once. In high school right before prom, a bunch of my friends went tanning. Being black, I’ve never had a reason to set foot in a tanning salon. When I entered, I wasn’t sure if I imagined the stares from the employees. Once they got me into a room, I stripped down and went for it. Luckily, it worked. I never went back, though. I’ve come to terms with my hijab tan just being a part of my summer. If it’s an indication of anything, it at least means that I’ve spent it having fun.

2017 Madeline Martha Mackenzie, Big Little Lies Fury has nothing on this PTA mom.

Sample one-liner: “I love my grudges.

I tend to them like little pets.”

A LITTLE LOOK-SEE Let’s all agree to leave behind the circa-2007, Kanye-endorsed shutter shades and get flashy with these way-out frames instead, K? FROM TOP: CUTLER AND GROSS, $560, CUTLER AND GROSS. DIOR, $465, NORDSTROM. RETROSUPERFUTURE TUTTOLENTE, $400, SPECTACLE. PARED, $420, NORDSTROM. GUCCI, $450, HOLT RENFREW. KAREN WALKER, $390, NORDSTROM

THE HANDBOOK

“That we’re crazy—they always have horror movies set in the suburbs. They’re never set downtown! They think that people feel isolated and just go nuts.”

Madison, 18

“That everyone has a perfect life.

Everyone has struggles!”

Donelle, 21

“That we’re stuck-up and kinda stush and money-hungry.”

“IT WAS HELL, BUT I HAD SIGNED UP FOR IT.” VERONICA SAROLI ON FEAR AND LOATHING IN PUNTA CANA On the cusp of high school graduation, I took part in the drunken, burnt-to-acrisp ritual that is grad trip.

My schooling had not prepared me for the dread that is boarding a plane headed to the Dominican Republic alongside hordes of other hormonal teenagers, because that’s something you learn in the book of life. It was hell, but I had signed up for it. When we arrived, I dove immediately into my book, the title of which would become prophetic: When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris. I finished it by day two. Thanks to fanatical sunscreen use, I swapped my darkened hotel room for the beach, where I soaked up the sand and surf with my friends and created memories I’ll cherish forever. Just kidding—it was beach umbrella or bust. I actually scared a cute guy when what he assumed to be a

mountain of towels on a chair turned out to be a sunscreen-glazed, fully covered human. At least I avoided turning the tender pink hue that so many on the trip adopted and then shed in flaky strips.

Do I regret my week in the sun? No. There were plenty of fun times, which I’m not going to tell you about because that would embarrass too many people. Would I do it again? Also no.

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PHOTOGRAPHY: HAMIN LEE (SUNGLASSES). ART DIRECTION: SONYA VAN HEYNINGEN (SUNGLASSES)

Emily, 31

Carly, 22

“That there’s nothing to do. There’s lots of ways to make your own fun.”

We asked: “What’s the biggest misconception about the burbs?”

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“THE GRASS WAS MY ENEMY.” CAITLIN KENNY ON HER TOUGHEST SUMMER JOB

In the sweltering July between grade 11 and 12, I saved up money to play socce r in Englan d by m a i nt a i n i n g th e 1 2( ! ) f i e l d s a t my te a m ’s c l u b house. By night, I loved those fields, sprinting across them in cleats, sweaty ponytail whipping against my jersey, but by day, the LACOSTE TOP, PRICE UPON REQUEST, LACOSTE. grass was my enemy, with its dense COM. IVY PARK SHORTS, rows of dead trimmings that took days $35, TOPSHOP.COM. ALEXANDER WANG SHOES, $730, to rake. The upshot: I was in really good ALEXANDERWANG.COM shape by the time that tourney rolled around.

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TEENAGE WASTELAND

Suburbia is a normcore paradise hazy with dreams and despair, comfort and complacency.

Lauren McKeon flashes back Summer in the suburbs smelled like vanilla eau de toilette from the Body Shop. Once, a boy with seafoam eyes told me he found it sexy, and so I wore it every day, wishing. A signature scent, I told my friends, though it was more his idea than mine—notes of chemical cookie and false sophistication daubed on the inside of wrists, conjuring a woman. Those summers are still in my body, a tapestry of dreams and coltish yearning, stitched through more with feelings than with events. I’ve heard the past looks rosecoloured, but mine is stuck beneath a smoky film, astringent with cheap perfume and sharp hope.

This is how I spent those summers: growing. Bursting against my too slow body, a newly churning sense of self contained in gawky limbs.

After dinner, my best friend would walk the two minutes to my house, heading down our street and past the other sleepy split-levels that looked almost exactly like our own. Together we’d continue around the corner to buy day-old pizza buns, our legs flashes of luminescence in the dusk. Then across the street to 7-Eleven for slushies, and finally, full loop, to our neighbourhood park. By the time we perched at the top of the jungle gym, our fingers tacky with grease and half-melted syrup, the inky night would pounce, consuming us. We were never afraid, because that’s when we could really see ourselves.

Or at least the selves we imagined we might one day be. If you look from far away, the suburbs are a sprawl of neat cul-de-sacs, Tim Hortons and vaguely sporty chain restaurants where nobody from the city ever wants to eat. Zoom in and it’s different. There are nights spent in the starlight, painting teenage dreams into the air—a thousand possible futures burning briefly, brightly, the lines of crackling, swooping sparklers. Your words can weave a spell in the suburbs, casting a chain of what-ifs that only become real if you free yourself from their neat borders, place your pin on some other, bigger spot on the map and get the hell out of there.

You can get drunk on dreams, but you can get sick on them, too.

At night on the jungle gym, we imagined all the things we would be once we left. We tried not to let ourselves think of what would happen if

WE PERCHED AT THE TOP OF THE JUNGLE GYM, OUR FINGERS TACKY WITH GREASE AND HALF-MELTED SYRUP

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Like bed sheets floating on a clothesline, crisp, white cottons are a standout against magic hour’s fiery light.

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we stayed. Tried not to admit that a small and secret part of us never wanted to leave.

The movies are rife with the small-town-girlmoves-to-the-big-city cliché. It features in everything from Breakfast at Tiffany’s to Sweet Home Alabama to The Devil Wears Prada. If you grew up in the suburbs, the promise of the city—whatever city—crooned to you like a lullaby. The city was a place where things happened. Where you could transform yourself into a better, shinier version, all your aching potential fulfilled. If your hometown didn’t appreciate you, the city would.

You’d be hickish Lulamae Barnes transforming into the magnetic Holly Golightly.

Usually, these movies end happily. But if you paid close enough attention, you’d learn cities came with caution signs. Sometimes the protagonist stumbles and ends up back home. She couldn’t hack it. Sometimes the city couldn’t save you—you didn’t fit there either. Sometimes you just came back and that was it.

Growing up, Toronto was my city. Living there, to me, meant choosing a life that was big. Intentional. On the weekends, when we had enough money and when our parents let us, my friends and I would pile into a GO Train heading to the city.

The 49-minute ride would pass by in a giddy staccato of giggles and half sentences. Once we were there, our necks would swivel up, because if you’re

just looking, not feeling, the skyline is what’s most different. I would stare, expecting openness, only to find myself hemmed in. I could never decide if I liked it. We would always go to Queen Street West—did not, in fact, know Queen Street East existed—where clothes were not marked with mall uniformity and food didn’t follow a strict schedule of Chicken Tuesdays and Pizza Fridays.

Life fizzed, like a bottle of shook pop. We knew if we made it here, it would change us.

I always wondered on the train ride home: Could I do it? If the city embodied all my deepest dreams, it was also the place where my fears eddied. Do you know what it is to be afraid of success? If you’re a woman who creates—books, art, jewellery, food, a business, an empire, anything—then you know that success costs. It can chip away at you, small shavings of self, feather light and iron heavy, collected at your feet, even as everyone around you says, “Watch, she’s soaring higher.” You might not realize until later that bits of you are gone.

There are some things I’ve learned since those summers, cleaved from the universe like a warrior. If night in the suburbs is so dark you can dream while you’re awake, Toronto at night is brightly burning ambition. It’s a place that doesn’t sleep, where lethargy is shunned and nearobsessive drive is embraced. Here is where we get it, girl, always. Yet, even after success, there is a voice that theorizes scope. Once you make it in Toronto, you might start thinking about New York. There are always other, bigger cities. Each one has a siren song that lures you with a knot of truth and lies. You only realize which is which once you discover yourself, undone and retied, over and over again.

I left the suburbs, of course. First for university, then again at 26 when Toronto became my home, six years ago now. The city has since since lost some of its power. It shrank, somehow, or tried to put on a costume of home that doesn’t quite fit. Most days, the masquerade is forced on with love, a sort of wry affection that acknowledges I chose this, that I choose it every day. After years here, I’ve discovered that spinning dreams into reality is work, but also luck. But there is still another little part that >

PEOPLE’S COURT

It’s Saturday, you need new shoes, and you’re going to hit up every store in the mall, from Aritzia to Zara. Keep that energy kicking with recos from critic Ivy Knight on where to score the food court’s five-star eats.

The classy choice: This is the gem in the mall’s tinfoil tiara, with its Indian take on poutine, butter chicken fries and fresh naan that is slapped into the tandoor to order. My favourite dish is the Chili Paneer Kulcha: naan stuffed with cheese!

The next-lev bev: Fresh squeezed with no added sugar, OJ’s watermelon juice gets my vote for best drink option. They don’t ice the juices (so as not to dilute), but ask for cubes when you purchase to keep it super chill as you people-watch.

The orig: When I’m going deep on the true food court experience, I hit the steam table here. Give me all the sweet and sour pork, crispy chow mein, fried dumplings, steam buns and har gow! I also show some love to the lemon chicken—I’m crazy about that brilliant yellow sauce.

The Goop pick: This is the best healthy option in the food court. (The brown rice, sweet potatoes and coconut curried tofu with peanut sauce is everything.)

Bonus: All the garnishes are free.

Load up on fresh herbs, roasted peanuts, crispy shallots, pickled veggies and—my favourite— sriracha-spiced pumpkin seeds.

The sweet hit: The adorable little chocolatedipped sugar cones filled with your choice of flavours are a legit taste sensation. My ice cream picks: Bordeaux Cherry or Mocha Double Double.

The grab-and-go: The bubble tea menu is where the action is. All you need to know is Oolong Hokkaido Slush with grass jelly. Memorize it like a mantra and get one for the drive home.

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PAPER RUN Dewy is one thing, shiny is another—keep a pack of blotting papers handy all season long to make your T-zone a chill zone.

IN THE SUBURBS, BAD THINGS HAPPEN WHEN BOYS ARE BORED

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UNLIKELY BEAUTY ICONS OF SUBURBIA

It’s actually scary how ahead of the beauty curve these villains are.

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Freddy Krueger Hanacure’s Insta-bait allin-one facial works its smoothing magic by tightening the skin in a Krueger-esque way, making it look like it’s aged a couple decades— before you rinse it off.

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Edward Scissorhands Effortlessly messy hair à la Edward— original bed-head genius—is the cool girl standard. IGK’s texturizing shampoo deposits clay powder for density and grit—no scissorhands required.

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“I WAS SWEATING IN THE SHOWER” SADE L E WIS ON RE AL-DE AL HE AT Every couple of years, I spent the summer at my grandparents’ house in the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. Walking home one day, blanketed by the blazing heat, all I could think of was rinsing off in a refreshing shower. I stepped under the cold water and realized I was sweating in the shower, the droplets from my skin mixing with the stream above. That heat was insane.

Sheer essentials for when you need to keep it light =

Royal Pine: This classic evergreen scent comes to mind whenever one is in a forest filled with trees—or a just-cleaned public bathroom.

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Pine needles lend this scent a woodsy quality, while citrusy bergamot and sultry incense add complexity.

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Pennywise a.k.a It Sure the clown is terrifying, but that red lip is killer. Pat McGrath Labs has introduced nine lipsticks that are so pigmented, people won’t know what hit them.

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“IT DOESN’T MATTER IF YOU WIN BY AN INCH OR A MILE. WINNING’S WINNING.”

2 FAST 2 FURIOUS

The Kit’s resident veggies rank the best meatless fast-food burgers (because we all deserve that sumptuous drive-thru experience)

SUBURBS STREETERS Illustrations by Louise Reimer

“The people. They’re very friendly—when they smile, it’s really beautiful.”

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t h a t

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Meruva, 19

believes a city can fill the bottomless ache to be bigger than you are.

My parents no longer live in my hometown, but some friends do and I’ve visited often. I always expect it to feel smaller, but the suburbs have a way of getting away from you, of voiding landmarks. Earlier this year, I spent the morning at my old high school, interviewing students for a book project.

Being there, among the clang of closing lockers and the crescendo of rapid-fire “but-like-um,” had a way of catapulting me back in time like no other visit ever had.

In the suburbs, you can remember the beginning of things. The first Walmart. The first movie theatre. Your first kiss. In the suburbs, if you couldn’t drive, you walked.

You knew that your feet would take you any place worth going. Through mugginess, through snowstorms, through salty rivulets of unending tears, to your best friend’s house, to laughter. In the suburbs, there are no bars worth sneaking into, so you don’t even try. If you drink at all, it’s in a basement or in a field, and you always pick something sweet. In the suburbs, bad things happen when boys are bored. In the suburbs, rumours feed like palpable creatures, gobbling sorrow, slurping shame, never sated. In the suburbs, you will meet people you forget years later—like vapour in your memories either because they left or because they didn’t. You will skip rocks at the lake, the dusk blending bodies into shadows, and you will never forget these moments, these friends. They are the ones that made you.

The lunch bell rang as I left, sending students teeming into the hallways.

It wasn’t summer but, snaking through tobacco and sweat, I smelled it, anyway: vanilla perfume. It reminded me of home and dreams and trying to be somebody else. I breathed in deeply, then exhaled. n

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THE HANDBOOK

It was my last night of camp ever, after 10 summers in a row. My friends and I sat on the bleachers around the bonfire laughing, crying and laugh-crying.

Our bags were packed and shipped back to the city. All that was left were our sleeping bags, a toothbrush and the next day’s clothes. Whether it was my backto-school anxiety or the August air, nothing, not even the fire, seemed to warm me up.

Just when I thought I’d spend the night more chilled than chilling, campers and counsellors started BAGGU BAG, $42, BAGGU.COM offering me their oversized sweatshirts. Almost immediately, my shivers subsided. It might have been the coziness of the wool pullover I borrowed from my bunkHAYLEY ELSAESSER TOP, mate that warmed me, but $169, SHORTS, $149, HAYLEYELSAESSER.COM I like to think it was the unthinking generosity of my peers, literally offering me the shirts off their back.

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“ALMOST IMMEDIATELY, MY SHIVERS SUBSIDED.”NIKKI LEWIS ON WHEN A SWEATSHIRT IS MORE THAN A SWEATSHIRT t

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I ’m convinced my tiny Nova Scotia hometown inspired Dazed and Confused—never mind that th e f ilm takes pla ce in FOREVER 21 1 970 s Texa s . T h e c h a r a c te r s HAIR TIE, $5, VENESSA FOREVER21.COM we re th e s a m e: jo ck s , s to n e r s , ARIZAGA EARRINGS, eve n M at th ew M c C ona ugh ey ’s $150, VENESSAARIZAGA.COM skeevy Casanova. The official start of summer was marked by an “initiation,” a rite of passage for junior high boys that ended—no exceptions!—with being tossed in a slime-filled pond.

It’s been more than a few years since high school, but some things never leave you. The smell of burning wood makes me want to party like we did back then, in a haze of smoke, beer and bonfire flames. The sight of a filmy pond gives me flashbacks to 1996. And the breezy, dog-days vibe of Dazed and Confused will always feel like home.

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“THE INITIATION ENDED WITH BEING TOSSED IN A SLIMEFILLED POND.” SONYA VAN HEYNINGEN ON HOW HER HOMETOWN WAS LIKE A MOVIE

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PHOTOGRAPHY: HAMIN LEE (BLOTTER PAPERS). ART DIRECTION: SONYA VAN HEYNINGEN (BLOTTER PAPERS)

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A&W Veggie Deluxe, $5.95 Excellent kosher-like pickle (+5) Classy bun, but not in a satisfying junk food way (+3) Lacking distinguishable textures (-2) TOTAL: 6 points

Harvey’s Grilled Veggie Burger, $4.99 The OG vegetarian fast-food option (+3) Totally customizable toppings—chipotle sauce! (+5) That flame-grilled char (+3) TOTAL: 11 points

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Cozy cover-ups that travel from bunk to bonfire

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“The wildlife.”

Janelle, 22

“The mall.”

Amy, 35

“We just came for the funnel cake.”

Maria, 27

Christine, 22

“Definitely the skyline, with the sun setting on the Marilyn Monroe buildings.”

We asked: “What’s the most beautiful thing in the burbs?”

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Pretty paillettes sparkle in dusk’s final minutes.

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PEAS AND CARROTS When I open my front door, he shakes his fist. He spits. Always a new diss.

I have tried to love my neighbours, but they are not mine to love.

They own stocks in mothballs.

They like to overdress: despite a wicked heat warning, she wears a shapeless black sweater, multiple shifts, wool socks, toque, a pair of mitts. Today they’ll harvest their garden: scraggy carrots, a handful of puckered peas.

Soon their morning glories will creep under the fence to strangle my roses.

Soon I’ll court the stray cats in our alley: they’ll dig and scratch, roll in the dirt.

They’ll spread their fleas and leave tufts of fur to tumble across the plots.

An original poem by Toronto writer Meaghan Strimas

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BURNT OFFERINGS

Every summer has powerful moments of melancholy. Laura deCarufel shares hers It wasn’t always the bad house in the neighbourhood. For a hundred years, it was occupied by generations of the same family, until the final daughter moved into a nursing home and sold it to a guy who turned it first into a drug den, then a prostitution house, where on summer nights women paced the porch, ashing into beer bottles and calling out to construction workers or dads out to buy milk. Most recently, it was home to a rotating group of broken-looking men and women who always seemed to be tumbling out of taxis, swearing. They had a fighting dog, a mastiff with a blood-soaked eye. He was the one who knocked over the heater that caught the blanket, which sparked a fire so hot it took the roof off in an hour. Everyone survived; the house did not.

That evening, the excavator showed up, its metal jaws snapping lazily at the burnt wood. The neighbourhood gathered: fathers and sons with matching fauxhawks; the grandmother who talked with a hand in front of her mouth because she was shy about her teeth; the elderly couple who walked hand-in-hand by the lake every morning; the widow with startlingly blue eyes in a kind, pink face. We were the new couple on the street—the ones who had moved from Toronto with our toddler, our dream of a backyard, our thousand-dollar stroller. Gently, they tolerated us. Together, in silence, we watched the house come down.

The rain started with a drop or two, then burst into showers, the first downpour of the summer, where you’re soaked within seconds of turning your face to the sky. The machines stopped; people slammed indoors. My dress dripped swirls along the staircase of our new house. Downstairs, the radio came on; the cat cried for her dinner; our child sang his nursery rhyme in his pure, sweet warble.

In the mirror, mascara flecks mingled with ash, the grit of real life. It was that rare moment of electric clarity, when you’re both outside yourself and terrifyingly in tune, thrumming along with something bigger.

The voice, unbidden, that comes in those moments, and says, “This is real, don’t let it slip.” The voice that says, “This time, listen.”

For a moment, I held it like an offering: the storm-darkened sky, the broken house swollen with memory, the sooty rivulets from the rain, but not just the rain.

TOGETHER, IN SILENCE, WE WATCHED THE HOUSE COME DOWN.

19

THE HANDBOOK “I’M NOT INTERESTED IN FIGHTING WHAT MY BODY DOES NATURALLY ANYMORE.” SHIMA RA’EESI ON OWNING THEIR BODY HAIR

Confidence and respect Action: Watch all those TedTalks your friends sent you; power pose like Amy Cuddy; replace that chipped polish with a fresh coat.

BELONGING

PHYSIOLOGICAL

Love and family Action: Become a proud parent to a thriving brood of fiddle leaf figs and peace lilies. Feel secure knowing they’ll never leave you to go to college.

SAFETY

Security of body and economic situation Action: Lock door. Use credit card only on Zara.com (it’s so good right now).

Physical requirements of survival Action: Make pizza from scratch. Thanks, Ina. Add ice cubes to coffee. Cold brew!

BANISH SUMMER GUILT Staying inside on a beautiful day can be good for you

According to psychologist Abraham Maslow’s 1943 hierarchy of needs, to remain motivated at, um, living, humans need basic things like shelter, economic safety and self-esteem. You’re probably thinking, How am I going to meet those needs when I’m busy fulfilling my body’s quota of vitamin D on a patio? Take a cue from Maslow: Shut the blinds, power down your phone, spend a day indoors and emerge at the peak of emotional health.

“IHIT THE JACKPOT IN THEIR MOTHER’S ENSUITE.” RANI SHEEN ON UPGRADING THE MORNING AFTER

sticky limbs against swimsuit-dented backs until the sun started to rise again.

This particular morning it was just me and the beanbag, so I rolled off it and went in search of a bathroom to erase the night’s smudges and smears. The boys’ bathroom held nothing but Axe, so I wandered farther afield and hit the jackpot in their mother’s ensuite.

In front of her tasteful marble vanity, I wiped away melted crusts of mascara and concealer with her department-store makeup remover, dabbed designer perfume on my wrists, tried eye cream for the first time and even used her hairbrush to tame my thatch of tangles. I felt no remorse, and any potential witnesses were sound asleep.

I headed back to my beanbag safe in the knowledge that while I may not have had one of those summer nights, I would be the freshest of them all.

I woke up on a plastic beanbag, feeling less than fresh. The minimalist white rec room, littered with empty beer bottles and a gaggle of 20-year-olds’ cardigans and Cons, was lit by insistent morning sunshine. All was quiet—I was clearly the only one awake. My hosts were a pair of tanned, lean, quick-witted twin brothers who lived in the swankiest end of the city and joked that they were spending this summer “slumming it” with girls who weren’t on their private-schooleducated, destined-for-law-degrees circuit—in retrospect WTF, but back then we didn’t think about it enough to be offended.

Their teenpad, tricked out with gaming sysThere’s no such thing as a walk of shame, but you may as well feel tems and giant TVs, great on your way home. took up an e ntire floor of their alwayst r ave l l i n g p a re n t s’ Like a light moisstylish modern home, turizer in stick perfect for bringing form, this calms everyone back after and hydrates evenings of climbing hungover skin school fences, scaling water towers, or taking moonlit swims.

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20

He couldn’t have been older than six. I sped past him on my skateboard, wearing an abstract print T-shirt and a baggy black skirt that kept my body cool that hot summer day. My buzzcut was starting to grow out and I liked how it looked. I was wearing sunglasses. I felt extra punk.

“Are you a boy or a girl?” he asked, adjusting his baseball cap and staring at the hair on my legs.

It wasn’t the first time I had heard that question.

“Does it make a difference?” I asked.

“Hmm…no,” he replied, and to my relief, proceeded to ask me questions about my skateboard.

The boy’s inquiry about my gender didn’t feel intrusive or malicious. It was almost pleasant t h a t j u i c y interacting with someone so young about gender c a r s m e l l in such an innocent way. At the time, I felt strongly about not dressing femme, and it played tricks on people’s minds. I felt okay about that.

I stopped shaving my legs when I was 17. My Iranian mom hates it. At 11, she took me to get my Wild? Not really. But the pubic hair and legs waxed. I know her heart is in scent does satisfy that sour a good place—she’s mostly concerned that people cherry chewy candy craving. will ostracize me, but I also know she’s thinking: = You look poor and brown. But I’m not interested in fighting what my body does naturally anymore, or in subscribing to Western standards of perfection. (My dad has high-fived me about this.) I always thought I would be unattractive with hairy legs but it turns out, people who Cherry blossoms stand in for the want to touch me couldn’t care less about my actual fruit (blackcurrant does body hair. I still dress kind of tomboyish and the fruity lifting) while mandaincorporate some Muslim elements, like wearing rin leaves add citrusy zing. a head wrap while skateboarding. Having the MARC JACOBS DAISY freedom to express myself outside the gender EAU SO FRESH KISS EAU DE TOILETTE, $108 (75 ML), SHOPPERS DRUG MART binary, and make it look cool, is pretty sweet.

WHAT LIES BENEATH

Literary evidence indicates that white urbane males spill a lot of moody ink about the burbs.

We break down the tropes of suburban misery lit The Ice Storm (1994) by Rick Moody A 24-hour ice storm creates a breeding ground for infidelity.

Freedom (2010) by Jonathan Franzen A rock star sets on a quest to save the cerulean warbler (long story).

The Swimmer (1964) by John Cheever A successful ad man decides to pool-hop home. It doesn’t end well.

Revolutionary Road (1961) by Richard Yates Suburban despair infiltrates an idealistic couple with dreams of moving to Paris. Do they? Non. The Virgin Suicides (1993) by Jeffrey Eugenides A group of boys fixate on five sisters with a suicide pact. It’s a little grim.

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Anguish Dashed hopes Flipping birds Watching birds Swimming Key parties, baby Drugs Hooking up with neighbours Revelation Connecticut L8R

TEXT: AS TOLD TO SAMRA HABIB (SHIMA RA’EESI)

ESTEEM

LEGEND

SELF-ACTUALIZATION

Potential and personal growth Action: Realize you enjoy your own company. Hold onto this feeling the next time you’re tempted to hop a fence to Insta Story pretty flowers and hint that they’re your own.

| JULY 2017 | THEKIT.CA

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“SEEING MY HAIR TODAY FOR THE FIRST TIME AFTER COLOURING IT MYSELF WAS AMAZING.” JASPER LIM

COLOUR TRANSFORMATION: From

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SULA SIDNESS-GREENE

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“How my hair looks is really important to me. I tried Henna when I was a kid, and I used blue Manic Panic a few years ago. I’ve sprinkled lemon juice in my hair to lighten it. Now, I usually go to the salon for highlights and balayage, when I can afford it. But as a student it can get expensive. I’m doing a Masters in Communication and Culture at Ryerson and when I graduate, I’d like to work in film and TV. Making strong first impressions is important when you’re starting out in a career, and beauty and style is a huge part of that. My sister has biggest influence on my look. She’s four and a half years younger than me, and 10 times more adventurous. She just bleached her bangs, and the top of her head. We’re really close with

my mom, who has taught me a lot about building confidence from within. She’s a beautiful person, inside and out.

I was really excited about getting a fresh colour.

When I’ve done home hair dye in the past, it hasn’t been dramatic enough and it’s hard to get a nice blonde tone from a box. But this shade from Garnier Olia is different. My hair was a lot darker when I first arrived at the salon, and I like how it’s much lighter now. And even after dying it blonde, my hair feels super rich and silky, which is the way I like it to feel. I feel happier and lighter, and ready to have fun. It feels a lot more like me.”

“I FEEL HAPPIER AND LIGHTER, AND READY TO HAVE FUN.”

“Growing up, my Dad owned a video store, and so I watched a lot of films. I was inspired

by Disney princesses with red hair like Ariel in The Little Mermaid and Merida in Brave. I was also obsessed with Anne of Green Gables.

One Halloween, I dressed up as Anne. My older sister helped me dye my hair red. We didn’t know what we were doing, and by the time we finished, the dye was all over our bathroom. When I wore my costume to school the next day, everyone thought I was Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. I remember stomping around saying, ‘My hair is red! I’m Anne, not Dorothy!’ Now, I’m a filmmaker, and I’m making my first movie in Seoul this summer. It’s about the experiences people have when returning to their home countries.

This is a new chapter for me, so it makes sense to change my hair colour. Doing my hair myself today was so different from when I did it years ago. The smell is actually breathable because there is no ammonia. I wasn’t running out of the room every five seconds for fresh air!

The dye doesn’t drip at all, it just kind of clings to the strands, so it didn’t get everywhere. And now, my hair feels really strong and healthy— and that makes me feel good.”

“THIS IS A NEW CHAPTER FOR ME, SO IT MAKES SENSE TO CHANGE MY HAIR COLOUR.”

AMAN DA COIS H

COLOUR TRANSFORMATION: From

medium brunette to warm bronze

AMANDA’S PICK GARNIER OLIA, 7.9, LIGHT BRONZE, GARNIER.CA

“My daughter Ruby is one and a half now. The first year is really all about the baby and you end up putting aside things that require more of a time commitment, like booking a hair appointment for a cut and colour. Now I’ve started to take more time for myself. It’s a nice journey to go back to the person you were before you had your kids, to say ‘I do like switching up my hair colour every so often.’ I’ve gone to the salon a few times, but with a baby, I don’t really have time. Salons aren’t open late, and that’s when you’re free as a mom. It’s easy to pick up a box of hair colour while I’m out. You come home, put the baby to bed, and then you dye your hair. I’m an illustrator, so I also try to use my evenings to draw and paint.

A lot of my work is inspired by music and lyrics, little riffs on pop culture and rock and roll. As an artist, I always loved dyeing my hair in high school. It’s a form of self-expression; it feels like you’re painting your hair. Seeing my hair today for the first time after colouring it myself was amazing. Before I was basi-

cally brunette, but now my hair has more warmth.

It’s lighter, so it will be great for the summer. It was just the boost I needed. And it feels so much softer and stronger, which is a bonus. And I love that there’s no ammonia, so it won’t make my whole apartment smell. People always ask me where my daughter gets her red hair and I tell them it’s from my husband. I was thrilled when I looked in the mirror because now my hair has some copper tones, like my little Ruby.”

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“My identity has always been connected to my hair. I’m a

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massage therapist, so I wear my hair up if I’m working. One of the best feelings is taking out your hair tie at the end of the day—it’s like taking off a bra. I’m also an artist in residence at The Watah Theatre, and when I’m on stage, I like to wear my hair down and loose. There is dancing in one of the pieces I’m rehearsing right now; the movement segment of the play is based around this idea of being wild, so I get to embrace that, with my hair flying wherever it needs to go.

My mom has always coloured her hair at home, so I’ve watched her do it many times. I’ve only dyed my hair once.

I made it reddish brown when I was in high school, during a phase of my life when I wanted a change. I haven’t done anything significant since then, so I was surprised at how much smoother it went today—I wasn’t expecting the process to be so easy. My hair looks and feels healthier, probably because there is no ammonia in the formula. And it’s much shinier than before. I didn’t know what colour the hairstylist was going to choose for me beforehand. It was interesting to give up control, and be okay with that. My hair is much darker now, but there’s still a lightness to it. When I’ve seen other people dye their hair a deeper shade, it has always looked too dramatic. I was worried about that. But when I saw my hair for the first time today, I loved it because it still looks natural. I feel like myself.”

“IT WAS INTERESTING TO GIVE UP CONTROL AND BE OKAY WITH THAT.”

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V I S I T T H E K I T. C A TO SEE ALL THE B E H I N D -T H E -S C E N E S ACTION

AFTER PARTY An original short story of love, loss and shrimp

by Toronto author Melanie Mah Illustration by Avery Kua

In the stinky, clammy month of July, relationships were waiting to begin and judgments were ready to be made. Shaking off the chill of winter and spring, people found their way to barbecues, patios and outdoor concerts.

They looked at each other appraisingly and wondered, “Is this person worth my time?”—an intimidating thought for all those uncertain folks aware of it. That year in Toronto, there were also many parties based on themes.

Sharon saw pictures of them on Facebook: people with stripes and anchors on their clothes, people with leis or Mardi Gras beads around their necks eating suckling pig or po’ boys, people with flapper hats drinking 1920s-style cocktails. Part of her found them too precious, too earnest, sometimes a little silly. But, secretly, costumes also excited her.

Normally if you asked her if she’d come to your party, she would have said maybe. She liked being asked, liked imagining being a part of something and even imagined she could meet a special stranger there. When the night of the party came, though, she’d usually back out. She’d claim that she was tired or that she needed to write or have alone time. Sharon was shy and disliked crowds, disliked how loud people could get when wasted, and frankly she was scared of their judgment, too, but this time, the party was hosted by her longtime friend Maggie. Earlier in the year, Maggie had accepted a mat leave replacement contract with room to grow in Pittsburgh. This would be one of Sharon’s last chances to see her before she left, so she accepted the invitation and went.

It was a beach-themed party. There were margaritas and a sandbox. Sharon wore jean cut-offs, sunglasses and a T-shirt. Other women there wore flowy dresses; some wore bikini tops. Seeing boobs out on display made Sharon feel uncomfortable.

Still, she did her part. She made conversation with Maggie’s friends, most of whom were academics.

Sharon was a writer with an admin job. She studied English in university, so she was able to follow the answers to her questions of “What do you study?” to a point. But post-structuralism was big, Žižek was big, fucking hermeneutics were big, and Sharon only had so much patience. The second time someone explained the Gettier problem to her, she excused herself and discreetly searched the room for something else. She grabbed another beer from Maggie’s fridge—on her way to the party, she had told herself to stay for at least two drinks—and on her way out of the kitchen, she found a man dressed in pink cellophane and pipe cleaners.

“What are you?” she said.

“Shrimp,” he said.

She felt weird standing there with him but she loved the audacity of his costume. She smiled at him. He smiled, too, and scratched his head. His costume crinkled. He was beautiful, tall and lean, half-drunk, and his eyes were smart and kind though slightly bleary.

“So…you got a PhD?” she said.

“Pizza Hut Delivery.”

“What?”

“Pizza Hut Delivery. PhD.”

A B O U T TH E I LLU S TR ATO R

Avery Kua says she’s been drawing “since the beginning of time.” An OCAD grad, she’s won a stack of awards and recently created an illustration installation on the side of H&M’s Toronto flagship. She likes novelty socks, snakes, validation and pants-optional settings.

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FICTION

His name was Jeff. Over the course of the night, he told more was about a girl who’d grown up with abuse, a girl who’d loved her groaner jokes, and he told her about his anxiety and the year he was father despite also fearing him, a girl who made bad choices because depressed. He told her that when he was a child, provincial testing she was not taught to love herself but who remained hopeful to the end. found he was a genius, which was fine, but it meant that everyone “Sounds good,” Jeff said. “And familiar.” His gaze was direct. She expected him to go on to do something big like cure cancer or design knew he used to have a drinking problem and that he’d done a lot of rocket ships, but here he was, age 29 with a PhD in history and no drugs when he was younger, but she didn’t want to tell him all the job in the academy. Sharon liked the way he cut the crap and talked things that were wrong with her, not with everything going so well. about real things.

So she asked him what he liked to read. She loved to talk about He was easy to relate to. They had stuff in common like immigrant books. But even with this safe topic at hand, she felt the nervous parents and childhoods in small towns. They both liked to go on walks energy between them growing. It scraped against her insides as it to places in the city both foreign and familiar. She liked ravines, cem- grew large and heavy like a predator in the wild. She felt itchy in eteries and neighbourhoods with nice old houses. He liked suburban her skin, like she needed to move. She suggested a walk. He agreed. strip malls with their collection of interesting shops and restaurants But the tension didn’t go away. Months down the line, she would with cuisines from around the world. They both liked industrial areas come to understand that first night was devoid of choice. They and quirky things about Toronto—strange houses, mysterious build- walked the streets for a while, but at one point, she was drawn to a ings, the places where streets ended. But both lacked friends they park. He followed. She stopped at a tree. It felt natural to. He kissed shared this hobby with, so each tended to walk alone. her there. They found a park bench and continued to kiss. And even “I’ve never met anyone who liked walking the way I do,” he said. as this all was happening, she feebly hoped none of it would happen “Me, neither,” she said, then blurted out, “Anxiety. I have that, at the same time as she felt the pull to both him and a future he too.” They’d last talked about it more than an hour ago, but it was embodied. It was a pull without choice, one like gravity, like an object on her mind. She found his openness on the topic refreshing, but being drawn toward a planet, perhaps to collide, or perhaps for that confessing to her own case of it felt scary, like something that could long-lasting spin that gave a half synonymy to both—that made one, come back to haunt her. She often toyed with the idea of sharing big for example, think of Jupiter when a thought of Europa arose. things with strangers. Sometimes she did and it felt inappropriate, “Come to my house?” he whispered in her ear. but often she did not.

She said yes.

Speaking of anxiety, she was feeling quite a bit of it as the party Fast-forward through that future. The moment months later, when wound down. When the last two stragglers besides them left, Jeff said, Sharon haltingly asks Jeff if they are sweethearts and he, unpredictably “Someone left some cans of Coke,” and pulled one out of the box. Sha- to her, says yes, the months of her telling him every day that she loves ron downed the dregs of her fourth beer—four drinks was him, the moment he starts saying it, too. The small and a lot for her—then said they should hang out sometime. large talks that bring them closer together—even the He said that he would like that and pulled out his way they disagree, how they listen and end fights with ABOUT THE AUTHOR phone. She looked at her feet as she gave him her numa hug, makes them love each other even more.

Melanie Mah was born in ber and then left the party shaking. It was hard, asking But they have hard times, too. Real love is scary Rocky Mountain House, the world for things. to Sharon. Until Jeff, her ideas of love resided in the Alberta (population: 6,635), and now lives Although it was late, Sharon thought a walk could realm of fantasy. She used to imagine her one true in Toronto (population: calm her. She lived 30 minutes away by foot from Maggie, love, the way he’d look, the things he’d like and do. more). Her debut novel, due east in Harbord Village, but the air was cooling off He’d bring her flowers; they’d never disagree; he’d The Sweetest Thing—a beautifully written and the night was still. She was glad to be alone, outside have a beard and say “I love you” more. But real love coming-of-age tale—just and in the dark, and she loved the sense of discovery she sometimes says hi in a weird voice Sharon dislikes. won the 2017 Trillium felt while wandering. She went north to Geary Avenue, Real love tells bad jokes, is unreachable sometimes Book Award. She likes singalongs, road trips, the silent train tracks and industrial buildings there invitand petulant. Real love is not as spontaneous as she trees and adventure in ing the night’s highlight reel to play, then replay in her is; he likes spending lots of time in the suburbs, while all its forms. mind. At first, she thought it had gone quite well—she Sharon does not. Real love has a mind of his own. felt a warmth from the connections she’d made—then Plus, although Sharon had been in therapy for years she wondered if certain things she’d said to Jeff were dumb and then by the time she met Jeff, she saw bad habits, long vanquished, starting she knew they were. He thinks I’m an idiot. Why’d you give him your to creep back in. Being in a relationship gives us someone to be fully number, then? He isn’t going to call you, you know. A guy like that has ourselves with, someone to fail with, someone who may come to see us girls lined up outside his door. An hour of this before she entered her as the people we fear we are. Love has a way of making us vulnerable. apartment, checked her phone and saw that he had texted her.

As soon as you love someone, someone can leave you, or hurt you.

She was bad at reading signs, but this was not an insight she had Sometimes it feels easier to start all over again, or to make a different, into herself. wrong decision instead of the same boring, correct one.

Lately, Sharon’s been contemplating contacting her ex. His name ••• is Brian. He wrote her on Facebook after her latest book came out, Lots of back and forth and consultation with Maggie was required saying, “It looks like you have a nice life. I wish you all the best.” He for Sharon and Jeff to see each other again. Neither was the kind of said some other things, too. Brian is married. He was married when person who could tell whether someone was into them, so neither he was dating Sharon, too. Sharon looks back on that time with knew for sure if it was a date.

Brian—they were together five years—with a blend of anger and She suggested drinks, but was late to meet him. Clothes were wistfulness. She felt he strung her along. But you can get very close dirty; matching shoes had not yet been bought. Flustered and period- to someone in five years. They can be the closest person to you and ically texting Jeff to apologize, Sharon hemmed and hawed in front of then one day—snip—you don’t talk to them and you won’t ever again. her open closet doors. She tried things on and settled on a sexy dress It’s strange. Sharon is sentimental. And Brian is a writer, too. she was nervous about wearing on a first date with a really nice guy. Sharon has noticed a way writers can see the world—with romance It barely mattered. Jeff was understanding, and at the bar, conand poetry. They see the details and strive to describe things exactly versation flowed. They talked about their families, their travels, their as they are. Back when Sharon knew him, Brian felt trapped by his favourite foods. He wanted to go to Rouge Park; she’d already been circumstances. He wanted to be a writer but instead he had a kid— and recommended it. She’d written a novel; he loved to read. Her novel first one, then more. Sharon didn’t know it, but back when she > THEKIT.CA | JULY 2017 |

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HEAVY READS

Save the darkest, most depressing novels—like these melancholic classics—for the sunshiniest of beach days

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling (2005) You’ll shed more tears than the Black Lake could contain when—spoiler alert!—a certain wizardly father figure meets his untimely death in a seemingly backstabby fashion.

(Obvs read books one through five first.)

The Giver by Lois Lowry (1993)

This twisted book read by middle-schoolers everywhere (how?!) imagines the concept of Sameness: a world devoid of emotion, memories—even colour. Also, rule breakers are executed.

So there’s that.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (1963)

One month following the release of her semiautobiographical take on the dark-as-all-hell descent that is depression, Plath committed suicide. It’s truly the bleakest of the bleak.

—Jillian Vieira 25

FICTION

BUT REAL LOVE SOMETIMES SAYS HI IN A WEIRD VOICE SHARON DISLIKES. REAL LOVE TELLS BAD JOKES, IS UNREACHABLE SOMETIMES AND PETULANT

knew Brian, she was sad, too, or at gave her right before they set off— jeans and her coral sandals. On her way to the café least sadder than she is now. It’s posmementoes of her 33rd birthday. where she and Brian are supposed to meet, a place sible to bond over anything, really—a It’s important for her to remain they would sometimes go together in the past, she common occupation, immigrant parwith old things. Old things remind sees summer is starting again in earnest. Her annients, certain emotional states. us of who we used to be, and per- versary with Jeff is coming up: three years. They’ve Jeff isn’t at all like Brian. He haps of who we still are. been talking about living together. But as they lay on doesn’t wonder about the stories of One day while procrastinating her brand-new couch last night, he told her about a people he sees on mass transit like on a piece she’s writing for deadline, couch he used to have. He inherited it from a friend Sharon and Brian do. He doesn’t even Sharon begins to write a message to who’d gotten it from someone she used to love, an look to see what they are reading.

Brian. It starts idly. She asks herself, old boyfriend. She and the boyfriend lived together Jeff is frugal, a minimalist. A left“If you could write him now, what and loved each other till they didn’t. In the split, over from his own past when he felt would you say?” But she finds the she got the couch, but she gave it to Jeff. He had undeserving of nice things, he shuns answer is serious. Writing’s like other friends who had lived with boyfriends before presents. Sharon wants so much to talking for her: In the course of breaking up with them, too. It’s a very common thing give Jeff nice things. doing it, she learns what she thinks Sharon can’t quite understand.

Sharon still has old letters from about a thing. She sees there are Sharon often thinks very hard before making big Brian. One fell out of a faulty desk things she wants off her chest. She decisions, because when Sharon commits to somecupboard and ended up on top of finds herself blaming Brian. They thing, she commits entirely. For example, it took her dresser. Just a note from years had plans, and she gave so much forever to choose a couch. She went without one ago saying, “I am here. My phone of herself to him, while he just kept for many years. She picked this one now because is not working. I will be at the coffee shop up the withholding. It’s cathartic to write, but she also wants she wants a place to hang out with Jeff that’s not street. I hope I don’t miss you,” but it doesn’t mat- the message to be true, fully true, so she says that the bed, and she wants to make her house a home ter what it says. His handwriting brings it all back, she sometimes thinks of him, that she has some nice with him. This couch was a good deal for quality, those days of furtive, passionate, incomplete memories of the way things were and that she’s glad it looks nice, and it’s a lovely shade of blue. She’d love. She sees it every morning and every night he received a spot in a residency. She knows how never send it back now that it’s here, and in this when she puts on and takes off the day’s clothes. important writing was for him, and she hopes he can same way, she can’t understand how people who She used to buy him books, bake cakes for him. keep squirrelling away the time to write and perhaps were once sure enough about each other to move in In among the pictures of his wife and many finish a book. together might then break up sometime later. kids on Facebook, there are some that Brian took She thinks she’ll leave it at that. An unsent mesAs she approaches the café, she thinks that she while on a writing residency. One had his knees, sage. Writing it served a purpose for her, and that was sees Brian through the window. It’s a shock. She a notebook, some lines of poetry. Sharon always enough, wasn’t it? But there’s not a lot of psychologistands there for a minute, taking him in. He bites liked Brian’s writing and she likes the lines she cal distance between writing something and clicking his nails, his clothes are rumpled, there’s a cowread. In the past, he was stymied by the fact send. She thinks she may as well. That night, she lick in his hair. It seems he’s hardly changed. But that he could never seem to write as much as he receives a reply from Brian, saying he feels mixed while looking at him, she also sees herself in the wanted to. She’s glad he was there among the trees about their relationship, too. He brings up a private brand new shirt Jeff bought her. The lines are clean. and with some time to write. She reads the lines joke, one she carried into her relationship with Jeff. She was surprised by how perfectly it fit and how again. She likes the way he sees the world.

He wants to know if she’d be interested in meeting. much she liked it. It’s the first time a guy has ever “What if I wanted to write Brian back?” she says It was a bridge too far, but she says yes. bought her something nice without intense coachto Jeff one night in bed.

The morning they’re supposed to meet, Sharon ing beforehand. In the café window, she sees both “I would totally support that,” he says. “He’s part gets dressed. She puts on a blouse with sailboats her present and her past, then she turns and starts of your past and who you are. I can’t shun that.” on it—a present from Jeff—and then she puts on walking back down the street toward home. n It’s hard for Sharon to believe. Almost three years together, and she continues to be confounded by certain things about P A I N T E D L A D I E S You know when you read a book and you can totally see the character? Veronica Saroli Jeff like his generosity, his total lack of selected three titles headed to the big screen, then described the heroines in her head to illustrator Avery Kua jealousy. Over the next few weeks, Sharon plays with the idea of writing Brian.

It seems like a kind of betrayal. Sharon thinks of a flooded room with something inside that she wants, or wants to see. Writing Brian would be like opening the door to that room. Water would flood out, and, once opened, the door could not be closed again. She imagines herself and Brian recommencing their affair. She thinks of how that would make Jeff feel, poor Jeff who always tried to do the right thing, poor Jeff who always went headlong into love and other risky, worthwhile pursuits. Jeff is her soulmate, if soulmates are a thing.

Commonwealth by Ann Patchett Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler Americanah by Chimanda Ngozi Adichie But Jeff said he trusted Sharon. And ShaTHE HEROINE: Beverly, a non-maternal THE HEROINE: Tess, a twentysomething who moves THE HEROINE: Ifemelu, a Nigerian woman who immimom and stepmom (kind of) raising six to New York and joins the four-star restaurant grates to America. FROM THE BOOK: “Once, [her boyron is sentimental, she’s kept a lot of old kids. FROM THE BOOK: “She was possibly the scene. FROM THE BOOK: “You’re going to have to friend’s] mother told Ifemelu, ‘Your lashes are pretty,’ things. Books she last read many years ago, most beautiful woman he had ever spoken choose between your mind and your looks. At abrupt, unexpected words… On the drive back to art from a friendship that ended badly. A to, certainly the most beautiful woman he some point you decided it was safer to be pretty.” Baltimore, Ifemelu said, ‘Lashes? She must have really clump of animal hair from a donkey sanchad ever stood next to in a kitchen.” WHAT WHAT I SEE: Tess is pretty in a plain way most peo- tried hard to find something to compliment!’” WHAT I tuary she visited with Jeff last year and a ple will find pretty, like a brook, but not in a way SEE: Ifemelu is Adichie—the air around her stirs with I SEE: A long neck that slides seductively into that leaves people shaken, like a waterfall. collars, blush lips and wide-set blue eyes. elegance and wit. She has eyes that radiate warmth. clump of petals from a peony bouquet he 26

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| JULY 2017 | THEKIT.CA

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MEET YOUR MAKERS

“IT COMES DOWN TO DEVELOPING A CONNECTION TO YOUR INTUITION. YOU REALLY HAVE TO TRUST YOURSELF.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY: JENNA MARIE WAKANI

Insta: @thewellwoman_ Home: Toronto Maker status: Full-time Tonya Papanikolov’s job as a holistic educator and chef is all about balance. Yes, her plant-based cheeses and matcha-chaga breads could be confused for Dutch-masterworthy art pieces, but the dishes are also nutritional standouts. For Papanikolov, 29, the key is imbuing her food with a purpose: “It’s about connecting to a bigger idea of what the food I work with represents for humans and the environment.”

THEKIT.CA | JULY 2017 |

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The days of the “starving artist” trope are over.

(It’s 2017.) Committing to a craft—like this diverse group of creatives—is both spiritually satisfying and paying the bills, thank you very much

By Jillian Vieira

On how every experience has shaped her future “I did a course correction in my early 20s. I was on a trajectory doing fashion direction and trend development at a big retailer. I had invested so much time, and people knew me in that category, but I’m not good at pretending—it became obvious to everyone around me that I wasn’t happy.

Looking back, though, I recognize how that role forced me to view culture, colour and the world around me in a different way—it reconnected me back to my kid brain and reinforced how important it was for me to be in a creative role.”

On tapping into your own artistry “Some of us are really lucky and know what we want to do from a young age, and others go through more soul-searching. It comes down to developing a connection to your intuition. You really have to trust yourself.”

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Ay i s h a L i n e o G a r i b a o f the Bacon Berry Card Co. Insta: @ayishalg Home: Toronto Maker status: Part-time As the youngest of four in a family of creatives, Ayisha Lineo Gariba was always searching for a way to define herself.

When she started animating inanimate objects—fulfilling a request from her mom to make greeting cards more personal— Gariba discovered her calling.

“I wanted to be taken seriously and find something that worked for me,” says the 18-year-old sophomore at the University of Toronto. “Then I realized maybe it’s not about being taken seriously. Maybe cute things like my illustrations are cool, and this is my thing.” Ever the multihyphenate millennial, Gariba has also been dipping into documentary filmmaking, examining emotionally charged subjects like race and gender identity.

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Anna-Lise Schmidt of AS Ceramics Insta: @as.ceramics Home: Calgary Maker status: Part-time Of all the artistic media Anna-Lise Schmidt dabbled in, it was ceramics, with its process-based nature and functionality, that ultimately hooked her. The 29-year-old (who doubles as a visual arts instructor for the City of Calgary) creates rustic mugs and quirky plant hangers that pay the bills and also dabbles in shapes representing the animal kingdom—llamas, serpents and most recently flamingos—in an effort to push herself 30

“WITH THE ARTS, IT’S SO EASY TO GET UNDERMINED. YOU HAVE TO VALUE YOURSELF, YOUR IDEAS AND YOUR TIME.” creatively. “When you’re not working, you’re just thinking about ceramics,” she says. “I wonder, ‘How can I further the medium?’ It’s so malleable and can go in so many different directions.

It’s always on my mind.”

On developing small-business acumen “I would say be strong, be confident and trust your gut. With the arts, it’s so easy to get undermined. You have to value yourself, your ideas and your time.”

On pushing the boundaries “I love exploring weird ideas. Recently, I was sitting around a campfire with friends and we were talking about those ‘circle of friends’ ceramics that moms were really into in the early 2000s. I totally want to make one of those. Humour isn’t present in all of my work, but it’s like a little break for me.”

PHOTOGRAPHY: SHANELLE FREDRICKSON (SCHMIDT); ARDEN WRAY (GARIBA); LUKE BERGEN (CHAN)

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On how she weaves her identity into her art “I’m not the spokesperson for every black person or every queer person or every masculinepresenting woman. I can’t be— it’s just not the truth. But I try to take on different aspects of my identity so that I can at least be a messenger for the story. And I seek out people who can add to the stories, paint the fuller picture and give insight into how much bigger it is.”

On the art she wants to make “My most recent documentary is about antiblack racism in the Canadian landscape.

My goal is to use it as an educational film.

When I talk to people about these subjects, sometimes I hear ‘Oh, you’re a radical militant’. But I don’t want ‘racism’ to be a bad word—I want it to make you feel uncomfortable. I also want to use my university degree to enter different spheres. Hopefully queer folks in the department of linguistics and I can make a film about the ways queer language vernacular has filtered into the mainstream.”

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| JULY 2017 | THEKIT.CA

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Mangie Chan of Sunday Fe e l

“I WANTED TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY AND FIND SOMETHING THAT WORKED FOR ME. THEN I REALIZED MAYBE IT’S NOT ABOUT BEING TAKEN SERIOUSLY.”

Insta: @sundayfeel Home: Winnipeg Maker status: Full-time T h e r e ’s a r e a s o n y o u won’t find cookie-cutter shapes in Mangie Chan’s repertoire. Each piece of jewellery is hand-cut by the 27-year-old designer, making the sacred hand pendants and shooting star studs from Sunday Feel’s collections truly one-of-a-kind. The ancient art motifs Chan explores in her work recall an earlier time. “I was pretty amazed by how adorning oneself had been going on for thousands of years,” she says. “The same techniques continue to be used, like it’s been frozen in time.”

On the creative class in Winnipeg “There’s a big community of makers, considering how small our city is. It’s all very accessible: Every creative person is one person away from knowing another. I recently collaborated with another local artist, Kylie Hoydalo of Ky.ramics, on mixed-media pieces after pitching the idea to her over a cup of tea. I love the idea of blending skill sets to create something new.

Winnipeg definitely has a DIY aesthetic—people just make it happen.”

“I LOVE THE IDEA OF BLENDING SKILL SETS TO CREATE SOMETHING NEW.”

On turning her post-secondary degree into a career “Growing up, you’re told to go to university, and then you have this fixed amount of directions to choose from. That always confused me. I tried to go into architecture, then sociology, and thought about becoming a teacher.

Finally, I was studying classics at the University of Manitoba and found myself really drawn to the pictures of the jewellery from that time. From there, I dove right in. I discovered a jewellery class being taught in my city and learned all the basics, and the ideas started flowing.”

All those summer hours and nothing to do? Get your hands dirty with a creative DIY project right here in Vancouver

CROCHET

Give Grandma a run for her money with all the crochet basics at Three Bags Full’s beginner classses.

Now you can make your own doilies instead of vintage hunting for them. 3 weeks, $95 plus materials; 4 weeks, $120 plus materials; threebagsfull.ca

POTTERY

Get your Ghost on with city-run pottery classes at various community centres around town. Spin and fire some clay at a drop-in session or sign up for scheduled classes. Fees vary, vancouver.ca

DRAWING

The cool kids learn to draw at Art Classes Vancouver.

Classes are unstructured, with a mix of group and individual instruction in a warehouse-type space where you can practise three-dimensional drawing and life drawing. $65 per 3-hour class, peppersculpture.com

OUTDOOR PAINTING

Vancouver Fine-Art Atelier offers drop-in outdoor painting workshops at various locations around the city. Create your own still-life masterpiece with scenes of fruit, ponds or trees. Full-day class, $100, vancouveratelier.com

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EMERY BARNES PARK

PARK LIFE All you need is a bike, a basket and your favourite VanCity patch of grass

It girl Kiara Schwartz on exploring the city on two wheels Kiara Schwartz hits the Seawall.

The ideal bike look: Be safe, look dangerously amazing

SWIVEL HEAD

Summers are the perfect opportunity to use my bike to get to and from the beach. Vancouver is the best city for bike riding—from my house I can jump straight on the Seawall. On the weekends, I load my bike up with my beach blanket (in my basket) and a picnic (in my backpack). My favourite destination is Third Beach—I love watching the sunset from there. On the way home, I stop at the food trucks at English Bay for a quick ice cream and snack. During the week, my bike takes me to my meetings downtown and dinners with friends.

BOBBIN BIKE HELMET, $65, BOBBINBIKES.COM

NUDIE JEANS JACKET, $275, NUDIEJEANS.COM

UNIF SUNGLASSES, $92, UNIFCLOTHING.COM

THE STOWE BAG, $546, THESTOWE.COM

H&M DRESS, $30, HM.COM

THAT’S FETCH

SC (single canine) seeks BHSFF (best Homo sapiens friend forever) with whom to spend a day at the park Illustrations by Leeandra Cianci

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THE STONER

Brohhh-hound, I’m a sweet-tempered, 420-friendly basset hound who can mega chill.

Let’s explore the meaning of life after we grab soft pretzels and watch the clouds drift by overhead.

Not necessary, but not unnecessary: Appreciate anyone stroking my droopy ears as I doze off.

THE HOT DAD

Did someone say woof? I’m a hunky husky who makes parenting look cool without even trying. Come grab a latte, play a round of Frisbee and push our pups around in cutting-edge strollers. Must be paleo and dairy-free; no dad bods, please.

THE TOUGH GUY

I may look like a beefcake, but I’m really more cake than beef. Underneath my tough exterior is a soft side—this chow chow is looking for a companion to share gushy feelings and count my pull-ups on the boardwalk.

THE OLD SOUL

I’m sick of being rewarded to sit and told what to do—read my soulful dachshund eyes. I’m looking for a partner to bicker about Beckett with on a bench. You don’t have to smoke a pipe, but looking the part helps. Strong opinions on coffee are non-negotiable.

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PACIFIC SPIRIT REGIONAL PARK

CLEAN UP REAL NICE After a day in the sun, hit one of the city’s top hot spots GO: Nightingale WEAR: Something sparkly

GO: Kissa Tanto WEAR: Splashy separates

GO: The Narrow Lounge WEAR: A bright frock

DOLCE & GABBANA DRESS, $4,490, FARFETCH.COM. BEN AMUN NECKLACE, $1,020, BEN-AMUN.COM. JACQUEMUS SHOES, $845, SSENSE.COM MANSUR GAVRIEL CLUTCH, $607, MANSURGAVRIEL.COM

AURÉLIE BIDERMANN RING, $1,180, AURELIEBIDERMANN. COM MARY KATRANTZOU TOP, $1,590, MARYKATRANTZOU. COM. MACKAGE BAG, $295, MACKAGE.COM. BRANDON MAXWELL PANTS, $2,010, NEIMAN MARCUS

ALICE & OLIVIA DRESS, $370, ALICEANDOLIVIA. COM. TIFFANY & CO. EARRINGS, $2,850, TIFFANY. CA. NANCY GONZALEZ PURSE, $2,590, SAKS.COM. ERDEM SHOES, $1,100, ERDEM.COM

JUST ADD WICKER, MAN

PACK THE PERFECT BASKET We grilled Greg Edwards, co-owner and executive chef of Bao Down, for his picnic expertise

TEXT: VERONICA SAROLI (THAT’S FETCH)

What’s your ideal spread?

“I always like to bring a hibachi and chill out, cook, talk and have a couple drinks. There’s a particular park I go to along the water.

My friends and I will grab a little canoe and drop some crab traps. I love to roast the crabs on the hibachi.”

Do you have tips for how to make picnics easier? They can be a lot of work [Laughs] “They sure can!

If you’re not willing to barbecue and bring a hibachi, you could pick up a roast chicken. Then grab a baguette, and make a nice fresh salad. Go to the farmer’s market and grab something there and then roast it all in nice olive oil, vinegar or even just lemon and some fresh herbs.”

BAN.DO COOLER BAG, $39, URBANOUTFITTERS.COM

H&M PLASTIC-BACKED PICNIC BLANKET, $30, HM.COM

S’WELL INSULATED BEVERAGE BOTTLE, $45, INDIGO.CA

UCO SOFTSHELL ICE CREAM BALL PINT, $39, MEC.CA

THE ATHLETE

I’m an active Doberman pinscher— fearless, loyal and obedient—looking for an equally restless running buddy.

If your ears perk up at this, look for a striking and toned pooch walking a tightrope tied between two trees.

THEKIT.CA | JULY 2017 |

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THE INSTAGRAMMER

Where my bitches at? One Cavalier King Charles spaniel here looking for someone to rub suntan lotion on my back once the temperature hits 20°.

Because sharing is caring, social media skills are a must. Do not respond if you can’t quote Clueless or dissect every Netflix binge you’ve ever had.

STAND AND DELIVER A new fashion week promotes the best of Indigenous style In a year sullied by “appropriation prizes,” fashion shows highlighting Indigenous designers are working on changing the conversation from cultural appropriation to cultural appreciation. The first Vancouver Indigenous Fashion Week—which kicks off on July 26—was founded by former model Joleen Mitton, whose background is Plains Cree, French and Scottish. “Honestly, there are so many reasons,” she says about why she decided to start the project, listing “countering the historic banning of regalia, disposable fashion, and mentorship and identity” as primary ones. “Fashion is an art form that can speak to all those things without saying a word.”

Through her work mentoring Indigenous girls, Mitton noticed the positive impact fashion had on their relationship to their culture. During the fourday celebration, more than 40 designers’ looks, including Jeneen Frei Njootli and milliner Dominique Hanke, will be modelled by people of First Nation, Métis and Inuit descent. “There is a worldwide appropriation of Indigenous aesthetic claimed by those who exploit it as ‘looks that are anonymous and non-meaningful.’ We are hoping to inspire the public to buy from Indigenous artists and designers.” Investing in new designers and your wardrobe?

We’re in. —Veronica Saroli

H OT DATE S Pull up that calendar

SoulCycle is gearing up to open a third Canadian location in Vancouver later this month, and with drop-in prices hovering around $30 for a class, the cost of renting a bike for 45 minutes fits in nicely with the YVR real estate market. In true SoulCycle style, the 57-bike Yaletown studio’s classes will be high-energy—expect to burn 400 to 700 calories—and candlelit.

Daniela Dib is coming all the way from Los Angeles to instruct.

Then there’s the merch: The studio is stocked with performance and athleisure clothing.

1122 Mainland St. —Veronica Saroli

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LAST WORD

POINTS OF PRIDE

In advance of Vancouver Pride (August 6), three people share what it’s like being queer in Canada right now

By Caitlin Kenny Photography by Saty & Pratha

TIFFANY BEAUDIN

Film and television editor How would you describe your experience as an LGBTQ+ person in Canada? “There’s still a part of me that feels, not shame, but that there’s something weird about me. I don’t feel like anyone thinks, ‘Oh, you’re a disgusting homosexual,’ or anything, but I still do feel weird sometimes, s o t h a t ’s w h y b e i n g around queer people in the capacity of going to Pride makes you feel good and safe.”

Social media manager

What has your experience at Pride been like in the past? “Last year was not only my first year going, it was my first year really knowing that I like girls, so it was interesting to go somewhere where every single person was supporting you.”

PHOEBE NORTH Dance student and server

How has the shifting global political climate affected your view of the Canadian LGBTQ+ experience? “I was offered a place at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy in Russia. I had to turn it down because I knew I couldn’t be myself and speak my mind without repercussio ns . I wo uldn’t have felt safe, which is one of the blessings of living in Canada.”

What was your coming out experience like?

“I didn’t really have to come out. I got a girlfriend in grade 11, and she came over, and we were holding hands, ta lkin g to my p a rents. I was like, ‘This is happening.’”

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What realizations have you made since coming out? “The nightclub shooting in Orlando last year was right af ter I star ted seeing my girlfriend, and it was such a weird experience to think that, because I feel that way about my girlfriend, someone could end your life.”

GO ONLINE

Watch our Points of Pride video series at thekit.ca/pointsofpride

R A I N B OW B R I G H T S AY I T LO U D A N D S AY I T P R O U D

SKINNY DIP SUNGLASSES, $53, SKINNYDIPLONDON.COM. WET N WILD COLOUR ICON RAINBOW HIGHLIGHTER IN UNICORN GLOW, $8, WETANDWILD.COM. LANEIGE TWO TONE LIPSTICK IN JUICY POP, $35, SEPHORA.CA. GUCCI SHOES, $1,165, MATCHESFASHION.COM. LITTLE ARROW PIN, $13, LITTLEARROWSTUDIO.COM. HARD CANDY TOP TEN TRENDSETTER PALETTE IN APHRODISICAC, $7, WALMART. ALICE AND OLIVIA TOP, $350, ALICEANDOLIVIA.COM

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HAIR AND MAKEUP: ANIYA NANDY

MEGAN APA

What do you want everyone to understand about the queer community? “Being queer is the funnest thing in the world. Maybe people don’t know that, and they should. Being queer is one of my favourite things about myself.”

| JULY 2017 | THEKIT.CA

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