Finding Myself in Fashion (10 page)

About a week later, I was a guest at a wine event, and at one point towards the end of the crowded evening, a handsome young man with a
winning smile came over and introduced himself as Michael King. He had a charming New Zealand accent and was the personification of style. I was instantly taken by his charisma and energy.

“I've been looking forward to meeting you,” I told him.

“Same here,” he said. “I'm going to call you in the next little while. There's something I want to talk to you about.”

True to his word, Michael called a couple of days later and told me that his magazine,
Inside Entertainment
, was planning a special style issue for May, to coincide with the Cannes Film Festival. “How would you like to guest edit the issue for us?” he asked.

I told Michael I had never done anything like that before, and asked him what the assignment would entail.

“Basically, we need your fashion expertise,” he explained. “Besides writing a couple of pieces for the magazine, maybe you could also suggest some stories, and we could certainly use some of your contacts.”

It sounded simple enough, so I told him I was up for the challenge. After all, adding the role of guest editor to my resume certainly couldn't hurt. A few days later, I went to the magazine's office and met with Michael's business partner, the marketing whiz Geoffrey Dawe, as well as the editorial and art teams. Within a few minutes, the ideas were flying.

Right from the get-go, there was a tremendous synergy at play with this group. I suggested a number of features, from a piece on stylists (the unsung heroes of Hollywood) to a profile of the Lebanese couturier Elie Saab, whose red-carpet business was booming since he'd dressed Halle Berry for her 2002 Oscar win. It was exhilarating to see these features go into production, as well as to help decide which writers to hire and which art to use. My excitement escalated as the pieces starting falling into place and this special issue took shape. This was a true education, and even though it was only a one-shot deal, I was thrilled at how much I was learning about how a magazine is put together. I loved every aspect of the process. Most important, I was proud of the results, and most people seemed pretty impressed with what we came up with. Little did I realize that I was being put to the test!

A few days after the magazine came out, Michael called me to the offices of the Kontent Group, the publisher of
Inside Entertainment
. “
Geoffrey and I want to put together a striking new high-style magazine,” he said, “to be distributed through
The Globe and Mail
. It would be a quarterly, but with a high-end, oversized format. We're calling it
Fashion Quarterly
, or
FQ
. Sound interesting?” he asked.

“Absolutely!” I said. “Did you want me to contribute to it?”

“Well, actually, we want you involved in any way you'd like to be involved,” Michael said. “You could write features for us, or you could edit. You could even be editor-in-chief. You can choose your title.”

I could barely digest the amazing offer. It was something I wanted, and needed, even more than I admitted to myself. So gathering every ounce of confidence I could muster, I decided, quite simply, to go for it.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I'll be editor-in-chief, then.” And the celebratory fireworks began blasting away in my brain.

Because I was such a novice in the publishing business, I knew I'd have my work cut out for me. And I wasn't about to abandon my beloved
Fashion Television
. But I also knew that my passion, coupled with all those years of experience working in fashion's trenches, would see me through. A door in the TV world may have been closing, but a door in the publishing world was opening up. I couldn't wait to step through it.

Michael turned out to be a real visionary. With the help of a talented art director, Ric Little—who had coincidentally designed the hang tags for my clothing line a couple of years earlier—and his associate, Gerry Mamone, a mock-up was made. It was far bigger than any other glossy fashion magazine on the stands, and the visuals were arresting—extremely stylized, ultra classy, refined, and decadent. It recalled the look of
Harper's Bazaar
and
Vogue
back in the early 1950s, when photographers like Richard Avedon and Irving Penn brought unparalleled artistry to the pages of fashion magazines. Our seasoned publisher, Shelagh Tarleton, and Geoffrey Dawe took the
FQ
mock-up around town, and they were happy to report that there was indeed a market for this kind of over-the-top style publication. We immediately had commitments from top luxury sponsors—everyone from the high-end retailer Holt Renfrew and labels like Chanel and Ports to designer fragrances, cosmetic companies, and even Cadillac cars. The
support was phenomenal. We were filling a niche in the market: Luxury was taking off, and we were determined to pump up the glamour quotient as no one had ever done before.

Besides the art team, which had already been assembled, and the sales staff, which Geoffrey and Shelagh had hired, we needed a managing or executive editor to work under me and a senior editor, as well as an editorial intern. I suggested to Michael that we hire Kate MacDonald, a sophisticated and stylish woman who was a seasoned magazine pro, having written and edited fashion and beauty features for a number of publications. Kate was forty-two, married to a successful Toronto doctor, and the mother of three young boys, with a lovely Rosedale home and an incredible passion for fashion. In my mind, she epitomized the style-savvy reader we were after. Kate had been working at a commercial publishing house, but I knew she was dying to get back on board a fashion magazine. She was kind and lovely, talented and dedicated, and had been a strong supporter of mine in the past. I felt she'd be a perfect collaborator for
FQ
. Michael met her and instantly liked her. “She was even wearing a little pink Chanel suit,” he told me after meeting her for the first time. “She's perfect for our brand!”

Kate introduced us to a candidate for senior editor, the feisty and quick-witted Shawna Cohen. Shawna also was a perfect addition to the team, which was filled out with two of my discoveries, interns extraordinaire Hayley Atkin, a real go-getter and the daughter of Holt Renfrew's fashion director, Barbara Atkin, and Kayla Radke, the daughter of Toronto model Kerry Jewitt. The chemistry between us all was instantaneous. We were excited, committed, proud, and passionate. We couldn't wait for the adventure to begin.

There was a resurgence of 1930s deco on in the fall of 2003. I suggested the trend as the theme for our inaugural issue, and the creative cogs started turning. We planned an elaborate fashion shoot at a newly refurbished downtown Toronto event venue called the Carlu, which had been designed in 1930 by the famed French architect Jacques Carlu. I conscripted an author friend, Marian Fowler, whose specialty was historical books about fashion, to write a feature on the deco era. We wanted
FQ
not only to entertain but also to edify—to shed some
light on the eras and icons that so often inspired designers in their work. We intended to be mindful of the past, while keeping our gaze firmly focused on the future. But above all, unlike most conventional fashion magazines, we were determined not to tell our readers how to dress. We wanted to show them how to dream.

Regular departments that we introduced in the inaugural issue of
FQ
included “Icon,” for which we profiled Jean-Paul Gaultier; “Up Close and Personal,” which featured my recent conversation with Isaac Mizrahi about his much-ballyhooed comeback with a collection for Target; and “Signature Style,” in which we dissected the personal style of a celebrated person from the past whose choices were still relevant today. For that first issue, our subject was Frank Sinatra, who had a penchant for a colour that was just then making a comeback on the runways—orange. Every issue would also run a report, in the form of a diary entry, which I composed about the international collections, both ready-to-wear and couture. We introduced another diary feature as well, slugged as either “Diary of a Diva” or “Diary of a Dandy,” depending on who penned it. Our first “Diary of a Dandy” was written by Bruce Bailey—my art collector pal and the man who had turned me on to the wonders of Northumberland County. His piece was based on his recent sojourn to the Venice Biennale. And it was considered a coup that I managed to convince the illustrious journalist and fashionista Barbara Amiel, wife of Conrad Black, to write a regular column in a department we playfully dubbed “Babs.” Barbara would share her insider perspectives on high style, beginning with what it was like to go on a shopping spree with
Vogue
's inimitable André Leon Talley. We reserved the last page of
FQ
for “F-Stop,” a look back at a vintage photo that encapsulated the theme of each issue. For the deco issue, we found a stellar photograph of Joan Crawford, standing in front of a set of revolving doors, in the dramatic black-and-white gown she wore in
Grand Hotel
. But perhaps my favourite department in
FQ
was “Doll House,” our nostalgic take on the paper dolls of the past—the precious playthings that were my introduction to fashion as a girl. This was a novel way of featuring hot runway trends each season. I would choose the outfits that best captured the current zeitgeist, and our illustrator
would recreate them as paper-doll garments, suitable for both collecting and dreaming.

With so many rich and intriguing bits and pieces to play around with, I had never felt more stimulated and inspired. Finally, I had become more than a spectator of fashion, more even than a reporter of fashion. As editor-in-chief, my perspective on each season really mattered. It was a joy to report back to the team on my return from a collections week, letting them know the mood of the moment, describing what would be coming down the pipes in the coming months, and suggesting ways we could spin it all into the rich fabric of
FQ
. Dreaming up the fashion shoots with Michael and the art team was especially thrilling, because Michael and I really clicked creatively and never failed to spur each other on. “Let's go dream the dream, darling,” he'd say to me as we began to conceptualize each issue. It was all very magical. We were making things happen, not just following what others put out there.

There were two editorial shoots in that inaugural issue. The first was the elegant art deco fantasy we staged at the Carlu. And then there was its virtual opposite, a “walk on the wild side” shoot that I convinced a friend, the German-born photographer André Rau, to undertake. For this photo fantasy, we took a model to Times Square in New York and dressed her in a series of trench coats (the trench had made a big comeback that season) with ultra-sexy lingerie underneath. The story was called “Out of the Trenches, into the Streets,” and it caused quite a stir as we were shooting it. We hired a little Winnebago and parked it on one of the streets just off Broadway. And every time our gorgeous model emerged, clad in a different dramatic trench and flashing that fancy underwear, the crowds went wild. We even managed to get the Naked Cowboy to interact with our model in one of the shots. (He's the legendary busker who has been performing in nothing more than a cowboy hat, boots, and skivvies in Times Square for years.) The shoot was outlandish, energetic, gritty, and glamorous. My
Fashion Television
camera was on hand too, capturing all the urban craziness, with scores of onlookers both excited and mesmerized by what was going down. Having masterminded this outrageous fantasy, I was on a total high,
choosing clothes, working with the stylist to dress the model, and helping to direct André.

Back in Toronto, our deco shoot at the Carlu, which we called “The Women,” loosely basing it on the iconic 1939 movie, turned into its own mini drama. We had booked the New York model-turnedactress Michele Hicks to be our “leading lady,” with the Somalia-born, Toronto-based model Yasmin Warsame in a strong supporting role. We were also planning to shoot Michele for our important first cover. As a model, Michele had been around for a while, and she was desperately trying to spread her wings into the acting world. That was something we liked: We wanted our subjects, and especially our cover girl, to be multi-dimensional. Michele also had a strong, sophisticated, dramatic look that we thought would work well on our cover, setting us apart from other fashion magazines, especially in the Canadian market, that were catering to a younger demographic.

I had known Michele for years and had interviewed her numerous times. Besides being a sensational model, she had intelligence and spunk. But for some reason, her attitude on set that day at the Carlu was off. She had flown in from New York and seemed a little world-weary, and she didn't appear to be drawing any joy from the project. And while the shots she delivered were pretty fabulous—she was a great model, after all—there were no warm and fuzzy feelings between her and the rest of the crew. Yasmin, meanwhile, was also delivering some amazing shots, but with none of the drama that we were seeing with Michele. The crew was charmed by her work ethic, warmth, and down-to-earth personality. When our star subject had to leave to catch a flight, we decided to give Yasmin a shot at the cover. We decked her out in a stunning black-and-white Dior gown, dynamic red platform shoes, and a vintage red-and-black deco necklace. And as Michael and I watched her pose and drank in her exquisite, exotic beauty, we instinctively knew we had our crucial first cover long before we saw any of the resulting shots. The fact that Yasmin was black, and black models conventionally and controversially rarely make it onto magazine covers, didn't even figure in our decision. We were after artistry and beauty, plain and simple.

We launched
FQ
on the opening night of the 2003 Toronto
International Film Festival, at a gala party in a space that was still under construction—the restaurant and lobby of a hip new boutique hotel, Le Germain. Our party became one of the hottest tickets at the festival, and we managed to attract many of the filmmakers who were in town, including the Oscar-winning Quebec director Denys Arcand. I wore an ultra-sexy little black Gucci dress to the event, and spoke to the crowd about the sensibility behind the magazine and why we were all so proud to be associated with it. People were blown away by the oversized format and the edgy photography, and everybody told me they couldn't wait to go home to devour this new baby of ours. It seemed as if a whole new era was beginning in Canadian fashion—not just for us, but for everyone who loved high style.