Me and a few other people were invited to a MTV fashion double-header at the Temple yesterday.

You know me, I’m Mr. Fashion, so I knew exactly what to expect going in. I recognized the hosts for some reason – also, not a big MTV guy. But, to my surprise they were 100% professional, good tempo, jumpy banter in between segments, and ably ignoring the jerk with the flash in the balcony.

And Kelly Cutrone, the guest, self professed “super-bitch” (I sincerely hope I got that correct), and New York promotional mogul at People’s Revolution, was quite gracious throughout, at one point offering to “do whatever you guys want” for the audience. To generous and enthusiastic applause. I don’t believe the cameras were rolling even. It was real. Awww. Perhaps Toronto had ensnared her heart. Perhaps it was that jerk with the flash in the balcony.

And then it was over. One take, give or take. I’d been in TV studios a couple or few times now, for one reason or another, and I don’t remember a show going that smoothly. (April 12th “After Show” on MTV Canada, about as live as it looks).

The upper seating was summarily segregated and whisked upstairs to part two of the afternoon, the debutante evening for FORA, an online fashion, beauty, and trends magazine with reader-submitted content and plenty of interactive stuff to thumb through online. (Adobe Flash, according to insiders – can I get an Amen!)

Were I of a promotional persuasion, a MTV-Canada-carried article (with a by-line and link), would be a nifty boost. In pretty much any promotional category I’d care to name. So, you know, feel free to contribute, if you’re of that persuasion. I don’t think you even need to live in Toronto.

In case you’re wondering, the photo above is on the top floor of the Temple – the inner sanctum. I think this is where the Shriners used to sacrifice chickens to their angry gods or something. Neat meet-n-greet room.

There was also a photo station at the entrance to this hall that got some good use:

The Toronto Blog Girls.

Hang on a second, I missed a couple.

I’m probably still missing a few but these ladies are definitely Toronto. Worthy of the title, and each Peach Berserked if there was any doubt. Someone in this group is also a big cheese with FORA, so they weren’t just hanging around being fashionably attired.

The coincidental visit with Kelly Cutrone wasn’t lost on me. Neither were the number of social media folks in attendance. If this is any indication of things to come, and I think it is, anyone without a blog or a Twitter account in the future … well, they really should get one. I mean, technology’s bedding with fashion. That, really, is the last frontier; where no nerd had gone before. After that, I’m not sure what’s left.

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I gotta be honest with you, I don’t follow it too closely. I mean, I may not be that stereotypical sport-watching (unless you count Formula 1), beer-drinking (not averse though), guy who communicates through bodily noises (though I’m guilty of relaxing, certainly), but fashion is lost on me entirely. I firmly believe that heterosexual male genes do not allow one to comprehend fashion. The mind simply does not connect with it. Sure, it looks good on the girl, but in what way is it practical?

Will it keep my hands warm in the winter? Is it coloured neon orange so that in the event of an emergency I can wave it aloft to signal airborne emergency crews? Is it worth the money? Because I don’t need any tassels or doohickeys, and sure as hell no fluffy balls; I just want my money’s worth (and an extra pair of shoelaces). Since fashion is simply a word, a subjective concept like God or banana bread, it doesn’t affect the decision-making process.

And then there’s this:

I don’t know how the women put up with this. When I sit down for a haircut, I’m expecting to be out in fifteen minutes. Chatter to a minimum – cutting of the hair is priority. These girls probably sit in those chairs for hours having crap smeared on their faces and chemicals tossed on their hair. I’d have a powder brush to someone’s throat in about thirty seconds.

I doubt there will be a repeat of last year’s humorously inebriated speech by Robin Kay, the president of the Fashion Design Council of Canada (and major Fashion Week organizer).  “[That] kind of bad behaviour is the equivalent of wearing a bad accessory”, said one of the event’s vice-presidents afterwards.

I really only have a gestural response to this one: *palm up, shrug, and “I have no idea” smirk*

I might also add: *gentle side-to-side head shake*; for emphasis.

The same could be said of the following item:

You may have noticed that this doesn’t look much like Fashion Week anymore, but it is somewhat related. They’re trying to get me to call this “yarnbombing” after the graffiti word “bomb” (to paint), but I refuse to do it. It’s a bunch of knitted yarn tied a utility pole in a park for the purpose of beautifying it. I read about it in a Star article today which tried to equate the activity of affixing a knitted square to a fence, to spray-painting a wall in a dank, dark alley.

Don’t get me wrong, putting cozies on everything isn’t such a bad thing. But as many people (mostly ladies) who put their knitting and stitching up last year discovered, a little rain or snow will quickly give their good intentions the middle finger.

Just not practical.

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It didn’t pan out.

First off, I wouldn’t know fashion if it ran up to me, tugged at my sleeve, and called me dad. So most of the clothing stores and their slight, jaded attendants with aborted personalities, were out of the question. And any haircut I would plunk down three digits for (as if!), would be experimental. I don’t wear experimental well. I have a utilitarian, European head. It’s made for thinking, imbibing spirits, and spectacular love-making. Not for unusual hair styles.

But that’s okay. If I can’t spend my money on anything else, I can always buy a new MIDI controller of some kind that I’ll use, like, three times and then forget about.

I used to flip through the comics at Silver Snail regularly as a teen, but they don’t carry much of what I enjoy anymore. I keep tellin’ em there’s a market for it. They keep tellin’ me that what I want is “illegal” and “sick” and that they “never carried it” and “please stop masturbating”.  Hey, their loss.

I’ll happily take my business elsewhere.

I enjoy a genital piercing as much as the next guy, but I was pretty intent on getting that haircut. That’s the problem with Queen West though, isn’t it? There’s always something to distract you. If it’s not a novelty condom store or the exciting fall 2009 line of designer bongs and smoking accessories,  it’s street voodoo:

So, naturally, by the time I got to the old Citytv building, the first thing and the other thing (there were two, right?), had broken free of my skull and fled. Something about a hat and a vest?

Oh well, there’s always tomorrow. Wish I could say the same for  poor Moses Znaimer.

Oh yeah, now I remember. Yeah. No way I’m getting a haircut now.

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