il s'agit d'un Adieu mais je la prends comme un au revoir

11 hours of sleep total all weekend.

My lips are hurt from wearing too much red lipstick, my feet are begging me to stop wearing shoes, my Rhodia's pages are filled, my favourite pen is lost, and I'm angry at the weather for not allowing me to wear the dress I wanted. That marks the end of Fashion Week.

Friday was spent debating tears of happiness or relief, realizing that there's not even a thought of turning back, writing articles, and engaging in hilarious conversations with new people, followed by an unexpected and [very] late set of conversations. Saturday came too soon and I indulged myself in family, good food, a happy neighbour, a wonderful visitor, a housewarming, more food, and a movie slash conversation. Sunday started with a hilarious text message and proceeded to be spent on my feet. My familiar footsteps explored the city as they tapped alongside new ones, and brief goodbyes make for quick returns. Tomorrow marks my new journey, one I await eagerly. Nervous, excited, and scared, I plunge into the unknown and I feel great.

Fashion Week diaries, Spring/Summer 2010

With LG Fashion Week in full swing right now, my agenda is filled with shows to cover, events to attend, and housekeeping items to tend to. Like any "fashion person", I have pieces I hold dear in my closet and will wear them until they no longer have shape of their former glory. My oxfords (of which two more identical pairs grace my closet) are on their death bed, the buttons on my Napoleon coat are getting stuck between bodies on the TTC and popping out (ugh rush hour), and my tights are waiting for a run to come through them. Luckily, there aren’t many off site events to attend. On day one, I attended the Holts Media Cocktail and “how to walk in heels” at Chasse Gardée. There was a memorable moment at the Holts cocktail, courtesy of Robin Kay. No, she was not drunk, or trying to sell us a dime that’s top of the line, it was this quote: “And now we have our own group of seven.” Robin, baby, the group of seven is Canadian.

Holts media cocktail

I encountered various problems so far this season. In the media room, the computers that are the size of bunnies are DEATH, almost like the one I type from right now, the internet is slow, and the room is crammed. Missing this time is the kit-kat, coffee and champagne from last season. New this year are the benches in the Fashion Environment, which are better than the seats from previous seasons, except the no coat check thing makes sitting on benches more difficult because I can’t put my coat anywhere and since the weather is unpredictable, I can’t even dress for these things anymore.

Hometown girl Jasmine walks the runway for Travis Taddeo

Travis Taddeo finale

Yesterday was my crazy busy day with tons of things to cross off the agenda. I had to run from Liberty Village to pick up an essential package for a designer showing tomorrow in the St-Lawrence market, run back home, change, get to the tents for a few shows, run out to the Annex for a meeting (which ran late), run back to the tents, got to the show that actually started on time that I had to cover but missed due to incredible amount of people, hung around for the rest of the shows to cover, ran home, gave the designer her package, wrote my articles, and went to bed. Phew. Today is all about the Mimrans and so I’ll jump into my Lungta de Fancy and head over to the tents and end the night at Shadowplay – Carte Blanche always throws a good party. Keep up with my fashion week coverage on blogTO.
photos: blogTO

Comme ci, comme ça

Massimo Vignelli occupies two spaces in my home, his famous Stendig Calendar fills one. I almost did not walk away with a 2009 edition if it wasn't for one store in Toronto that had one last copy which was being neglected due to bent edges. Ever heard of ironing? Got my hands on the 2010 before it was too late.

illustration: Noma Bar

Maison de la Presse Internationale has tons of magazines, except the one I'm looking for of course (Bidoun), but throughout my customs search of the racks, I found what looked to be the most famous Arab singer of all time Umm Khalthoum in contemporary form on the cover of a magazine called Brownbook. It's about entertainment and arts in the Middle-East, pretty cool.

BOOKS PURCHASED THESE PAST TWO MONTHS

Author-title: Randa Jarrar, A Map of Home

Status: complete+recommended

Comments: Arab authors residing in Western countries are not common, however, they have been in the past few years (women in particular) and Randa Jarrar is one of them. Her book A Map of Home, a story about a young girl's experience growing up in the Middle East and America, is humourous, honest, and well written.

Read Randa's interview on KabobFest

Read ei's book review

Author-title: Richard Poplak, The Sheikh's Batmobile

Status: In the process+don't know how I feel about it yet

Comments: This book discusses American popular culture in Muslim countries. Interesting two-year research, but I still can't seem to enjoy the writing style.

Author-title: Ben White, Israeli Apartheid: A Beginner's Guide

Status: I should finish Richard's book first and then get to this.

Comments: Ben just finished his Canadian book tour (include a stop at Ryerson University last week). He's also a really cool guy.

Speaking of Arab Americans, while doing some random research, I stumbled upon Marguerite Dabaie's work. Being a fan of illustrations, I surfed her site throughly, purchased her work and am now sharing it with you! She humourously illustrates memoirs of growing up Christian-Palestinian in America and her grandmother's cookbook.

Is that a younger Adrian Brody?

source: The Ones to Watch

Oh, I write for blogTO now in the fashion section. Look out for my coverage of LG Fashion Week which starts tomorrow. I'll also have an article appearing in Washington Report on Middle East Affairs in a few weeks (thanks CamRon!), but that one isn't fashion related.

Orientalism

There are many reasons to feel unfortunately Arab. I mean check out the news and behaviour of some of the citizens, our leaders, etc. Sometimes, Arabs get mistaken for Persians (see below) and other times, we get branded as Ginos (or Guidos).

Exhibit A

Ginos are a staple of our culture (we're definitely close second to Italians). The selection of boys you can bring home to papa consist of guys that look like this (see below). Very unfortunate. This example is best presented by Karl Wolf.

Habibi, can you even speak Arabi? No. You know "yalla" and "habibi". You also said "yalla habibi" to Rime instead of "yalla habibti". Rime won't help you speak Arabic either, she's Moroccan, most Arabs don't understand her. Here are some free Arab lessons that will make you buy some Arabness using words I caught from your smooth lyrics:

Hey boo=hi ya darling (blend of Arabic and Western speak here)

Alizé=Arak

Bonnie & Clyde=Raya we Skina

Flashing lights like Kanye=Amr Diab

Queen like Nefertiti=Get with the times, use Queen Rania

And if you really wanted me to believe you're Arab, you should've bought fake branded products from Syria, land of knock-offs, to make it more believable.

Exhibit B

Narcy got really angry with this song, especially its remix - see here, Busta has since apologized to him. Now off to the critique. First of all, the guy in the intro is totally Persian. Second, this song is terrible. Third, hey Dubai, thanks for like, um, giving us other reasons to be in the media other than terrorism, but seriously, acknowledge the fact that you don't represent the Middle-East. Fourth, if any of these guys went to the Middle-East, they would be arrested. Have you ever been criticized by a Middle-Eastern person? We demolish self esteem almost as well as a Jewish mother.

Embedding disabled, click here to view the video

Exhibit C

The Egyptian Yusuf Amir is totally Persian (proof lies in the guy who does the voice). The wiki about Yusuf claims he was born in Dubai although he says "we built the pyramids baby!" meaning he's Egyptian, or wait, according to the Wiki, "Arabian." Either way, the Emirati locals make up only 17% of the entire population, so it's not likely Yusuf's Emirati. And if you really wanted me to believe he was indeed Egyptian, could you of at least given him a name that is common in Egypt like Tamer, Hussein, Yosri, or Ahmad?

Conclusion: Arabs and Persians=not the same. We don't even speak the same language. How would you like it if I mistook you for a Mexican for example?

Off to the next topic, the orient in your home. Just like animals, this culture can be domesticated. Hummus has already made it in a big way. In the Western world, you can get a variety of hummus flavours, in the Middle-East, you will never be offered a barrage of choices, because in reality, there's only one hummus - don't be fooled by imitations. Couscous, argilah (sheesha, hookah, whatever), solidarity scarves, and classic beats sampled in hip-hop songs (Jay-Z, Foxy Brown's "duet" with Ragheb Alama) are all in Western homes and now you can add prescription product that makes your eyelashes actually grow longer to the mix. Latisse's product is FDA approved (which is really easy to get, sort of like the Nobel Peace Prize) and it's even endorsed by Brooke Shields! Okay, you're probably asking yourself, how is an eyelash growth product an Orient thing? The answer lies in our eyes. Example, my bottom eyelashes are longer than most people's top lashes. Mascara was inspired by people like us. Yes. True. Middle-Eastern people have crazy long, dark and full eyelashes, Western people created fake lashes to be like Middle-Eastern people and then developed a product to have it permanently.

The Publication of Renata Kaveh

You all know the story of how Renata and I met during LG Fashion Week in March and how she used my roof to shoot a test shoot, but here's what you don't know: in April, we got mistaken for lovers, in May, I became her muse, in June she moved out of Tehronto and closer to civilization, and now she's published. This is why I'm writing about her again. I mean, she got published in Lush Magazine's Fall issue...PRINT! Renata was in Paris back in the spring and took some great photos which are now gracing the pages of this Canadian publication. She managed to shoot at the exact spot where I hailed a cab driven by what could have very well been Grace Jones. I kid you not. Grace. Jones. (non, je ne suis pas folle). I went over to her place last night to pick up some forgotten items from last Friday's celebration and decided to make it even more special by flipping through the pages and taking photos of it.

Renata boit toujours du vin blanc

c'est quoi une loupe en anglais?

je m'baladais sur l'avenue, le coeur ouvert à l'inconnu

Lush Magazine is now available

Renata Kaveh photography

From my ears to yours

I've come across lots of great music this year, but unfortunately, sometimes, you only like a few songs on the album. There are a few artists who have managed to make every song they release enjoyable, and now from my ears, I pass them down to yours.

Artist: Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele (myspace)
Album: The Good Feeling Music of Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele (purchase)
The Deal: Dent May is a "think global, buy local" type of guy. He's also kind of a dorky showman but the type of guy you want as your friend. His blog chronicles his touring experience and he posts various videos and photos - good interaction with the fans. His music is a little like Beirut, but has more of a feel good tone to it.
Tour: Brace yourself, he has Canadian stops including Toronto on November 7th at El Mocambo
Yuppie recommends: Oh Paris, Meet me in the garden, When you were mine (Prince cover)
Conclusion: As the album name suggests, it really is feel good music. Oh and be warned, these songs will be trapped in your head once you hear them, but that's a good thing.

Artist: Emil & Friends
Album: Downed Economy EP+Various random tracks
The Deal: So is this Emile Hirsch's project or what? Who knows for sure but regardless, Emil & Friends is fantastic (read this interview to find out more about the band). The music does a sound a bit like MGMT but better and very intergalactic. They even remixed a song I couldn't stand and made it GOOD, did a better job with Passion Pit's "Sleepyhead" than Passion Pit themselves (even Asian Man Dan agrees) and covered MGMT's "Electric Feel".
Yuppie recommends: Every song, but since I have to choose: The Shrine, Josephine, Downed Economy
Conclusion: Prepare to dance, sing, dance, dance, and fly.

Artist: Neon Indian
Album: Psychic Chasms - available Oct. 13 (pre-order)
The Deal: Alan Palomo's third project (Ghosthustler, VEGA previously (ongoing)) makes you feel like you're on acid, or just staring at a dreammachine for a long time. Pitchfork calls it "A gauzy combination of Buggles-style 1980s pop, video game soundtracks, and cheeseball elevator music, (...) songs are effervescent, goofy, and achingly nostalgic. Kind of like MGMT on a ramen budget-- and with less face paint." And although I agree with Pitchfork, readers, I don't care for Pitchfork.
Yuppie recommends: Should've taken acid with you, Deadbeat Summer and 6669 (I don't know if you know)
Tour: The tour has one Canadian stop (Vancouver, Nov 16) but hopefully, he'll decide to stop by sometime.
Conclusion: Prepare to dance, sing and get nostalgic

From my moleskine

This past year, coffee sleeves inspired me to doodle on them, which then inspired me to bring my passed down Prismacolor markers from retirement and return to my drawing ways, wherever possible. Contrary to popular belief, my doodling at all possible sightings of paper does not mean I am A.D.D. In fact, I'm listening, I just like pictures to accompany your words.

Feed me grapes

Est-ce? Non, ce n'est pas Kitsuné.

In a perfect city

Comme au club

Jawaz El Safar

"Jawaz el safar" is Arabic for "passport". And Marcel Khalifé is universal for magnificent or, to quote my second grade teacher, "fantastronomique!". Used beautifully in the final scene of Amreeka, I must thank Beyondthehummus (is this an official name now?) for saving time in what might have been a tedious search for the song title.
The words are from a Mahmoud Darwish poem.

Smells like secrets

But it's out! Having recently moved to Toronto from Ottawa, The Balconies had a CD release party at Lee's Palace this past Friday. The cover glows in the dark, the songs make your feet tap and the members are absolutely adorable, so check it out.

Arnaud Fleurent-Didier's "France Culture" is a nice look into his own family history. Video with English translation below. Keep looping, it's that good.

If you've ever had the luxury of attending an Arab wedding, there's one thing that stands out about the wedding singers: for 15 minutes, they will fidget with the same few notes on their keyboard-synthesizer and thank the crowd in the mic. Then, they proceed by playing a song that has nothing to do with any of the notes they played on the keyboard just seconds prior. Does it make sense? No. Why do they do it? I don't know, but it sure as hell entertains me and if requested, I'll imitate them for you [gladly]. So you can imagine my excitement when I heard Siriusmo's "Last Dear" because the keyboard-synthesizer sound in the song is so similar to the one played by Arab wedding singers it's ridiculous! Have a listen or watch the video below. It comes on at around 1:47. Honourable mention: Intro to Phoenix's "If it's not with you"

vendredi

You wake up, a bit later than you should have, exhausted. Jump in the shower, finish, choose an outfit. Drink water, leave the house. Grab your bike and ride it to work. You stop at a café, pay $1.60 for coffee you know is worth $0.88. You get to work, turn your computer on, wait for it to load, stare at your colleagues, and begin working. You read the news and other websites that keep you updated. You think. Your phone rings, you speak, you resolve an issue because no one else wants to and you get back to work. You eat a sandwich, make a snarky comment to the owners. Your hands are dirty. You deposit a cheque, stare at your assets. You get another coffee. $1.95. This one is not worth more than $1.00. This place is overpriced. You drink, you walk back to the office, you salute your passing colleages. You sit and stare, you think, you can't wait to go home. Once the time arrives, you leave. You ride your bike back through the familiar road up to your house. You park it outside, check the mailbox. You missed a call. Your parents. You don't call back. You clean, you get dressed, you chat, you eat quickly, you bike to go volunteer. A pedestrian jumps in your way. You remind her you could've been a truck, laugh, and ride away. You see people, you chat, they laugh, you poster, you drop paste on yourself, you clean up at the library, you observe the people, you laugh, you leave. You get told by a taxi driver its illegal, you ignore him. You finish your volunteering. You think of a day in July, you go to a coffee shop. You write, you write and write. You hear ridiculous conversations taking place near you, you write and write. Your phone rings, you set up a meeting time. You fill your Rhodia with more words, you listen to songs, you write. A bald man stares at you, you stare back then away and leave. You meet a friend, you hug because its been awhile. He checks your id at the door, you pay for the ticket, you talk, she's been through a rough time. You keep your jackets on. You get closer to the stage, you watch the hipsters sway. You close your eyes and listen to the band play. You're both enjoying yourselves. You take photos. You look around for others you may know. You dance a bit, you go sit. You go talk to band members, you discuss mutual friends. You find out she's happy doing something you predicted and she said "never" to. But she's happy so you smile. You have a conversation with someone you met once a year ago. You sit. The next band comes on. Lead singer's pants and shirt are too tight for him. His hair reminds you of someone you don't want to think about but you do. You close your eyes, you laugh, you make jokes, hipsters dance. "Footloose" comes on. You dance like they do. You move closer to the stage, you listen to the other band. You're more nostalgic for home even though you're not sure where that is. You think of her, you understand why she did what she did and you smile. You leave, you hug goodbye, you ride your bike, you shiver, you think of June, you want to be home. A taxi driver yells at you, you tell him to keep driving, he's irritated. You're starving, you're home, you brush your teeth, change your clothes, realize you sound like a Bret Easton Ellis novel and go to bed.

Every problem is a nail.

"Has it been a year?" she asks me. "It feels as though it was only this spring. Where has the spring gone anyway?"

At the beginning of the summer, you opted to forget everyone. As the fall settles itself, you realize how much has changed yet how much of it feels exactly the same. September is a representation of a new page, one we must accept, whether or not we want to. Students go back to school, summer vacations are over, and the weather begins to cool down, although the latter never got warmer to begin with.

You recall your state of mind in the spring and how desperately you awaited the summer, one that with a blink of an eye, has evaporated. It's as though the summer never came. Instead you were trapped, an Ezra like moment, in an endless season of spring and provided with the ability to dream what could've been summer instead. What could've been trust broken on more than one occasion, what could've been of the relationships that we feel are everlasting that are instead, shattered in an instant, what could've been the feelings that are forgotten or, like dreams, those we put away to make ourselves feel better as much as it hurts, what could've been of the dreams that are shared, of the experiences that are made, of the tears that are shed, of the lands that are discovered where new memories are built, and of the others that are rediscovered alongside its reignited memories and what could've been of the transformed lives and the people in need of saving.

And like you needed a vacation back in May, you were provided with the opportunity to take one. So you set off on a plane and crossed the Atlantic, something you had not done in seven years, and began your voyage. It was short, ever changing and temporary, like everything in your life it seems. Maybe that's why they call them vacations. The news, now more than ever before, depresses you terribly. Your ability to concentrate, to write like you want, is removed, unable to figure out how, just weeks prior, you were able to do it.

For a brief moment, you felt genuine happiness. There were dates to look forward to, but those are all but gone as you slowly woke up from a four month sleep. Wait, next month will mark a year since you've moved. Congratulations, you're thinner than ever and realize there's actually nothing to celebrate, or no one worthy of celebrating it with, it's just life, although if you told your roommate she's more likely to be happy for you than the previous one. Wait, but you received two pieces of good news the other day, but you don't bother looking for contacts to tell, you keep this news to yourself. Your inbox has text messages in it, some old, some new. Most of them seem to be copies of previous ones, canceled plans, back and forth running after others, not worth the time, mainly because, you made those plans to pass the time, they weren't the messages you were looking for anyway. The phone calls you missed are insignificant, just like the names and subjects of the emails that flood your inbox. You grow tired of the canceled plans, running after people who, in the end, probably wouldn't run after you. Favours. It feels like favours, doesn't it? Fini!

Oh how you feel like a brat, someone who appreciates nothing, but you know that you only need direction, a direction that has never been provided to you but one you needed to consistently rely on yourself to find. You continue to doubt your abilities and wonder if hard working people get anywhere in life.
"Why don't you just forget this idea and focus on what you have right now? Do you really want to leave all of this? You're looking into something completely unknown and dangerous, do you really want to do that?"

And as your father he tells you this because he knows it's safer, but he doesn't mean it, you sense it. He's afraid, but he's done it, he wants you to do it, but he's afraid, and so are you, although you tell yourself it's not because it's all material, everything you're leaving. And that's what you learned in this dream of a summer - you are able to let go of anything that has a material worth attached to it, but people...people can't be dropped. You care too much and maybe it's because you have a heart, but you realize that not everyone does, but it doesn't mean you stop caring, mainly because you can't stop. And you don't know what you can save them from, but maybe you need to accept the fact that you're in need of saving but no one will save you.

And there you are, with a ticket in your hand, figuring out the misery that is your personal life plan. And four months ago this is where you wanted to be, and where you are is fine, but you think back to the dream of the summer and realize that you can drop it all, anything material. Right now you're safe, and how's life an adventure if there's a safety net behind you? All you want is to run barefoot on the cobblestones in the streets of the old city, to observe the beautiful people passing Rivoli, and taste the salty water of the sea. And all you want is to save them but you don't know what you can save them from.

*the title of this post is inspired from an Abraham Maslow quote

Eid Mubarak

Some gift ideas for your muslim homies...

from: muslamb

from: Waafia

from: NutMegClick

from: A Crafty Arab

Elia, Hiam et Dima

I've stated it before and I'll state it again, I don't care for celebrities. Frankly, the line ups in front of theatres and hotels amuse me. This week at TIFF however I got to be in the presence of people in film I admire, and are a different kind of celebrity (if even to be called celebrity since they are not known at all).

At the Toronto Declaration discussion Monday night, I bumped into and got stared at by my country's own, more charming version of Buster Keaton (read: Elia Suleiman whose new film The Time that Remains is being screened at TIFF) AND, AND...wait for it...at the screening of Chaque jour est une fête (Every Day is a Holiday), I met one of my girl

crushes. Although I could not tell her that I find her ravissante in front of the crowd, I did, when given the chance to come face to face, tell her how much I've been wanting to meet her. I also took a few minutes to admire her beauty up close. I'm talking about Hiam Abbass - the woman who makes wrinkles so elegant. I also got to share a laugh with Chaque jour est une fête (Every Day is a Holiday) director Dima El-Horr, an absolutely adorable and brilliant woman who directed an excellent and highly recommend film too! But before I end this post, I have one comment for TIFF movie goers who are about to go see a non-Hollywood film discussing Middle-Eastern issues: please, do yourself a favour, read the synopsis and research the situation before you ask unnecessary questions that are a complete waste of time (read: "How did the women survive without water?") Such silly questions can be answered by a) reading the synopsis and realizing that it mixes realities of life with absurdities, and b) realizing the film took place throughout an afternoon, not even a full day. Therefore, humans are able to survive approximately three days without water. Furthermore, when addressing the director with your questions, keep in mind her first language is not English - she was clearly fluent in Arabic and French and tried her best to answer you with her English, if you don't understand her explanation, be nicer about it. Oh and don't forget, TPFF starts on September 26.

Put your hands where my eyes can't see

My friend Danielle Meder likes karma...of the good kind. She's featured my blog on hers countless times and introduced me to many people when I first came to Toronto. It was only natural that when she sent me an email last week wanting to feature me in her Fashion Blog Karma section, I was honoured. Check out my interview with Danielle where I discuss blogs-magazines, the difference between Toronto and Ottawa, and national vs. regional fashion weeks.

"I wonder what's worse...

not having cigarettes or not having a light?" "Not having cigarettes, because someone will always give you a light."