A Little (More) Perspective....OMFG

My dream job would be to work as a journalist for National Geographic. When I was little, my siblings and I would delve into my dad's subscription of the magazine and get lost in the otherworldly images of sharks underwater, citizens of far away countries and more. They represented everything that was foreign and mystifying to us as children...and it was fantastic to let our minds wander. Now, as an adult, I still love all things National Geographic! As thought-provoking as it was when I was younger, the only difference is now, things don't seem as foreign. They're understandable and intriguing and most of all inspiring.

When I was 18, I did what all 18 year old's do: some predictable act of teenage rebellion! For me, this was getting a tattoo (what would become the first of a few) and I decided on wings on my hips. Less slutty than it sounds (no really, they're tiny and lovely) what it meant to me was perspective. To fly up above and see things from another perspective, if you must have it spelled out for you. Putting things into perspective keeps me positive and ambitious....it can be so easy to get caught up in our own lives and forget that there's an entire world out there that awaits. I might as well of gotten "National Geographic" or their famous yellow rectangle logo tattooed on me!

As the year winds down, we all inevitably get into self-reflection mode. Instead of going over your personal drama from the year (decide what is worth it and what is frivolous, and don't bother wasting time on anything that fits into the latter category....easier said than done but worth it) gain a little perspective! Here are National Geographic's annual Year in Photos for 2011 and the winners of their 2011 photo contest! I was blown away. Beautiful and stunning and truly intelligent.

My personal favorites:
Part 2, 14 - I'm a hopeless romantic...romance for the sake of romance and nothing else in the midst of violence? Swoon.
Photo contest, 12 - My ex and I had a fascination with Great Whites that bordered on obsession....a mixture of fear and....well, more fear made it so we watched every shark movie under the sun. Sharktopus included. This picture is my greatest fear but I have no doubt that I'll do it one day!
Part 1, 24 - A delicate reminder that a midst all the shock, trauma and debris of the March tsunami that hit Japan, what they took time to save were memories and reminders of the future. Also, more proof that Asian babies are the cutest. I mean...look at them! No contest.

Enjoy!
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OMFG -- A Little Baggage

My good friend Daniela and I often share our woes of the dating scene in our mid-twenties. No longer naively optimistic teens looking for puppy love nor horridly jaded (...yet) we both agree that it's fun for the most part, but a little tiring at others. "They're like job interviews with cocktails!" Daniela often remarks about first dates. And sadly, I'd have to agree. By the time you're twentysomething, it's inevitable to have accumulated a fair amount of dating "experience", shall we say. And by "experience" I mean a whole lot of emotional baggage. Unless you're a robot, totally prude or incredibly sheltered, chances are that you've either had your heart broken, or done the breaking. Many of us are in self-protect mode at this age and that's why first dates can be interrogation-like...it's all about sniffing out the other person's baggage.

Pessimistic sounding, sure, but as some one who definitely fits into the category of hopeless romantic, baggage doesn't have to be anymore more than a little bump in the road. It's been noted (by friends of mine -- over and over again) that a characteristic of mine is to not give up on people. Sure, it's sounds all lovely and endearing in words, but in actuality it has proven to be draining and not always for the best. Sticking around way after the expiry date of a relationship, when it's gone not just bad but awfully rotten, simply for the sake of trying to help some one who clearly does not want it, is not an ideal situation for anyone. So with that in mind I give my baggage advice with warning: only attempt to take on baggage you know you can handle. Hopelessly romantic I may be, but naive? Nuh-uh.

And, as with everything else in life, a bit of honesty goes a long way. No, no, no, this doesn't mean word vomiting after meeting some one of interest a couple times, or letting it all out when wasted, but simply answering things as they come up. Honestly. (For the record, I'm personally all for drunken emotional talks, but experience has proven the general consensus is a resounding nay. See? Hopeless.) It's the difference between fudging the answer of questions about your past and admitting that no, your dating history isn't perfect. Perfection is for the for the boring anyways...give me complicated, layered and mysterious any day of the week. If Adele can make a career of singing about it, surely it's not all that bad.

Acknowledging flaws of the dating world keeps it resoundingly on the fun as opposed to the tiring side. Interesting people, interesting places and interesting things (so interesting nouns, basically..) never cease to keep things, well, interesting! And who knows, the next fun fling you have might just turn into some one who makes your baggage feel not as heavy. Happy dating, darling bloggees!

x

And for days when you just need a little Adele release...after all, anyone with iTunes and a heart does it!

The Afterparty....OMFG

There's a little ritual that happens every week when I'm out with friends at a club. The bass gets softer, the bottles are face down in the ice buckets and everyone starts to get a little restless. My friends and I exchange sheepish glances and it's clear to everyone that even though the venue is closing down, our night is far from over. And thus begins the search for the after party. Oh, the after party! In a city where last call is a relatively early 2 a.m. (In Montreal, we'd all be less motivated after a good extra hour of drinking, and in NYC, being up until the sunrise is usually a given..) the search for the after party is a regularly occurring ritual for nights out. Over my years out and about on the scene I've seen them all...from sketchy iron-barred hole-in-the-walls on Spadina, to three story penthouses overlooking the water, and everything in between.

It begins with texting. You message your friends who are out and about across the city and see who is willing to volunteer their desirable digs to have people over. If it's not a friend, then it's a friend of a friend. Or, more likely, a dude who knows the neighbor of a friend of a friend of a friend, but is totally loaded and just wants to have a good time. And in the hours after 2 a.m., that's really the common goal here: having a good time. That pursuit of (temporary) happiness as it may be is what brings together the most random assortment of people. I've walked into after parties only to notice after a few minutes that aside from the people I've shown up with, I recognize absolutely no one there. I've also walked into after parties and right back out because there have been more than a few people I would rather not spend time with. Unless I know the owner of the house personally or am the instigator of the shady shindig, it's a lotto game when it comes to the crowd: everyone from my good friends, to industry, to drug dealers, to loose gold-diggers and hipsters. (I'll let you decide just how many of those categories overlap. Clue? Too many.)

Those that are in couples, have office jobs in the early morning or scheduled end-times in their heads to their night need not apply to the after party process. Sure, there are exceptions to every rule (and as half of a couple who used to party hard with her ex, I'll share this: it's fun at first to have a boyfriend/partner in crime, but when you're serious with some one, you just want to hang out alone at 4a.m.) The after party is for those who went out looking for something and aren't satisfied by the time the club dies down -- whether it be a bootycall, riding out the rest of a high, or simply a desire to connect with some one new, we're all looking for something, or some one, when we make our way into the next dimly lit premise.

Sketchiness aside, I've had some amazing times at after parties, which probably happen more than I'd like to admit. What makes the difference for me between sketchiness and sketchy good times is the company; and fortunately I'm always armed with a pretty awesome crew of friends and solid people. That's another goal one can have when it comes to after hours: it doesn't have to be about sex or drugs, but simply just extending a good night out with friends. Fun, friends, and just a little bit of scandal....the perfect mix for after parties in our lovely city. Happy hunting fellow nightcrawlers!
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OMFG - Make Me Up

There are some girls who are naturally great with make-up. You know the ones I'm talking about; they can mix palettes, know the differences between mouse foundations and powder ones and where that fine line is between a glamorously well-made face and an all-out tranny look. My older sister was one of these girls, and when we were teens, I used to beg her to apply my make-up for any special events I had to go to. I, on the other hand, have never known what to do with a millions of make-up products I've purchased throughout the years. On a day to day basis I use foundation and eye liner and that's about it. It's not that I wouldn't wear more during the day time, it's that I honestly don't know how to without coming across as someone who face-planted onto a still-wet painting....or Christina Aguilera.

My lack of beauty knowledge miffs many, as they assume that as a model, I should also have a working skill of make-up application. Wrong. Models are simply the blank canvases that extremely talented make-up artists do their work upon. It's how I go from a relatively low-key twenty-something to a sexy lingerie vamp, delicate geisha, or whatever else the theme of the shoot happens to be. I've come to have a great appreciate for these artists as it really takes skill and creativity to be able to work with faces of all different races and walks of beauty. (I've also come to realize that some are better than at Asian faces than others....Asian models don't always have to look like geishas, FYI. And geishas are Japanese not across the board Asian...anyways, I digress.)

I've attempted to amp up my beauty skills lately, just for the fun of it and was introduced to a great line of videos by two make-up artists I've worked with several times! So, for any of you girls out there who are as clueless as yours truly when it comes to make-up, brush up on your skills!

Christine Cho and I worked an event over a year ago and bonded over mutual Asian gripes about the industry, going out, and more. We've been great friends since then and I can safely say that when I get married, Christine will be doing my make-up! She's well-established and even appears on the Steven and Chris Show as their beauty expert! Check out her line of videos on everything from natural beauty (my personal make-up philosophy) and a helpful video on everyday five-minute make-up!

Another make-up artists I've worked with many times is Amanda Blair. With her rocker-style and tons of experience despite being young (Seriously. I'm more than a few years older than her..) the shoots we've done have always been edgy and fun! Amanda has her own line of videos which dole out great tips on glamorous styles for going out.

Enjoy glamouristas!
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OMFG - Eat What You Love...A Haut Appetit Connection

As Toronto Fashion Week takes over the city, models once again are in the spotlight, ready to be scrutinized by the media, fashionistas and the general public. Whoever said modeling was an easy job has never done it -- only those with thick skin should apply. Thick skin, however, is the only part of a model that is allowed to be thick as rail-thin is still the ideal body-type. I don't care how many fashion organizations vow to use models with body types of a certain BMI, or cast "curvier" models every once in a while: fashion has always featured extremely thin women. Everything else is simply for good publicity or sympathetic smiles from the fashion elite. We're all dying to be thin, thin and thinner.

Well, not all of us! I've been lucky enough to be naturally quite thin (while still being able to eat as much as I please for the most part) and find that the girls I become close friends with in the industry share my view on food: eat what you love, just don't stuff your face. I've never been one for extreme dieting, unhealthy means of staying skinny (read: laxatives and other unpleasant forceful removal..), juice cleanses or anything else along those lines. It's all too impractical for me. Life is for living, and that, in my opinion, includes ordering dessert when out for dinner with your boyfriend, making grilled cheese when you feel like vegging out and doing nothing at home, or sampling all the various gourmet hor dourves when at a party. Anyone who has the willpower to censor themselves every minute of the day with food is probably not the happiest...after all, a starving model is never a happy model. Give me the happy glow of a well-fed woman over the grayish tinge of an emaciated waif any day.

My closest friend from modeling, Elizabeth Minett, (or Minny as I call her) shares a similar philosophy when it comes to chowing down: mainly that we both turn into miserable cows when hungry, and become gentle purring kittens when with a bellyful of delights. Minny and I first bonded a couple years back when we met during a fashion show we were both in....a week later and we were sharing gossip over late-night greasy Chinese food after a night of clubbing. Chow mein? Yes please! Chicken balls? Why not! Fried rice? Of course! It was love at first bite for Minny and I and we've had many a food adventure in whatever city we happen to be in together since then. (Cupcakes in New York, pub fare in London and sushi in Miami, just to name a few!) To know there are other models out there with beautiful figures who enjoy food as much as I do was, and is, refreshing. Minny lands more than her share of jobs making it clear that girls who eat are not just happy, but damn sexy as well!

Minny + cupcake = <3

Minny is a baking enthusiast and has parlayed her passion for all things ooey, gooey and delicious into a blog of her own which follows the world of haute healthy eating from the perspective of a stunning model. We recently took a cupcake tour of Manhattan stopping at several well-known cupcake shops and sampling treats at each one to take tasty notes for her to blog about post-meal....a pumpkin cupcake at Sugar Sweet Sunshine, a vanilla bean cupcake and banana cream pie at Magnolia, a sugar-free cupcake from The Little Cupcake Shoppe...suffice to say it was heavenly!

While sitting around and indulging in cupcakes everyday is not the healthiest of lifestyles, it was a lovely way to spend a day. Don't get me wrong; neither of us chows down on burgers and fries daily, but we do eat when we're hungry and enjoy desserts just as much as we enjoy healthy foods. I feel sexier, happier, and most content when my body is at its natural weight as opposed to being a frail five or ten pounds lighter which would fit industry norms. I don't allow modeling to dictate what I eat, and more importantly how I live my life, and would much rather share a tapas dinner with friends than sit alone at home counting how many grapes I'm allowed that day. Minny and I have gossiped over late night Chinese, chatted over spicy salmon rolls, discussed life crisis's over slices of cheesecake and had girl talk over salads. Food is friendship for us and is part of the equation without a second thought; which is exactly how it is in both our lives. Fashion week, Schmashion week! Girls, once again I re-iterate: eat what you love, but don't stuff your face (unless it's on really good cupcakes..) and you'll be lovely as ever on the inside and out.

For a Minny & Sheilakins approved recipe, Flourless Chocolate Walnut Cookies (Big. Fat. MMMMM), go to Minny's Haut Appetit Blog here!

Haut Appetit's Flourless Chocolate Walnut Cookies!

The Sport of Celeb F*cking

I don't really follow sports. I find baseball boring (although going to games is an excuse to drink beer during the daytime without judgement), hockey mildly interesting (mostly for the fights that break out and and again, non-judgmental early drinking), and basketball marginally the most interesting, if only to go to games and spot the hardcore bling of all the baller wives who attend games from across the court. Many of my model counterparts, however, pay for more attention to sports than I ever could. For them it's not activities that take place on the field or in an arena, and don't involve any balls....actually wait. Maybe not. I'm alluding to the subtle, yet entirely present sport of celebrity hook-ups! That's right...the game of schmoozing and whatever happens after schmoozing with celebrities simply because, well, they're celebrities.

My darling hometown of Toronto is an interesting little habitat to observe celebrity behavior. Not blase and jaded like New York where Manhattanites can walk past Sarah Jessica Parker and the twins on the way to Magnolia without blinking an eye, (and where non-New Yorkers pretend to be just as uncaring if only to fit in), or downright shameless in fame adoration and the road to get there like in L.A, Toronto falls somewhere in the middle where everyone freaks out and wants to be seen with celebrities, but only if they're seen in a way where they don't appear to care. As if you just so happen to be hanging out with George Clooney because you two obviously run in the same circles -- and not because you heard he was going to be at some film fest party and pulled every string you had to inch your way to the edge of his table and take a picture where you're just barely in the same frame. Potato, potato. It's not just our secret gawking that makes Toronto unique, but also how comfortable it is for celebs here. Maybe it's that the T-dot is relatively low-key, or that they think we Canadians are just generally nicer and won't snitch on scandalous behavior, but whatever it is, celebrities certainly figure they can get away with more when shielded by the Great White North.

Our sheltered home and native land makes it so that celebs are more accessible than they would be in other cities...if you know a few club owners, are a model or a scenester in any way, chances are that you have a few star stories to share. And so, with celebrities frequently in town to shoot movies, do press tours or promote clothing lines, it has become something of a competition for many local girls to see just how many they can snag. I've seen this game in action; a young, sort-of attractive male star in his heyday will come to town, get wined and dined by high-end restaurateurs and venue owners, and taken to the hotspot of the night. And then the picking begins...usually his handlers will scope out the models or other attractive ladies who are there and bring them over to the star until he finds one he likes. Sleazy? Definitely. But somewhat understandable given the situation. I mean, why fish for something that you can get hand-delivered to you? With that in mind, it completely boggles my mind how many girls I see swoon, giggle, then eventually leave, with all these douches. They don't even have to be attractive! Just as long as they're famous. It's tit for tat: the star gets to add one more notch to his post of international banging and the chick gets to smugly know (or let her friends know is more like it) that she totally put the moves on Chace/Adrien/Gerard or whatnot.

If you're a spectator of this sport like I am, it's all very amusing and entertaining. I've been pulled from the sidelines every once in a while but am really not one for athletics...or being hit on by egotistical dudes who get their handlers to make introductions. Otherwise it's a fun game to follow....celebrities, models, scandal, and parties? Totally trumps sweaty dudes throwing a ball around if you ask me. For those participating, please continue to do so at events and clubs where we spectators can all continue to catch games -- especially during the playoffs, otherwise known as TIFF! Have fun, keep score, and for the love of fame don't forget to use protection -- we all know nothing's worse than having to sit a season out because of an "injury". All together now, Team Canada!
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OMFG - The Moody Blues

Have you ever had one of those days where you just don't want to get out of bed? Either it's because you're tired from a busy work week, feeling plain lazy or, let's face it -- are probably mildly to severely hungover based on the events of the night before. We've all had those days, especially when fluffy duvet covers, silky pillows and freshly laundered sheets are involved. Now how about one of those days where you just can't get out of bed? It's not because you're physically unable too from fatigue or are so hungover the task of walking seems impossible, but rather because it seems pointless, hopeless, or meaningless. Your bed is no longer a throne of dreams and comfort but a sluggish welt in your room that is pulling you into masses of heavy blankets instead of being able to breathe fresh air. If you've ever felt the latter, even to a small degree, then you're probably familiar with some form of mild depression.

This isn't a PSA about the signs and treatments for such a disease, but rather a simple post about how we, as twenty-somethings, are prone to experiencing symptoms of it in our own unique way. I will admit that I've experienced bouts of panic, anxiety and the blues throughout my years. Yes, I'm a highly functioning social person who is, for the most part, a happy person, but also a highly emotional and complicated being who doesn't always have ration and logic. My hypersensitivity leaves it so that I am often bothered by things that shouldn't bother me, and I am at times left to wonder why everyone else seems so fine with things that I just can't seem to get past. I've had days where I feel so tired and weighed down for no reason at all, cannot stop crying, and feel useless. While such episodes are usually spurred by emotional reactions to relationship issues and whatnot, they were occurring enough that I've looked into therapy several times. The first time I never got around to it, and the second time the therapist told me at our first visit that "it doesn't really seem like you need to be in therapy." Um, excuse me? Reassuring I suppose in some ways, but also frustrating in that I felt not depressed enough that I could be diagnosed and treated, but affected enough that it made life difficult a lot of the time.

Being in your twenties is hard. Wonderful in a sense that yes, we are relatively carefree (not many of us have kids to worry about yet, broken hips and other health issues that hit later on and are young enough to still be able to party until 5am and be up for work at 9), and the world is ours for the taking, but hard nonetheless. It's when we're supposed to figure out our entire lives career-wise, romantically, and financially all the while figuring out just who we are. It is the most uncertain decade in every which way for us and this can lead to everything that I know I've personally gone through.

Let's not take this too lightly. If you're sitting in bed eating a tub of ice cream and crying to your girlfriends on the phone about another failed relationship, you're not depressed. If you're down on yourself and cancel on a bro's night because you didn't get that promotion you thought you had in the bag at work, you're not depressed. And if you're worried that your weight is up 3 pounds and that's why that other chick landed that magazine cover and not you, you're not depressed. Yes, being in our twenties has trials and tribulations like all decades, but it's only if they affect you deep down, in a sense that they're issues ice cream and a night in can't solve...well that's when you should perhaps seek help. If they affect you to a point that you feel you can't function on a day to day level, that's when a little warning buzzer should be ringing in your head.

What seems to be a good system, for me at least, is recognizing when a blue episode is on its way. I know what my warning signs are, and when I see one or two pop up, I become proactive in reversing them. Whether it be through talking to a loved one, becoming physically active or keeping busy, it all helps to hopefully avoid the downfall all together. Acknowledging the things that upset you in life and how they affect you is a crucial way to making sure such factors don't reoccur.

Mental issues are hard to acknowledge and at times even harder to reach out and get help for. Since there are no physical symptoms, the severity of such issues are murky waters. Nothing is more frustrating than trying to convince some one of your feelings and being dismissed as simply "moody". What I do know is that the people who tell you to simply "buck up" or that "it's just a phase and you'll get over it" probably haven't experienced it themselves. I trust my instinct like no other and know when I'm feeling something, I'm feeling it and no amount of partying, or other distractions will take my mind off of it. (Although partying sure does help some times...) So my point of this somewhat somber post is, my dear blogees, that the moody blues have a tendency to hit even the best and brightest of us in our twenties. Dealing with it, no matter how mild or severe is up to you. Staying happy and being well sure beat gray skies and tears, now doesn't it?
x

For references and where to find help:
Depression Meetings
Counseling Services
Recognizing Symptoms

OMFG -- Television with a Heart..

As September lazily turns from a humid summer into a cool fall, television follows suit as the tide turns from reruns to the premieres of all the shows we missed during the summer. I don't know about you guys, but TV watching for me has turned from catching the latest episode of my favorite series every week to holing up in my room hermit-style every once in a while and watching an entire season of a series start to finish on my computer. This may or may not include cuddling with chips, cupcakes and a variety of other munchie foods while in bed. Technology at it's finest, no? I have pretty mainstream taste: everything from the standard chick fare like Gossip Girl (for the clothes and Chuck Bass, strictly) to standard boy fare like Entourage (hoping they don't screw up the movie..) and everything in between. I've noticed over the past few seasons, the number of shows I've been addicted to has upped in numbers...and it's for one lovely little reason: the return of good old fashioned heart to television.

Don't roll your eyes at me now...if you're reading this and don't value all matters dealing with the heart, then you, my darling, have wandered onto the wrong blog. I'm talking about warm fuzzies, gooey sentimentalism, or "tender" moments as my sister calls them, all making their way back into prime-time popular shows. Much of this can be attributed to the comeback of the sitcom. After Friends ended and Seinfeld went off air, there was a loll where similar shows were coming on, and failing fast. It's not that Friends lacked heart, and as a big fan of the show I wouldn't of changed a thing, but it was more about quick laughs and romance than anything else. And Seinfeld was a show famously about nothing. The typical mid-90's sitcom situation of a group of single people living in a city has made way for different types of plots; families, and the search for love, not just fun on the singles scene.

My favorite of the bunch, and a favorite of critics and fans alike it seems is Modern Family. Hysterically funny, just the right mount of awkward and heartwarming at the appropriate times, it's sweet while still being hilarious and of course, modern. It also helps that Manny is my soul mate. Yes, the 11 year old son of Jay and Gloria not only write poems for girls he likes, reads Hemingway and wears meticulously coordinated outfits, but also turns his nose down on all activities that should be age-appropriate for a fifth grader. A hopeless romantic who hasn't even reached middle school? No wonder why I love this show! A close second is the character of Phil, who is endearingly dorky at its best. Because the show is just that good, I will overlook the fact that for the new season they've replaced the adorable Asian baby Lily with an obviously mixed-race child who is neither cute, nor funny. I mean come on, we can all tell she's half white. For a show that's so against tradition in a lot of ways, it's slightly insulting for the creators to think no one would notice.

Even when a show is about a group of singles living in the city, the warm undertones are what make me happy to see what they're up to. I've come to love How I Met Your Mother; a show where we follow Ted and his group of friends as we retells the story to his kids of how he met their mother. I mean, there's family love and tenderness written right into the title! It allows all the conquests he embarks seem not just for sport, but part of a grand journey where, if they had not occurred, he wouldn't ultimately meet his true love. It's a singles show for the romantics out there, and one where we follow along with our own tumultuous love lives knowing every fight, heartbreak and stupid mistake happens for a reason. (Even if you're not as on board the sappy bandwagon as I am, HIMYM is worth watching for Neil Patrick Harris alone in all his sociopath, lady-killing, musical glory.)

The kinder, gentler, but no less funny sitcom is prevailing and love addicts like yours truly are binging on all the gooey television moments we can get. Mind you, this is prime time, and all the edgy stuff is still available on cable (I'm just getting hooked on Damages). But the dominance of heartwarming ideals in mainstream television makes for a nice sentiment: that collectively, it's what audiences are seeking out. And what a lovey feeling it is to know we all may be all the same page after all....well, according to Nelson's ratings at least. Sit back, watch, love and enjoy!
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OMFG...TIFF, TIFF, TIFF!

TIFF. The one acronym synonymous with arguably the best week of parties in our fair city of Toronto. The one week where A-list celebrities cram themselves into every available hotel and restaurant in Yorkville, and trendy spots of the downtown core. The one week where Toronto gets more international exposure than it does all year. The one week where networking at a party might lead you to an actual producer, not just some one who says he is. And finally, the one week where  the city extends it's liquor license to 4 a.m. and we all know we have to go hard. There is no halfway when it comes to the film festival, and anyone who has done it before knows there's a strategy....unless you want to end up a waking corpse by the end of it. (I'll save you the been-there-done-that trouble: being a walking zombie is never fun.)

TIFF has a different purpose for everyone. When I was fifteen, my best friends and I ventured to Yorkville for our first fest with the sole goal of seeing as many celebrities as possible. For a young teen it seemed absolutely magical to see Nicole Kidman, Anthony Hopkins and Denzel Washington to name a few waltz by us...we even talked to some of them. (She was unearthly stunning, he was intimidating and Denzel must have been having a bad day because he was a total ass. I forgive you Denzel. Being approached by three wide-eyed tween girls sputtering incoherently wouldn't exactly thrill me, either. ) As I got older, chasing down stars lost its appeal and it was more about the partying. I'll admit that during more than a couple TIFF's I would come own each night no earlier than 7 a.m. I solely blame the annual Nikki Beach pop-up. Nothing keeps a girl out for late nights like a schmoozy St. Tropez atmosphere and an abundance of bubbly!

However, I know for many TIFF is about networking their faces off. A logical decision given the caliber of industry personnel who are in town and out and about during the fest! I've never been one to get whipped into a frenzy about the possibility of meeting a Hollywood director or whatnot, but my interests have always been in fashion and events. I do however see the value in meeting not just big time producers, but film makers of all kinds since the possibilities and opportunities are endless. Any meeting with passionate people serves you well at the end of the day, in my opinion..."it doesn't matter what you do, as long as you do it well."  are wise words.

For the next ten days, the power is in the party. No matter if it's day time industry gatherings, cocktail hour receptions, evening lounges or full-on 4 a.m bangers, each and every TIFF event if over-flowing at the brim with people just waiting to provide you with interesting opportunities in the future. You can almost see the sparks of collaborative ideas as they bounce between individual to individual. As a promoter, my two partners and I will be throwing a plethora of 4 a.m. bangers of which I'm positive will reap benefits for business. (...and pleasure. I'm only human, and a party girl at that.)

When it comes down to it, networking, partying, and a love of film aside, what makes TIFF so great is the energy it brings to the city. There's a united feeling of pride in our venues, our people and our atmosphere that has provided Hollywood with refuge for a week in the Great White North. There's a reason film fest here is second only to Cannes! (And Cannes being in the stunning south of France, where exclusivity is built in and the birthplace of Diddy's all-white party...well, we're happily second) So no matter how many douche-bag faux-stars you see strutting around the city with their sunglasses on at night hoping to get mistaken for Ryan Gosling, remember that they're just excited to be part of something great. And that's what Toronto is during film fest -- nothing short of just fantastic.
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Why the Notebook Sucks...OMFG

The Notebook is the worst movie on the face of this Earth. Yup. I said it. Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful and touching and lovely and magical and absolutely hopelessly, mind-bogglingly romantic....and it sucks balls. No matter how many tears stream down my face whenever Aly and Noah jump into each other's arms, choosing to be together over all logic and common sense, I know that situations like that just don't happen in real life. Why, Notebook, why must you be so cruel? Ryan Gosling single-handedly puts into the minds of every women out there that an amazing, star-crossed lover awaits, eager to prove every notion about jerk guys wrong. Nuh-uh. Does not exist. There's even a Twitter account under the movie's name that spews love quotes, which make even this romantic want to gag. I've un-followed people who re-tweet too many of those quotes. (I.e. sad single girls.)

I should preface this entry with the fact that my friend Liz and I made the poor choice of watching this movie while in the midst of tumultuous fights with our respective boyfriends/ex-boyfriends. After the credits rolled, we promptly wiped away our tears and ran back to the boys we had dismissed as idiotic just hours earlier at dinner. Seriously girls, when you're upset or in a fight with men, don't watch this movie. It makes you think they're something they're not. Bitter? Maybe. But with good reason. Noahs' do not exist in this day and age. The Southern United States in the 1940's? Perhaps. But not today.

The scenes when both characters are elderly are sweet in their devotion, but I found watching this for the second time (Yes, the second time. I'm not one of those girls who curls up in bed and watches The Notebook over and over again on a rainy day. Pointless.) that the interactions Ryan and Rachael have when they're young are very much...well, scenes that justify the crazy. Oh, you know what I mean boys and girls -- the crazy. The little voice in your head that tells you whatever extreme, emotional feeling you're trying to justify when in love is totally justified. It's the same voice that makes you online creep an ex's profile, throw objects that are within arm's reach when enraged at your partner and say "we'll make it work!"  when it hasn't the past six billion times.

And that speech. Oh that speech. That speech that he gives after they've reunited seven years later to make her choose him over her handsome yet dull and predictable fiance. (James Marsten, sexy as ever. Although no matter what role I see him in, I expect him to shoot lasers out of his eyes, Cyclops style.) That speech ruins it for us all. It makes any girl, or guy, stuck in a fiery, perpetually unstable relationship think that that is love. I don't remember his words exactly but something along the lines of "Fight! That's what we do! It's going to be hard, and we'll have to work on it every day, but I want you. Everyday. Forever."  I mean, really. Those are fighting words justifying the crazy if I ever heard them. Not cool, Ryan Gosling, not cool.

Yes, fighting is a natural part of relationships and when we fight, we move forward when we come up solutions. But, when we fight constantly and get nowhere? I just can't wrap my head around that being love. When the same issues arise over and over, it's usually because neither party is willing to compromise for one another. And what's a good relationship without compromise? There is no good relationship without compromise. Sacrifices for love should be a joy simply to see how happy it makes your significant other. But that's just me.

Women in their twenties have enough cray cray going on without needing justification of it all from romantic drivel in movies. Although men could stand to cure some of their cluelessness with romance by watching. Dear men: if you feel compelled to show your woman how much your care for them, just do it. There's no rarer breed than a genuine romantic man nowadays and it'll put you miles ahead of most selfish guys out there. All in all, touching movie, but about as realistic as X-Men. Ryan Goslings of the world, where art thou?
x

OMFG - Everything for a reason...even you Irene!

Nothing quite shows who truly cares about you like a natural disaster. An over-hyped natural disaster at that, but  a scary event to go through by yourself in New York City nonetheless. Especially in an apartment with no television and no internet. Like a typical girl, Hurricane Irene was late to arrive and made us all wait  (the little bitch), but thankfully her impact wasn't too bad. Mostly flooding of the lower-lying areas of Manhattan and power outages, plus a few trees and garbage cans as causalities. I'm grateful and my thoughts go out to those the South who received the harsher end of her wrath.

Despite it being a slightly over-glorified rainstorm, the city rightfully took precautions in what could of been a devastating event. I spent an hour waiting in line at the grocery store stocking up on food and water (turns out I'm balls at shopping for food for myself...M&M's, lox and figs didn't exactly go well together..), bought a flash light and made sure I was not in an evacuation zone. Actually, all information about the storm was parlayed to me via my darling sister, dad and friends. Thank goodness for their thoughtfulness or I would of been totally out of the loop, save for runs to a nearby Starbucks to use the Internet there.

I definitely believe everything happens for a reason and the support I got from the friends close to me made me realize who was important in my life. It also made me realize who definitely wasn't. People who brushed Irene off as "nothing much" and "oh you'll be fine" were right in facts but sorely lacking in empathy and care. I mean, sure, it's going to be all right we think, but to me, if they really cared, they'd be worried about a loved one there anyways. Or at least provide a little comfort.

This post isn't much more than to point out just that: everything, and I mean everything, happens for a reason.  I trust in destiny always and I was definitely supposed to be here during this to fine-tune several things in my life. It's back to lovely Toronto on Tuesday and I can't wait for a fresh start, fresh perspective and most of all change! Bring it on.
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OMFG -- Model dinners.

I'm watching the Czech model across the table from me pick at her tuna tartar. There are three tiny pieces of  crostini at the side of her plate, which she removed immediately from the dish the second it arrived at the table. She also spent a good ten minutes precisely cutting up and slowly eating the decorative cucumber slices that framed the tartar. It doesn't take a expert to see that this chick has serious eating issues. Perhaps even anorexia from the looks of her bobble-head and stick-thin gaunt yellow arms.

I was at a model dinner at a beautiful tucked-away Italian restaurant in the Upper East Side. I've been at my share of model dinners and seen my share of stick figures pick at an assortment of five-star cuisine, but it never fails to make me feel sad. These poor girls...I mean this is some of the most beautiful food there is and what do they do? Pick at tartar. As a foodie, it pains my fat little heart. Pass me the pasta.

I know what you must think: I'm one of those skinny girls who thinks she eats a lot, but really, doesn't eat that much...it's just a lot compared to models. Well, let me assure you kids, it's a lot compared to models, normal people, that fat dude scarfing down his Big Mac over there and more. Ask my best friend Sarah, my sister, even my model friends and I'm 100% positive they can all vouch for my monstrous appetite. (Mind you this is all done as daintily as possible. I'm a classy bitch.) Yes, I have a warp-speed metabolism, but I'm not impervious to weight gain...everything in moderation is the key. Eat what you love, just don't stuff your face. Except if you're at a really amazing five star Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side. Come on, Czech. Like, really?

Blah, blah, blah, I know how tough the industry is and how much pressure we models are under to look like sticks. I've had days where I've felt like a ginormous cow, or times when I go into castings and feel like the biggest girl there. But I'm not sixteen and doing this (thank god). I'm twenty-four, know my body pretty well and am happy with it. I also have the common sense to know that unless I remove some ribs and my hipbones, and retard my growth to pre-puberty, there's no way I can compete with the eating disorder/fifteen year old/boyishly-built sticks out there. It's just not possible. Knowing that, I can enjoy my food and know that whatever work I get isn't going to vary much based on whether I eat this bagel and lox or not. So the answer, is always yes.

Living life without enjoying food just doesn't seem much like living at all. I've tried my share of diets and means to stay skinny and none of them have been remotely fun. Being starving all the time makes for one bitchy Sheilakins, and that's putting it lightly. Throwing up, laxatives, and all other extremes just sound, well disgusting. And for all the times I've tried to starve it off, not much happens. I basically lose 5 pounds give or take and my quality of life is severely worse....so food, friends, and good times it is! Happy and 5 pounds heavier is so much more lovely than miserable and 5 pounds thinner.

I've discussed model pressures and food in blogs before, but it has surfaced in my mind again since being here because it's so much more extreme in New York. All my model girls in Toronto have hearty appetites for the most part, bless their foodie souls! After a handful of model dinners here, it's apparent that sitting around tables sipping wine and staring longingly at food while barely talking is the norm. That's cool. Just means more food for me.

Eat happily, drink heartily & just be content lovelies!
x

Falling for Fake Love...OMFG

I've mentioned my parents in multiple blog posts: the loving, hard-working, endlessly devoted team who raised me is also responsible for ruining any chance I have at a realistic expectation of love thanks to their traditional and seemingly extinct yet perfect union. But alas, I can't place all the blame on my lovely parents. Sure, they set the standard, but it has been reinforced over and over again by popular culture. Thanks to television shows, music and the biggest culprit: romantic comedies, I've fallen for "fake love", a level of love that doesn't seem to exist anywhere but in the media, and inconveniently in my head. Kill me now.

My boyfriend asked me one day what romance was. "We spend time together...isn't that enough?" He questioned, sounding genuinely perplexed. I cried. What do you mean the man I love didn't want to create a world of star-gazing and flowers and huge romantic gestures every second of the day? It seemed cold, cruel and utterly impossible to be in a relationship that didn't include passions on top of passions.

I spent yesterday evening writing all the while having How I Met Your Mother on in the background. Every time I poked my head out from my laptop screen, Ted was in the middle of some insanely romantic plan to win a girl over. From surprising a girl he wanted to date with a string quartet in her apartment to taking a girl on an elaborate two minute date since that was all the time she had available for a date, this is the kind of impossible romantic drivel being pounded into my head every time I tune into mass media. It's getting to a point that unless I marry Romeo Montague, no man will ever satisfy me in the romance department. That's the problem with wanting fake love; it's only possible in the movies.

I love Coldplay. Yes, I realize they've douched out since becoming one of the biggest bands in the world, but when my best friend and I were first discovering them when we were in middle school, they were a charming, new and earnest band who sang simple songs about love. I was hooked. From the time I was in my early teens until my early twenties, I listened to Coldplay nonstop. That's a good decade of my life spent being brainwashed by such heartbreaking tender lyrics such as "Look at the stars, look how they shine for you, and everything you do,' and "Lights will guide you home, and ignite your soul, and I will try and fix you." not to mention "You are a rock, upon which I stand,"  I mean really. I never stood a chance.

It's not that I'm looking for fireworks and flowers every time I go on a date (well not anymore at least..) but the romantic in me, the one who remembers every love line, lyric and gesture from every book, show and movie she's seen, always gets her hopes just the teeniest bit raised whenever there's a possibility for one to happen. And so far I've been met with nothing but disappointment. This is not to read as some commentary on the caliber of my boyfriend (Although romantic, he is not. We have a joke. On a scale of romance it goes: old boot > my boyfriend > smelly old boot. His defense? "Well at least I'm better than a smelly old boot!" Cute.) but rather a commentary on how much pop culture has infiltrated our lives. Realistic love, or more specifically the ways in which love and admiration are expressed in the everyday world, just don't seem to be as meaningful unless matched with larger than life actions.

It's been something of a realization for me that everyone loves in their own way. Not everyone cares for huge lovey-dovey gestures, but that shouldn't read as them being any less...well, loving. I know I'll aways be some one whose heart swells when the male protagonist in the movie wins the girl back with some crazy elaborate scheme (JT and the flash dance mob in Friends with Benefits, Heath dancing along the stairs and singing in Ten Things I Hate About You, Freddy Prince Jr. in every movie he's ever been in, etc.) but it's because I wear my heart on my sleeve, and always will. (Literally...those heart tattoos aren't going anywhere.) But what it takes for a non-romantic to be with me, or anyone else, is simply love. Expressed in the way they want, so long as it's expressed. Traditional hopeless romantics may shake their heads, but we live in modern times, and this modern girl is adapting her ways.

Fake love be damned. I'll settle for real love any day. That old boot may be on to something....x

OMFG - Cuppycake Heaven.

There's something to be said about the perfect cupcake. A little piece of heaven made of perfectly dense yet fluffy batter, airy frosting and melty goodness that spreads a sugary warmth when eaten. If it wasn't detrimental to my health and more importantly to my figure, I'm positive my diet would consist entirely of cupcakes.

Something of a phenomenon over the past decade, cupcakes have taken the gastro world by storm and remain the toast of the baking world. From wacky foodie flavors (bacon cupcakes!) to haute couture designs (Louis Vuitton cupcakes!) and everything in between, it seems the appeal of a little loaf of cake is never ending. Later this week my dear friend Elizabeth and I are doing what two fat kids trapped inside models bodies should do: taking a cupcake tour of New York City. So far our stops are set to include the legendary (well to Sex and the City fans anyways) Magnolia Bakery, Crumbs, Sugar Sweet Sunshine, and the darling sounding Babycakes. My poor thighs won't know what hit them.

What is it that attracts the masses to these bundles of baked goodness? There are even cupcake trucks dotted around the city (Toronto, take note!) and any decent deli has a few frosted selections. Surely there's a reason the masses have jumped on board the cupcake wagon. Aside from being scrumptious, cupcakes (or as my sister and I call them cuppycakes...a name we used when we were little that stuck) are small enough that eating one doesn't cause mounds of fat guilt...although speaking from experience, eating 5 does. (Side note: earlier this year I took the bus back from New York to Toronto with a parting gift from a friend: a dozen cupcakes from Sugar Sweet Sunshine. Needless to say only 6 survived the ten hour journey. And by 6, I mean 4...it was a long time guys! Don't judge.) For girls, and certain guys I'm sure, cupcakes are an ideal little package. Chic, and easy to dress up in gorgeous little outfits, cupcakes are definitely the most fashionable of anything you'll find in a bakery...delectable and designer? Irresistible.

As a girl, I can say from experience that nothing elicits squeals of excitement quite like a box of pretty cupcakes frosted and decorated to lip-smacking loveliness. There's something comforting about stylish sweets, uncomplicated and complete in their deliciousness and appearance. You know they look good, you know they're sweet on the inside and you know they're going to satisfy you -- which is more than I can say about most men! The choice between sex and chocolate is a question that always seems to pop up when my friends and I are having post-club drunken conversations and the verdict is usually split in half. It seems that there's no easy answer to what's more satisfying for a woman: desserts or sex. (For the record, I choose the former...there are some things chocolate will never do for a girl.) Perhaps if the question had been cupcakes, and not chocolate, over sex, the verdict would be unanimous. I've seen girls who don't eat carbs, girls who have sworn off gluten and girls who pick and prod at single pieces of sashimi dive into cupcakes with the enthusiasm of a fat kid....sex in a box, is basically what cupcakes are to women.

My homage to cupcakes is nothing more than the foodie in me expressing a love for these darling treats. I have not been able to pass a cupcake truck yet here in Manhattan without sampling at least one of the flavors on display! (They have mini sizes, and one bite sizes...genius.) Versatile, trendy, chic and most of all mouth-watering delicious, cupcakes are a single girl's best food friend and a non-single girl's comfort in frustration. Or, if you're just a foodie like yours truly, they're simply the icing on the cake...literally! Bon appetit! x

OMFG - Progress, Progress, Progress

I remember being in middle school and the make-up regime I went through daily in order to get ready. It was a lot. There was concealer, and tons and tons and tons of eyeliner (every Asian girl goes through a super-heavy eyeliner phase, trust me. Actually every girl in general, really.) and eye shadow and blush and tons and tons and tons of mascara on top of all that eyeliner. I probably resembled something of an Asian mafia princess, all that heavy make-up combined with super-thin eyebrows that seemed so in back then, but at the time it was my way of feeling pretty. Fast forward to the present and yes, I obviously still wear make-up, but it's much less than then, and I look and feel much more myself. The years have only brought confidence to me and thank goodness, because I probably wouldn't of gotten into modeling had I prolonged my Asian mafia look.

One of the perks that comes with every twenty-something birthday I pass is that I grow more and more sure of myself. As any young woman in touch with herself (intellectually and emotionally...get your minds out of the gutter, pervs.) can tell you, confidence in your twenties can be a wavering thing. Fragile yet tenacious, I find at least, that it varies as much as my mood does. There are days when I feel like I can run this city, and days when I feel like a miserable cow who's only understanding outlet is cupcakes. (Seriously, baked goods are the love of my life. Thank goodness for my faster-than-fast metabolism.) I don't feel vulnerable admitting to my insecurities, only because I know every human being out there has them.

As varied as my confidence can be, I feel more myself as I get older. Silly statement it seems to make, as obviously I've always been myself, but what I'm talking about is a sureness in my thoughts, feelings, and what I want to be doing with my life. There's an assertiveness that wasn't present much during my teens, and a comforting knowledge that mini-life crisis's aren't the end of the world, but stepping stones to the next level. That forward-moving ball of highly emotional yet fiery energy I described myself as in one of my recent blog posts fine-tuned itself over the last year and I can only imagine what will it will transform into in the near future. My landlord in Singapore (a charmingly dazed British man who did more drugs in his lifetime than anyone should and reminded me of a Rolling Stone...you're sort of amazed he's still alive.) would always talk to me in his pot-induced hazes and call me "Top Exec" as a nickname. You're just on the verge of taking off, Top Exec, I can feel it, and everyone who meets you can feel it. It's this fire. Although I took his words with a grain of salt (or weed, is more like it) I felt very much the same. A twenty-something on the verge...aren't we all on some level.

The person I am today is not who I was a week ago, a month ago, a year ago an so forth. Progress is the key to life for me (aside from love, that is) and I know as long as I'm making it, I'm good to go. Disorganized, perhaps. Unstable, maybe. But making progress? Always. Some may mistake me as not always being super upbeat all the time, but like I've said before I'm not one of those shiny happy people. And I like it that way. Whatever I'm working through in my head and in reality is usually an issue I feel I have to, and will conquer in due time. Progress indeed.

Mind you, all of this occurs just beneath the surface and is subtle unless you know me extremely well...of which I'd say only a few people do. This is the case for many women I know, and I think some of the most lovely and exquisite girls I've met are highly subtle and elegant. Confidence and progress are key to all evolving twenty-something women...and men for that matter. We all change from year to year and whether it's a forward momentum is up entirely to us. For every lovely and exquisite women on the verge out there, there's an over-made mafia princess waiting to bloom..x

OMFG -- A little Perspective

When I was 18, I got my first tattoo of a small pair of wings. It was not some deluded tribute to thinking of myself as an angel, or anything to do with fairies, but a simple reminder to always have perspective in life. The wings were my freedom, the ability to fly away and gain perspective when it came to any situation, and see it with fresh eyes. Throughout the years I've amassed a couple other tattoos which are more like love scrawls that create a delicate narrative along my body, and realized that I needed perspective more than ever...instead of being consumed by situations since I am so driven by emotions, especially when I think love is involved.

I've been in New York the past couple days, and I can't think of a better place to regain my perspective. Being alone in the most influential metropolis in the world puts you in your place in every way, and also allows one to find an identity in its vast anonymity. It's not that I was a wanderer up until now (love, and always will love Toronto.) but anyone who has been to NYC knows the impact it can have. Spending solo time with nothing but the city and your thoughts is bound to lead to some realizations, even to the most spacey of space cadets, let alone an over-analytic, hyper-thinker like myself.

Add rainy weather, gray skies and slightly more desolate than normal streets and you've got yourself the perfect scene for the emo kind of day I've been having. Pathetic fallacy, my late English teacher from high school taught us it was called when inanimate objects (like the weather) reflected a character's mood. Although I can't blame my thoughts on the dowdy Manhattan weather -- it was beautiful and sunny yesterday and still my brain was thinking faster than it normally does...close to combustion I think it borderlines on at times. Just what is all my perspective being gained in, you ask? Why the answer is obvious for anyone who remotely knows me. Love. Love, love, love. I don't think anyone who's not a Romantic era poet thinks about love as much as I do.

It's a lovely sentiment to live by, but also a huge weakness and my ideas on how it should be in my life (cough, perfectly, cough) usually end in disaster. How does one cope with the little girl who lives in a fairy tale? I have no idea, and neither does any man I've dated. Realistic and rational and unshakably chill I can be, but for some one who is thoughtful and caring and places so much of her happiness on living life that way, it's hard to find that expectation reciprocated in one's romantic life.

And so, with all my trials and tribulations when it comes to being a lovey dovey romantic, I've slipped on my pair of wings here in the Upper East side where I'm staying and attempted to see everything I've been through with fresh eyes. As long as I move forward with some sort of progress, I'll be satisfied. After all we are nothing if not for progress.
x

OMFG - Guest Blog for South Molton Street Style!

Hi loves,
My dear friend Anna in London has created South Molton Street Style Blog (recently named one of Vogue's top 20 Fashion Blogs) and I've written a guest blog on fashion essentials for it! Check it out on OMFG and at SMS Style here! Don't forget to comment and vote for me!) 

As a born and raised Toronto girl who has visited London on several occasions, I must say we style mavens on both sides of the pond can relate very much to each other! We can relate to the wretched winters we both must endure (while still trying to look cute), we can relate to a fascination with all things royal and thus an enduring preppiness in our collections, and finally we can relate to having not just winter to deal with, but a whole array of seasons! (Yes, Miami fashions only work for about a month or two for us Toronto/London girls...the rest of the time it's layers, layers, and more layers!) But don't the pesky weather fool you...we savy and smart girls have cultivated a practical yet utterly fashionable look all our own! Here are five fashion essentials for every Canadian girl, British girl, or just plain stylish girl at heart!

1. The LBD
The little black dress has been a staple since the days of Hepburn, and is still just a relevant, and sexy, today. Except gone are the staunchly structured and prim and proper silhouettes of yesteryear which have been replaced with endless renditions of the modern classic. I myself must have close to ten LBD's, all of which make regular appearances in my social life!
This delicate crocheted LBD from Urban Outfitters is daring, demure and different all at once. Wear it sexy with nude sky-high sandals, or wear it hip with chunky platforms. Scope it out here!

2. The Sexy Heel
Canadian girls are made to withstand the cold. Even in the dead of winter, you can see us venturing out on a Friday night in our finest heels, minis, and not much else....save for a fabulous fur coat to throw on top of it all! Sure, we'll put on tights as to not look totally insane, but whoever said heels and 6 inches of snow do not mix was lying. When you're a fashionista, everything goes with heels. While chunky pieces may be the trend at the moment, I've always been a fan of footwear that is feminine and sexy, sexy, sexy. The latest trend of "flatforms" merely doesn't cut it for yours truly. Why drag down your feet in heavy unsightly shoes when you can doll them up in delicate creations? Exactly. I have more footwear than one girl needs in a life time, and my next addition will be these darling pieces of heaven from Topshop. Sky high, multi-textured, classic on color scheme and still entirely feminine? I'm in love.
Check them out here!

3. The Slouchy Cardigan
While summer dresses are perfect worn solo in the hot months of July and August, when fall and winter roll around, we transform them into layering pieces to be worn with tights, belts, heavy leather purses and that perfect slouchy cardigan. Oh, the slouchy cardigan! Such a sweater is not only cozy for chillier nights, but also the right amount of tasteful and pretty to make yourself look like a gorgeously bundled package. This one from Free People is organic, unique and versatile and would just divine belted over a little knit dress, tights, and lace-up booties.
See it here!

4. The Warm Winter Coat
I've tried being cute with coats. I've tried being trendy with coats. But when it comes down to it, you need to be warm with coats...because when it's minus twenty outside and the blustering wind gusts towards you, no amount of impractical-yet-pretty detailing on your of-the-moment coat is going to save you from being in bed with the flu the next day! It's all about practicality while still looking stunning for fall and winter coats, and no one has done better in this area than the tried-and-true Burberry. These coats are works of art in their craftsmanship and mouthwatering in design, making for the perfect warming essential. No gusts of wind will get through this wool trench, and the fox fur collar makes for a luxe, yet practical addition. Picturing this coat with flat knee-high leather boots, an extravagant fur hat and knitted gray tights almost makes me wish winter were coming sooner! Almost.
Check it out here!

5. But enough of winter talk for now! After all, it's still summer and absolutely gorgeous outside. Little summer dresses are a staple for all girls, and I like them, surprise surprise, to be feminine and flirty! While sleeveless minis might be overtly sexy, longer sleeves, or longer hemlines with daring details make for a less-obvious yet still sensual outfit. This belted, bell-sleeved mini from Rare is a lovely dress that showcases your long, luscious and tan summer gams without giving it all away at once! Throw in a warm breeze, a glass of sangria, leather sandals and posh black sunnies and you've got yourself an ideal afternoon of lounging. I'll drink to that!
Scope it out here!

And there you have it girls, a practical yet sexy fashionistas must-have essentials for all seasons. Whether it's going to music festivals, out for a swanky dinner with your love or a wild night of clubbing with your girl friends, it's the clothes that make the girl, so make yourself a stylish being.
x

Shiny, Happy, People -- OMFG

I always meet these girls when I'm out and about who are very pretty. They're perfectly toned and fit, cheery and happy, have shiny hair and teeth, and talk about vitamins and yoga. Their ensembles are always color-coordinated (little pink dress with pink shoes and pink nails, etc.) and they're always very nice. For some reason,  I can just never relate to these girls, nice and pretty as they are. Perhaps they're a tad vanilla and I just get a little bored...or perhaps I just wish I was as put together as they were.

Truth be told, that while I have things together for the most part, some times I'm a spastic, emotionally snowballing, indecisive yet forward-throttling momentum who functions on a wavelength only I can hear. Ummm, yup, that pretty much sums it up. Ask any of my close friends and they can vouch for my overall ridiculousness. Perhaps that's why I feel so at home in the nightlife and modeling scene....it's a pace I'm comfortable in -- ample downtime dotted with unpredictable amounts of intensely busy periods. Go fast, burn out, recuperate, then do it all again. Sure, we can attribute this to a hedonistic youth, but let's recap here: I am in my hedonistic youth! Through promoting and modeling, at least I'm profiting from some of it.

Call me cray cray, but this up and down and at times super messiness totally works for me. I call it a constant state of transformation....realizing, maturing, that whole bit. As long as there's progress, which there is, than it's all good in my books! Okay okay, so maybe it's a little bit of me making excuses for my ridiculous situations some times, but really, how are we twenty-somethings supposed to know not to drink all night and perhaps do some drugs (Perhaps. We're being hypothetical here.) and then try and go to work on no sleep unless you do it once? Or twice, or ten times? Live and learn ladies and gents, and goodness knows I wouldn't know half the things I do if it weren't for my total disregard for responsibility which surfaces from time to time (usually between the hours of midnight and six in the morning...) Of course partying is the most obvious of situations here, but my last-minuteness in all areas of my life also seems to be serving me well, especially in recent years. Jumping, catching and chasing opportunities all over this city, and other cities, is something of a thrill for me and I wouldn't have it any other way...being unpredictable is a lovely quality in a person. Never one to be attracted to people who give it all away at once, I prefer not only to be a puzzle but to befriend them. Give me layers of complication and I'll stay interested forever.

I suppose my tolerance for the unstable also stems from my tolerance for emotions. Never one to shy away from them (as any long-time readers of this blog should know by now), I'm a big believer in feeling things out no matter how painful the process. A dying breed we feelers are I'm finding as many, especially go-getters in this cut-throat world, would rather push them aside and focus on work or whatnot. Anything to not have to suffer internally.  I think all these people are destined for some sort of catastrophic meltdown, or living life as shells of who they truly are. How are we supposed to know who we are if we don't let ourselves feel what we should be? Of course, all the perpetually happy people might tell me otherwise, but you know what darlings, some times you just need to cry/yell it out. Catharsis...not just for tortured artists. Shit happens. Freak out. Then keep calm and carry on.

Living fast, teetering on emotional messes, slowing down just enough to get it all together and not learning lessons until you've lived through them is probably not the healthiest of lifestyles, but it's the only one I know how to live. Vitamins and yoga? I think I'll pass for now. Those pretty girls are all very nice and shiny, but I choose mysterious, reckless, scandalous (all the while still being exquisite...that's how we roll kids) over vanilla any day. Maybe when I'm forty and looking and feeling worse for the wear I'll regret it, but until then it's full speed ahead on my fiery little wavelength.
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Passions upon Passions...OMFG

Passion. It's the one thing that we search for our whole lives, whether it be romantic passion, a passion for work, or otherwise. In our twenties, the search for it is intense and on-going and once we find it, it's a race to turn it into something we can wake up to everyday and call either "work" or "honey" for the future....or until another passion comes along. I've come close to finding both passion in love and work in recent years, but translating both in ways that are feasible (work) and steady (love) have proved to be something of a daily struggle. Not the type to ever settle down with a 9 to 5 office job and be remotely happy about it (and trust me, my life would be so much easier if I was) my path to something stable professionally has been something of a whirlwind lately.

I always convince myself that I should just suck it up and get an office job (which I've had before, all through university for the university actually. It was an exception though...the people I worked with were wonderful and are good friends now. And how they put up with me waltzing in and out for castings and what not and wearing the most unprofessional work-wear, I'll never know.) but I just can't seem to do it. I appear to be on the pursuit of something better suited to what I want. Exactly what that is, I haven't figured it out yet. Believe it or not, these darling little blog posts I write make me exceptionally happy, and writing is something I've figured out I want to pursue during the last year.Of course, my visions of grandeur were just a wee bit spoiled by the fact that no one seems to want to pay people to write. (Oh, creative jobs. We all have the passion but the image of the starving artist living off canned food in his sparse loft is not something I could ever do....ugh canned food..) And when they do, it's not much. Currently I'm writing for an online magazine and also doing this blog, but it just doesn't seem to be enough to satisfy my writing appetite...and is definitely not something feasible for a future that I'm positive will include much more than a sparse loft. In the mean time, I'm modeling and doing promoting (surprisingly going very well and let's face it -- super fun.) two opportunities I won't shut the door on just yet. Perhaps it's blind confidence (or not coming to your senses yet, as my lovely mom phrased it delicately the other day) but I'm sure that whatever path I'm on is the right one, and that actively pursuing everything that catches my interest is sure to lead to something stable. Stable, but not boring, seems to be the elusive holy grail I'm seeking.

Passion in love, on the other hand, I seem to have covered. Perhaps a bit too much. The things I do when I'm in love....there's no need to go there really, and I'd like to keep it that way. Tumultuous, yes, but anyone who is remotely fiery on the inside like I am can sympathize with all the crazy you justify when you feel certain things for some one. To everyone else, I'm sure we just look coo coo for Cocopuffs! I'm sure every emotionally passionate individual has used their "passion" as a way to excuse some truly psycho behavior (No? Just me?) but at the end of the day, there really is no logic for me when it comes to love. If  I feel it, I feel it, and something has to happen. C'est la vie, non? Well, c'est la passionate vie, anyways. Luckily my crimes of passion have proved to be successful for the most part thus far...only time will tell whether longevity plays a role with my current man. Until then, I'm happy to feel, instead of think it out. Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence anyways isn't it?

To say follow your passion is utterly cliched, but one I'll take over all the other rights now. (Oh, and "find yourself." Always a good one and exceedingly relevant no matter how corny.) I suppose it'd be nice to be finding my passion while making an abundance of dollars at the same time, but I'll sacrifice a corporate paycheck for chasing after what feels right in the mean time. That gut feeling that leads me to make almost all my big decisions in life has never led me stray thus far, and I'm confident that where ever I'm heading, is towards something great. Passions upon passions? Carrie may not have wanted it with the Russian, but I'll take it over dull and standard any day.
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OMFG - Hot Hot Naked Heat.

Torontonians, rejoice! The hot hot heat we've been asking for all year is finally here. And it's here with a vengeance. As some one who took environmental studies in university, the extreme heat worries me...global warming after all is taking it's toll on the planet. But as a shameless hedonistic twenty-something I have this say: this weather is awesome. Toronto reached the hottest it's ever been in history, and with the outdoors feeling like 50 Celsius, many of us are stripping down to what we normally would wear on the beach. Yes, it's super hot and sweaty outside. And yes, being exposed to the sun for more than a couple minutes leaves even the most poised and eloquent of us all looking like rotting ice cream cones...but there's no reason to trot along Queen West with your ass cheeks hanging out. A little note to all you melting minglers out there: keep it classy bitches. (You too, male bitches.)

I know guys. I know. It's hot. We all know it's hot. And some times it's easier to throw our shame aside in favor of feeling a little cooler. But after witnessing what can only be described as hooker-esque styles on the streets today, I felt it necessary to log on, start a new post, and devote it to explaining why ass-shorts and a bra is not appropriate for anyone to see aside from your boyfriend, and perhaps if you really a prosty, your clients. It's all about balance when it comes to staying chic and lovely while still cool enough to walk between air-conditioned store to air-conditioned store.

Crop tops are wonderfully trendy right now, but please, wear them with a graceful maxi skirt instead of a mini. Crop top and a mini in the day time? Unless you're trying to look like a Spice Girl, I wouldn't recommend it. It seems as though the length of shorts has gone from long, to short, to whoa, to ew in the past couple years. I  mean honestly, I've seen more bum cheeks in the past week than I have in an entire uncensored Snoop Dog video. I have a nice ass. Doesn't mean I want to show it off all the freaking time. A well-tailored pair of paper-bag shorts (like these) or even short, cute, cut-off shorts (like these denim ones) are perfectly adorable, sexy, and do not require the population of Toronto to know how, exactly, your ass looks when smushed into shorts too tight to breathe in. I partially blame American Apparel for this trend...just because it looks super hot when their models loll around half-naked on all white backgrounds doesn't mean you should buy their disco shorts and wear them out. Just sayin'.

Men, you're not off the hook either! No matter how ripped, tan, and chiseled you are, walking around anywhere that is not remotely beachy with your shirt off just looks...douchey. Like, tres douchey. Especially if you're doing that over-compensating male thing where you hunch a little and walk with your arms in front of the rest of you. It's cute on apes, it's douche-tastic on you. Muscle shirts are tolerable I suppose, if it's going to be this hot, and when paired with tailored shorts and loafers is borderline charming. It's when I see dudes wearing tanks with more cleavage than girls at clubs that I start to giggle. Muscles or no muscles, it looks silly.

It's a scorching 30 plus degrees right now as I'm about to head out for a patio to start my night, just another hot hot night for us hot hot twenty-somethings. Clearly the hottest of us all are ones with confidence. And an understated one at that. No need to show it all off when you know you've got it. Crop top? Yes. Now pass me my maxi.
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Hey babies hey babies hey -- OMFG

I was enjoying a martini and miso black cod at an upscale sushi restaurant in my dear city one night a little bit ago with some girl friends when our meal was disrupted by a scream. All of my well-heeled and glittery-dressed gals and I turned our coiffed heads from our $50 meals to see a child, maybe about five years, wailing and running around the restaurant with what looked like chocolate smeared on his face. While one or two of my friends oohed and ahhed over the cuteness of the little tyke, I winced and sighed. I mean, what kind of parents bring their kids to a trendy restaurant at 10pm on a weekend night? I don't care how cool and hip parenting has evolved to be over the past decades -- there are just some places children are not meant to go.

I paid $20 a drink to enjoy the pretentious atmosphere of classy Toronto dining I'm used to when I head out for the night... and that atmosphere does not include messy-faced toddlers. This incident pretty much sums out how I feel about ever having kids now, or anytime soon: there's absolutely no way. I'm admittedly too selfish to give up any of my lifestyle and care for some one else. (Well, except a boyfriend at the moment.) Also, I can barely take care of my myself...goodness knows what would happen if I had a child. However, some of my friends, of similar age to me (read: still young) have expressed that they are ready to settle down with one person, have babies, and spend their lives caring for them. One girl friend of mine was explaining her desire to do so the other night while we were out, and I don't know if it was the four vodka-Redbulls I had throughout the night, or the three shots I'd downed, or the beer I was sipping on, but I started to feel claustrophobic and it wasn't even my life she was describing. Being tied down to anything that involves commitment (other than love..) just makes my skin crawl. Perhaps it's the responsibility of it all, but I think I can safely say there will be no little Sheilakins running around any time soon.

I realize this all makes me sound terribly anti-child. That's not the case at all! I think babies are adorable (as long as I don't have to take care of them for more than a couple minutes) and that children are cute as well. Heck, I even spent a summer when I was fifteen being a camp counselor! Mind you, it was a pampered rich kid day camp in my area and as counselors we really didn't really have to do much other than shuffle the kids from supervised activity to supervised activity...but hey, I was still surrounded by them 24/7!

When I think of how wonderful my childhood was (no less than three trips to Disney World, travel all over the globe, caring parents who listened to whatever my siblings and I had to say and many other precious surprises, to say the least) I know that I want to be able to give that, and more, to my own children. And right now, living the (relatively) carefree and a lot of the time careless life that I live...well that's just not an option. Not to mention my parents being the most amazing and ridiculously functioning team in the world (seriously, they could run a country together, that's how seamlessly efficient they are) I guess subconsciously I won't even consider having kids until I feel I'm in a union as solid as theirs. I mean, at least I know I'm selfish, unfit to provide and unstable right now! Teen Mom on MTV might be shits and giggles to make fun of, but imagining being in such a sad situation in reality is terrifying. No money, sketchy babydaddy, and poor living standards? Ugh, hand me a condom.

Of course life has its moments that cannot be planned, but having children definitely is not one of them for me. While I admire that some of my friends already know what they want in life, I feel as though I haven't even seen, or experienced enough of the world to decide when, where and who I want to settle down with. Children, schmildren -- they can wait. What can't wait, to me, is the world. And perhaps after I see, do, and live everything I've felt I need to, I'll be ready. But until then, they should really stay out of my upscale dinner parties. x

Social party networking...OMFG

What are we looking for when we go out? When I was 15 it was a bouncer who I could wink at so he wouldn't know my New Brunswick ID was totally fake (thank you, sketchy "souvenir" shop on College Street) but now, nine years and countless nights out later, what is there left to do?

My group of friends are all around my age (mid-twenties), have all been out and about a ton, (in Toronto, in other cities, drunk, sober, on drugs, not on drugs, dirty underground things, upscale celebrity things, you name it and we've probably done it. Twice.) and are now we're all....well a little bored. The scene here in my darling city is a little conservative to say the least and the industry players usually don't travel outside of the safe, but overly-gentrified areas (King West, blah blah blah...I might suffocate from familiarity the next time I'm out on King West.) and usual crowd (suburban folk make up the majority). Sure, I could go venture to something entirely new and go out in, say, Ossington, where things are decidedly more hipster, but are there really no options other than mainstream ginos and not-so-indie hipsters? Surely.

Location be damned. It's not about where but who that makes a quality party now. It seems as we grow older, our mindset changes from not just the seeking out of a good time, but a good opportunity as well. The busiest parties, events, hootenannies, shindigs and what-have-you in Toronto are the ones where attendees know the mingling crowd will be one of a professional standard. And I'm not talking about the late-night girl professionals who work the King West crowds. (Ha.) Rather I'm talking about the people in this city who are creating business opportunities by pursuing their passions, and thus creating opportunities for others as well. Magazine launches, after-work corporate happy hour-esque mixers, big name charity galas and social media unveilings guarantee a like-minded crowd; if your current train of thought is business-savvy, ambitious and determined. They also happen to make the best, and even (at times) craziest, parties. Money, brains, and a young, handsome group of the city's top folk ensures that the party is not only marketed to a tee, but that it's planned to one as well.

Gone are the days where the most talked-about rager happened spontaneously in so-and-so's grimy after-hours space filled with dirty-yet-pretty rave kids, a plethora of drugs and un-posed-yet-posed Polaroid photos....we're in our mid-to-late twenties now and want to go places where we don't have to worry about scandalous pictures leaking onto Facebook. (Well, on most nights anyways.) What sells nowadays are ideas, ideas, and more ideas, and meeting with idea-producing individuals in a schmoozefest of an atmosphere is, well, ideal! Perhaps it's also because as we get older more of us are in relationships too which hampers the idea of going out and getting crazy. Just because we're in relationships doesn't mean we don't want purposeful partying as well! It's just that the purpose is making business connections instead of, um, physical ones, to phrase it politely.

So I guess the answer to what we're all looking for after a certain point when going out is to better ourselves; through social savvy and essentially selling the ideas we have to others in hopes to collaborate. Add chic martinis, out-of-office haute attire, good beats, & a beautiful venue and you have yourself the new coveted party scene for twenty-somethings: the social network event. Zuckerberg may have put it online, but the rest of us are keeping it going in person.
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Online Dating -- Yay or Nay? OMFG

It's official: romance is dead. Okay, so maybe I'm being a little dramatic, but it seems as though in today's modern world, the notion of good old fashioned romance is just that: old fashioned. With our lives becoming busier than Charlie Sheen's bed during a bender, there's little to no time left to wine, dine, and woo that special somebody. Actually, there barely seems any time at all to meet that special somebody! More and more friends of mine have turned to online dating in recent years complaining to me that after school is over, there really is no decent place to meet people of interest aside from the workplace. (And even that's a no-no...there's no need to shit where you eat, kids.) Have we become so cynical in finding love that online dating, essentially a formula to matching one person with another, has become the norm?


The stigma once attached with cyber cruising is minimal if not totally gone (read: it's not just for fat, lonely losers and the creepiest of the creepsters anymore) and now it's not unusual for pretty ladies with crowded professional lives to approach dating as they would their careers: with method and calculation. Why take the time out of an already exhausting schedule to meet someone when you can get a service to weed out those you're not compatible with? Exactly. Many of my beautiful and intelligent girl friends have turned to Lavalife, Plenty of Fish and what-have-you to go on dates with potential boyfriends. (Note: only 2 of my girlfriends have ended up with stalkers because of it. Be weary, ladies and gents.) 


It's all well and dandy and makes perfect sense to find a mate based on questionnaire-like compatibility tests....but what about the zsa zsa zou? Telling the story of how you met just doesn't sound as charming and ravishing when you say: "Online." There's no mystery, no sense of destiny and definitely no initial butterflies when you're clicking through one picture after another and reading tag lines such as "I enjoy long walks on the beach.." (Okay, who doesn't?) My boyfriend and I met doing a fashion show together where he literally swept me off my feet; while I was at the end posing, he ran down and threw me over his shoulder with playful showmanship. Cheesy? Maybe...it was an Ed Hardy swimwear fashion show after all (that's usually a detail we purposely leave out, for obvious reasons) but definitely a romantic little anecdote that makes me smile every time I remember it. 


Romance has been slowly fading ever since I can remember anyways....I mean women nowadays are so romance-starved I mildly swoon if a gentleman even bothers to open a door for me. But with lives on the go-go-go and coupling-up taking a backseat to careers and opportunity, perhaps a practical approach is of smart logic. Perhaps. But for the hopeless and lovey-dovey (i.e. yours truly) approaching love will always have nothing to do with logic....Carrie said it best when breaking-up with the Russian in Paris: "I'm looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love."  Amen. 
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Sidenote: Online dating may not be romantic, but this is downright embarrassing: learn from Ted darling blogees... a little snippet from How I Met Your Mother!

OMFG - Make it work.

As a fan of Project Runway, I always loved it when Tim Gunn arched those perfectly groomed eyebrows of his and advised the contestants to "Make it work.". I always wondered how that phrase applied not only to television but to relationships as well, especially in our youth. How much work should we dedicate to making something that isn't working, work?
I'm sure as you get older, making relationships work is a little easier of a choice. After you've been with someone  for a certain amount of time and have experienced what you wanted to in life, finding  a lover or companion to spend the relaxing years of your life with is a no-brainer. But what about when you're in your twenties, at the top of your game, and with the world at your fingertips? Not as easy. I can speak honestly for most twenty-somethings out there when I say we're all selfish little brats looking out for number one. The usual train of thought that goes through our pretty heads when it comes to evaluating a relationship is along the lines of "Will they hold me back?" "Will I find some one better?" "Can I commit to one person when I can't even handle my own affairs?" "Is this love???" Oh, the amount of uncertainty that clouds the brain of a twenty-something is literally mind-boggling.
That's why the number of unstable, off and on, kinda-sorta and maybe relationships (for lack of a better, or less concrete word), during these years is so high. To commit to another person when you can barely commit to yourself seems almost impossible. Usually it just seems easier to let go and move on than to stick around and try and make it work. After all, why should we put so much effort into fixing something that's seemingly broken when something, or some one, better could easily come along? Well call me crazy, but I'm going to pull the love card here.
For all the headache and heartbreak we put ourselves through during the years of partying, traveling and general recklessness, once in a blue moon you find some one who just might end up being worth the effort. I once heard that there are no "maybe" feelings when it comes to love; that when you know, you know. Even some one as hopelessly romantic as me can say that sure, when you're in love you know it, but defining love is something else entirely. So how do you know you're in something you can't even define? Oh, there's no need to get all emo here, but suffice to say it's difficult. I've been through several maudlin moments thus far in my life where the definition of what love is has modified itself significantly. Is loving some one letting them go live their life to the fullest and knowing destiny will bring you back together? Or is it being together no matter how difficult? I can't say for certain, but I know for me, at this very moment, it is, like Tim Gunn says, making it work.
Life in our youth is ridiculous enough as it is without love, or something like it, being added to the mix...but what's a little more craziness on top of an already hectic life? Maybe at this age you never really know what's for certain in another person, but what we do know is when it feels worth it, it usually is.
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