Stores in Toronto
By Katherine Webster
Editor-in-chief

A couple of years ago I went shopping. It was a Saturday afternoon, early autumn, maybe late September. It was kind of a serious shopping day, not the kind of day for meandering or lunching with a friend; this was the kind of day when I needed to be by myself. It seems that there are two kinds of shopping days for women. Those that are designed strictly for entertainment, a kind of release of sorts, and those that are designed for serious shopping business. On the entertainment days, it always more fun to wander aimlessly about with a friend. Part of the day is spent in a big luxury department store, the other parts are spent in any number shoe stores, accessory bars, and pretty little coffee shops, bistros, or martini spots. Because the goal here is not to have any goal at all, (except of course for having little fun), purchases are kept to a minimum. A tube of lipstick or some other simple cosmetic item, a trendy accessory, or any other item that you don’t really need but have bought just for the fun of it or in celebration of the day. 

On this particular late September afternoon, I was having one of my serious moments.  This shopping day was more tasks orientated.  I was on a mission and my mission was clear, to build my fall and winter wardrobe without the distraction of too much fun.  I headed to the big luxury department store, alone.  I was intent on coming home with only what I needed and not a single item more.  

After a lot of fashion soul-searching, I had determined to what I needed was a stylish, well constructed series of pieces, in fact what I needed was a suit.  Well, I like black for all the same reasons that everybody else in New York City likes black.  Yes indeed I look taller and thinner in black, and footwear seems never to be a problem. So my quest began at the big luxury department store for the perfect black suit.
Fortunately for me, I was assisted by a remarkably understanding and talented saleswoman.  She pointed me in the direction of the Anne Klein suits and even negotiated my very own fitting room in the midst of a Saturday afternoon shopper’s frenzy. Had it not been for that saleswoman I would not have found that very perfect black suit amidst the massive sea of designer garments. After all, the classic black suit is most often ignored by the average shopper who instead is drawn to a vision of herself in the latest Roberto Cavalli jeans. (Sort of like ignoring that truly nice, quiet guy at school in favor of the handsome quarterback with a reputation of cracking female hearts like they were peanut shells).  

I didn’t know a lot about clothes at the time, not nearly as much as I know now, but I did notice that these garments seem to be nicely constructed of a lightweight wool gabardine, with a good fit and  very streamlined tailoring. So I went for the whole enchilada,  selecting a double-breasted jacket, a classic pant, a simple skirt, and a sleeveless shift. Mission accomplished.  I found my suit. 

But something happened on the way to the register.  Out of the corner of my eye I spotted something that was impossible for me to resist. Keywords here are powder blue and cashmere.  It was a little ensemble by Ellen Tracy, so dishy that I felt my heart starting to race. I fondled the fabric between my fingers and the image of myself in this ultra feminine, kitten soft, three-piece cashmere made in heaven outfit made me lose sight of my original goal, (which of course was to buy only what I needed, and nothing more.) 

 I knew I had to have it regardless of the price, so I dug a little deeper and put both the black suit and powder blue on my American Express card.  (The powder blue, by the way, consisted of a pencil skirt, sleeveless cowl neck sweater and a kind of a trendy swing jacket with oversized pockets and cuffs.)  

I left the store, my arms heavily laden with garment bags, all giddy, my mind buzzing, my heart pounding, in a blend of  feelings. On one hand, triumph for fulfilling my mission of snagging the little black suit, and maybe a little guilt over powder blue.  However there was no doubt in my mind which of the two outfits would be my favorite, (at the time) it would be the beloved powder blue cashmere Ellen Tracy that would have all heads turning. That would be the one outfit that would make me feel like a woman I was or was meant to be. 

I have learned that there are several phases to  any glorious shopping experience.  Phase 1, of course, happens in the store when first you spot those drop dead gorgeous articles of clothing that you simply cannot live without. A sea of color and texture beckoning slyly from the racks, hangers and tables. It is here that  every woman, regardless of how logical an individual she is turns into a quivering mass of helpless jelly, unable to resist the feast that is laid out before her.  Phase 2 happens in the fitting room when the seductive quality of fine silk, cashmere, angora, linen or velvet envelops your skin and a vision of yourself as style goddess appears in the full-length looking glass before you.  Phase three occurs after leaving the store in the privacy of your boudoir.  It is here the full-grown mature women, some with Ph.D.’s turn into little girls playing with their new toys. Phase four is the sharing stage.  It is here that you display your new treasures, the trappings, and the kill, with the one who is the most deserving. Your best friend. 

I, like any other woman, follow the path of the four phases.  After completing my transaction of the big luxury department store, I ran home to play with my toys over glass of Chardonnay and then I called my best friend to gloat over my recent acquisitions.  Naturally, being the good friend that she was she insisted on racing over to scrutinize my purchases.  Although she very matter if factly commented on the fine cut and tailoring off my new black suit, there was no doubt that the powder blue cashmere was her favorite too. She oohed and aahed over the delicate blue color and the delicious texture of my newest pride and joy. I knew that although she was my very dearest friend, Wasn’t there just a teensy trace of envy in her tone? No matter.  I was destined to be the Queen of both style and beauty forever in this little number. 

But that was a couple of years ago.  And I think that  the experience of powder blue cashmere along with probably dozens of other similar mistakes have taught me the best lessons I could ever learn about shopping and real style. Today that very outfit, the one that would change my life, the one I could not live without, hangs forlornly in my closet.  I would give it away, sell it to a consignment shop, donate it to a thrift shop, anything, but there for the grace of God go I, fashion moron, duped into thinking that this lovely but highly impractical garment would change my life and make be better than I am. I can’t bear to part with it.  Not because I love it so, but because it serves as a reminder of what it really is.  A trendy, fleeting expression of modern fashion and the retail experience.  I think I wore that garment three times.  After that enough people had seen me in it, and I could wear it no more.  

As for the black suit, I believe that I may have worn it no less than 782 times.  The jacket alone has accompanied me to boardroom meetings, cocktail parties, five-star restaurants, and French class.  I have worn the jacket with all the pieces that it was intended for in the first place.  I have worn it with the pants, the skirt, and the sleeveless dress.  I have worn it on the coldest days in January and even in 85 degree weather in late June.  It has kept me warm in drafty airports, and air-conditioned cars.  I have casually tossed over my shoulders at the theater, and on with my jeans just to run to the corner for a bagel.  

The black suit accompanies me around the world.  I have worn it to the top of the Eiffel Tower and the top of the empire state building.  It has visited the Roman  Coliseum with me and it was with me when I first laid my eyes on Michelangelo’s David. The jacket was draped over my shoulders at Casino in Monte Carlo, and a bar in Madrid. 

I have introduced my black suit to the jewelry of Kenneth J. Lane, Tiffany, David Yurman and thrift shop junk.  I have worn every conceivable style of scarf with my black suit, from Pashmina to silk Chanel to any old flea markets find.  I have carried every type of handbag, from a smart Louis Vuitton daytime bag, to a glitzy retro evening bag, heck I even wore it with a free bag given to me with the purchase of perfume at Sak’s.   

The black suit is not too choosy who it spends time with.  I have worn it with crisp white cotton shirts, silk blouses, T-shirts and a pink cashmere sweater. It works with gold, silver, pearls, coral, jade, rhinestones even diamonds. I have worn it with every style of hat, from chenille beret, to classic wide brimmed velvet. Once, I even draped a silver fox collar over the lapels just for the fun of it.  

I have done everything to that jacket.  I have tossed it over the back of the chair at the office, in a restaurant and at the ballgame.  I have left it on the floor in a hotel room in Munich overnight.  I have thrown it into the bottom of my suitcase in Venice.  I have dry cleaned it so many times that I fear that the next time will be it’s last. Not a chance. It has yet to let me down. 

But what will happen when my old reliable black Anne Klein suit finally bites the dust? Well, the answer for me has become so obviously simple. I will buy another, even if it’s exactly the same as this one, (a double breasted jacket, slim skirt, tailored pant and sleeveless shift). I hope that the big luxury department store is still selling them.  If not, well I think I know a pretty good dressmaker who can copy this one...    Comments ? Email us

Autumn is in the air, so what's in the stores? Shopping is delightful in Canada, especially on a Saturday afternoon. Here are a few spy photos of window wares in Toronto. Why not go shopping!
 Click any photo to enlarge, Click picture to return.

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