Joining the masses of faux fur and over priced clothing, I headed to David Peacut square to attend Toronto Fashion Week. Being surrounded by photographers attempting to capture candid shots of guests, it was quite impossible to not pose. While I have a firm love of fashion, I fail to see the allure of fashion week. Personal space violated and having to hear dozens of people discuss their highly successful street style blog. The event becomes redundant.
While I may be a writer, I refuse to call myself a “blogger”. In the age of Tumblr where anyone can be a “blogger”, I revolt at the term much along the same lines of how I cringe at terms like “daddy” or “twink”. Vomit.
Accompanied by Charlotte, we enjoy pre-show drinks at the Thompson Hotel. Perusing the menu, we dub this evening “therapy night”. When we would rather spend our hard earned money on Cartier and Loubiton, both Charlotte and I use each other as therapy. While unconventional, if psychological counselling was accompanied by a chilled gin & tonic or a glass of merlot, maybe I would see the appeal. Charlotte – another victim of the catastrophic plague that is the stupidity of men. After a few sips of our drinks, Charlotte informed that her current relationship was coming to an end. It seems that while she fully understood the concept of commitment, he did not. His idea of commitment was to be ‘committed ‘ to Charlotte while simultaneously being with other women; the whole ‘have your cake and eat it too’ scenario.
It seems as if many people undergo this same romantic problem, for Charlotte is definitely not the only victim. I am not quite sure when the term ‘commitment’ become more of a suggestion, but it seems as if more and more people are forgetting the true definition.
For those who need a reminder:
noun [MASS NOUN] The state or quality of being dedicated to a cause, activity, etc.
Sipping on our cocktails, we mourn over broken hearts and the idiocy of the common male. With thousands of Novels, stories, and six seasons of Sex and The City, I am not quite sure why heartbreak always comes as a shock.
We teach children (especially little girls) to aspire for marriage and to hold onto the idea that their perfect man is out there. Children begin planning for the future at a young age; Pretending to be a housewife, or acting as a bride. Maybe children are not the only ones pretending, for it seems that even as adults we are all acting under these imagined pretences. When will we abandon our childhood fantasies, and understand that love might not be for everyone?
It is in these circumstances that every broken-hearted Cinderella is in need of martini.
While we are seated together, we both feel alone with our thoughts.
Questions fill the mind: Was it worth it? Were they worth it? Are they even worth the tears?
Signalling the bartender, he quickly brings over another round.
“Cheers to being single, lonely, and fabulous” Charlotte says as she lifts her martini glass.
We silently sip our therapy.
Seated on a VIA rail train I look out the window and watch the trees dissipate into the horizon. Storm clouds forming, flecks of sunlight peak out between the grey. After a brief stop, the train jerks to life and begins its commute. Signalling for an attendant, I order a cup of fresh coffee. I look over at the sleeping man beside me. Dressed in a suit and tie much too big for him, I try to keep to myself as I lean further back into my seat.
I find myself with my thoughts. I have turned away from writing out of the fear of saying too much.
Biting my tongue, I sit back and prevent the thoughts from looming. Lifting the pen from the paper, I sigh at my inability to produce a self-sustaining piece; no one wants to read about another love song turned grey.
In often times, when we meet someone new we present information about ourselves on a ‘need to know basis’. Upon first meeting, you are not going to all this person your deepest secrets. You will probably not tell them that you are mentally unstable, that you are a draft dodger, or that you have a hidden obsession to 90s electro-pop group Aqua. Upon first meeting, you aim to appear calm, cool and collected.
Lessons from Suburbia:
Pretend you have more than you do. This works for both material possessions and for sanity.
We shield our demons from the world and don a mask of normality. We wear a costume to prevent society from seeing who we really are and what we are really thinking.
You were a hot mess with a clean disguise, so eloquently decorated that I dismissed the warning signs.
Instead of showing people who we really are, we put up another a barrier; an omnipresent barricade that showcases strength and resilience.
As I listen to Charlotte speak about this man, I think about my past relationship. Why waste thoughts on those who cannot feel? Those who design for the purpose to destroy? Those made to a break and left to die?
Happiness does not come easy nor is it a constant feeling, for it is quite difficult to maintain. While we cannot control the masses, we CAN control how we feel and how we react. For everyone has skeletons in their closets, and we are not alone in this secrecy. We blur the memories and continue on.
Dressed in a 1989 concert tee, I order another coffee. Two and a half hours left on my commute.