I’m from Canada and if there’s one thing my home and native land is known for it’s for being exceptionally polite and nice. Sugar and spice.
We always say please and thank you. We ask how your day is going or if we can offer a helping hand. We apoligize way too much.
This is the cosy environment I grew up in and generally that’s the way I like it (sure, all have our rage-o-riffic moments and I know quite a few Canucks who have some serious pent-up anger bursting to get out).
I like a good healthy argument but surely confrontation just makes me uncomfortable.
Recently I’ve been noticing a shift across the border. America is getting mean. Pledge allegiance to utter rudeness.
I’m talking about Kanye. I’m talking about Congressman Wilson. I’m talking about Len Goodman on last evening’s Dancing With the Stars. Len, you a mean, mean old man.
Granted Len hails from the UK, but spending extended periods of time in the States seems to have brought out the crotchety full-stop.
So why so glum? Is it the backlash from the market meltdown? Are we all just so exhausted, broke, stressed out that we’re now turning on each other? Or are we just entering a time when angry outbursts and crass remarks come without consequences?
Everyone wants to start a war, but we all should just keep the peace, non? I’m not suggesting we hold back our opinions. I’m proposing we all take a sec, think before we speak and provide a respectful rebuttal delivered with courtesy.
Who’s with me?
Gosh, I sound OLD.
And you thought Prada was only for the uppiest of upper-class. Pffft. This season they’re taking a cue from the blue-collars.
Check out these fisherman boots. Except you can’t actually wear them fishing, or even NEAR water for that matter. They’re composed of leather, made to look like rubber. H20’s a big no-no.
This whole trend is actually starting to get to me. Between these and the Jimmy Choo styled Hunter wellies, I’m starting to lose my grip on fashion reality.
Is all of this stuff luxe or just layman?
London Fashion Week is in full swing right now.
Although I’m sadly watching it unfold from my ever-so stylish Mac computer here in Canada, I’m still eating up the drama that inevitably follows one of my fav fashion weeks.
Want some dirt? Last Friday Mark Fast, an up-and-coming designer on the scene (as most LFW designers always seem to be) took a ballsy move and stuck real women on the catwalk.
When I say real women, I say women who look like you and me, not emanicipated corpse-like versions.
I know what you’re thinking. Not the size-zero debate again!? Sorry girls, read it and eat. The debate continues, but instead of being all talk talk zzz, designers are now actually putting their opinions in motion and using sizable women to display their work.
Fab, right?
Or maybe not. Word is some of the fashion folk stuck in the trenches behind the catwalks of LFW kicked up quite a fuss when they saw who they were dressing for the runway.
According to Fashionista, one staffer quit and another fired over Fast’s choice of model. Apparently one stylist was so rude to the models, the girls were actually forced to let her go. Luckily a Telegraph stylist stepped in to save the show.
What do you think? Let’s weigh in. Were you happy to see larger ladies walking the runway or do you think waif’s provide a better hanger to display the designs?
Next post will steer away from the controversy and stick to the glamour. There have already been loads of highlights to show already.
I’m hungry now.
L xx
*sigh*
I’m back in my home and native land, writing this from my backyard. Pining away for London next to the three pines that are shading my space.
I know it’s wrong. I shouldn’t be missing the cold, damp weather I left when I’m here, comfortable, in the Canadian sunshine. But if it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.
I always go through the phases and stages of grief after I return from an extended stay in the motherland.
First, denial. No, I will not unpack my bags. This is just a stopover. I’ll be back cramped in a dry airplane before I can say cheerio.
Anger. Why the heck isn’t Canada part of the EU? Who ever thought it was a good idea for Canada to gain independence from the UK anyway? More importantly, why couldn’t my great grandparents just stick around the Isles long enough for my grandparents to be born? Then I could claim ancestry. Argh!
Bargaining. Right, so if I stay here for a little longer, I can either save enough money to take another extended trip OR I can find a killer job, earn buckets of money and qualify for a highly-skilled migrant visa. I need to put some ads on this blog. Yeah, that should help me rake it in! Ummmmm….
Depression. Forget it. I’m stuck. I’m chained to the maple for life. It smells nice. It tastes nice. But it’s not enough. I want black cabs and afternoon tea and royalty and pimms and black boogies.
Acceptance. Fine. No, really. It’s fine. I’m fine. I love Canada. I do, I really do. It’s beautiful and vast. WAY bigger than the U.K., minus the funny accents. Sort of. I never get hassled at the border (Yes, officer. This is my English boyfriend, I swear it!)
Besides, Chapters carries all my favourite English magazines, Shopper’s Drug Mart stocks up on Boots products and I just read that L’oreal Elnett is launching throughout North America.
I’m home. For now. Beavers rejoice
