There will be hos in different area codes – put your hands up in the air and wave them side to side

There’s something to be about refrigerator magnets. Currently my mother has an expanding collection of tacky tourists magnets which she collects on her many travels as a recently minted retiree. I suppose there are worse things. There’s one magnet that I have a rather vivid memory of, which is not actually from any travelling at all. It’s a grey rectangle with blue text on the top a giant number in the middle and a date written at the bottom. The blue text reads something along the lines of “change” or “better service” or something of that ilk. The red text reads “October 4, 1993” and the number in the middle: 905. I could go back to suburbia to find out exactly what that line of text is, but who are we kidding? I don’t set foot in suburbia unless there’s free food in the mix.

Can you believe we’ve been living in the era of the 905 area code for 17 blissful years now? My cousin and I were having dinner at Pizzeria Liberetto one evening and she mentioned that the Greater Toronto Area would be getting yet another area code in 2013. She moved to Toronto in 2000 but in her memory has always remembered her cousins in Mississauga having a 905 number. No: I reassured her – from birth to the age of six I was a bonafide city girl (by area code jurisdiction). But on October 4, 1993 Bell Canada took that away from me and made me a 905er, which is something I’ve been trying to run away from since.

Days later, proving that they are always a few days behind the curve, Toronto Life published this guide to the area code hierarchy in the GTA. 2013 will bring about the 365. I can think of the jokes already: living in the 365 - sucking 365 days a year.

A few Saturdays ago I went to Rockwood to celebrate a friend’s birthday in the Entertainment District or Clubland or whatever you want to call it, but I just call it an area I normally avoid at all costs. Why avoid it? I find that the district brings out the most obnoxious types and yes, Torontonians blame it all on the 905ers. When I got to Rockwood, there were at least three police cruisers and a bunch of people being arrested. In an incongruous juxtaposition, Rockwood is right across from the Hotel Le Germain which is one of the ritziest boutique hotels in the city. Want to guess which locale the hooligan brawling came from? This type of situation is exactly what my overbearing mother warned me about when I was eighteen – stay away that John and Richmond area, you don’t want to get shot. So what did I do? I walked right in. That night I opted to go with an ironic look, so I flat-ironed my hair and back combed the middle section in the front to give myself the iconic (deadpan) Snooki pouf. However, like ironic facial hair on hipster males, it’s only ironic if everyone else doesn’t have that hair style too.

Unless I’m super plastered, I spend more time in clubs people-watching and developing analysis for blog fodder. Oh God, please still hang out with me; I swear I’m still fun. Between the guy who felt the urge to wipe his overly gelled hair (dry, thank heavens) against my left scapula and the plentitude of girls arguing with bouncers as to the degree of drunkenness their friend being tossed from the bar was or wasn’t, I was all too happy to walk home.

A friend of mine who grew up in a smallish town in Eastern Ontario says that he couldn’t live in Toronto. It’s just too busy and noisy to him – I couldn’t disagree more. I can’t help but feel like the reputation of the city is based upon Friday and Saturday nights and Monday to Friday rush hour. I mean sure, there are things in the city that I can’t stand; I live at King and Bathurst which is basically at the intersection of Yuppie and Douchebag. I find the King streetcar like some form of abuse on weekday morning in its sardine-esque packaging. People always ask me if where I live is really noisy, honestly the worst I get is the couple next door yelling at each other. It’s not as if there’s a riot going on outside my front door every night. We’ll see what happens during the G20 though.

I invite you to see the city the way I do: don’t just come see us for the nightlife, come and see the city during the day, but the right parts of the city. You’ll never find me at the Eaton Centre on a Saturday. I do, however, love the third floor of the Bay Queen St. right across the street like a not-so hidden gem. It frustrates me that people’s perception of the city is that it’s always noisy and no one gives a damn, so you can come in for the night (with your DD so you can drive back from whence you came), scream belligerently and urinate where you please.

I encourage you to experience Toronto on foot, which is something people from out of town also never do. I love to go on a long aimless walks within the city on the weekends. I walked from King West to Leslieville one Saturday to meet a friend at Te Aro for coffee. You can experience how wonderfully quiet Toronto really is if you take the time to listen for the silence. A friend from Vancouver was so surprised when I told him I lived in a house smack in the middle of the city (my centrality in the city is debatable by various core snobs). This isn’t just a playground for the young and carefree. For every starving artist there are three many grandmothers mowing their lawns and putting laundry out on the makeshift line.

This past Sunday I took a long stroll down by the water; it’s amazing how close I live to it, but never seem to be down there enough. Where else can one see nuns on rollerblades? I invite you to come take a walk on the serene side; there’s even free parking on my street on the weekends, also a rarity in the city. One word of caution though: you have to parallel park and suburbanites just can’t do that. Trust me, I know where I grew up and what nice Asian driving school I went to.

Pearls and Taffeta: a bit of class mixed with a bit of sass

There are 364 days in a year where everything is about me. But there's one day a year where I take one giant step back and put others in front of myself. Don't be stupid, it's not Christmas - I love presents way too much. Today was the Boutique Ball for The Corsage Project where I was allowed to used my vacuous powers for good instead of evil.

To provide some context (and a brief summary for those too lazy to click a link and read - which is odd considering how you got here) The Corsage Project works in partnership with the Children's Aid Foundation and their goal is to provide formal gowns and accessories, free of charge, to Toronto area high school girls who are unable to purchase their own prom attire. In its eleventh year, girls are nominated through confidential referrals from school guidance counselors, Children’s Aid, youth, or social workers to attend the Boutique Ball. She and a guest are paired with a personal shopper who help them pick out a brand new gown, shoes, shawl, handbag and accessories (donated by designers, boutique and stores across the city) along with getting their make up done by professional artists and having a keepsake photo taken.

This is my second year with the project and, no bullshit, this has become one of my favourite days of the year. This year I helped with set up, which consisted with me opening boxes upon boxes of dresses, hanging them on garment racks, sorting them by size and then colour blocking them. It was such a major departure from my everyday that I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Spending Saturday morning playing in piles of clothes? Count me in.

Now, I know what you might be thinking - this is such a "you would" type of event, Sarah. You may be thinking that I'm just another vapid girl who likes to shop too much. Sure, I buy shoes when I'm upset, I wander the hallowed halls of Holt Renfrew when I'm sad and sure my credit card is sitting in a tupperware full of water in my freezer - but this event is so much more than clothes and handbags. (Duh, there are shoes too!)

I was so excited after this event last year that I went home to tell my family all about how wonderful the entire experience was. And one Chan (whose title might rhyme with llama) commented that it seemed like a bad idea to instill these girls with such excess and vanity that they wouldn't be able to have again. And you can guess that I pretty much jumped on the dinner table and beat my chest like an ape (pause for visual) in order to defend what I know to be true: regardless of who you are, you deserve to feel and be beautiful and know that you have self-worth.

If this is one thing I can help a young woman with, you can sure as hell bet that I will. Better still, I can use the hours that I pour over The Cut (NYmag's Fashion Blog) to help a young woman achieve it, then yes I will spend time helping them picking out a dress all in quest for self-esteem. I could go into my self-esteem issues but today isn't about me, remember?

Let me tell you about the day I had: my first client came with her friend (also a corsage girl) who brought her sister. She started off the day thinking that she wanted a long gown, but she ended up with a one-shoulder fuchsia mini-dress from FCUK. When I told her I was going to buy that when it was in-store, she was pretty impressed with her choice. Moreover, she asked me if I was going to get a dress from here too. When I said no, she asked if I was going to get anything. The answer to that was also no and she said, in an almost confused voice, "so you're just here because you want to be?" and when I agreed she said "that's really cool." And that's just it right there - that in itself makes the whole experience worth it.

She and I had no luck with shoes for her super sassy dress, but she was so happy to find these spectacular gold earrings. She was apprehensive to get her make up done, but I assured her they were legit make up artists from MAC. And during her photo shoot, I saw a young woman who hesitantly walked into an overwhelming room full of racks of dresses walk out poised with her head up a little higher and with a much bigger smile on her face.

After a ten minute break where I chugged a bottle of water and ate a piece of bread with baba ganoush plus a few cubes of cheese (bless picked over volunteer food) I was off to meet my next girl. She came with her mother and younger sister. Her mother reminded me a lot of my own: meddling and overprotective. I instantly liked my girl all the more. Her mother swiftly found her a floor length strapless corseted mahogany brown gown with delicate beading within three minutes. It was the first dress we tried on and it was the winner. I guess mother does know best.

I found out that after graduation she was hoping to move out to go to school (truly a girl after my own heart) for sociology and drama. You can't judge these girls just because they come from a different background than you do. They have dreams and goals; they work hard and want the same things we all want (and also to get away from their crazy mothers).

While my client was in the make-up chair, I had some time to bond with her younger sister. She and I are both bratty younger sisters, both excel at math and science and both played (or are playing) sports with the boys at that age. But she had this inherent confidence that I never had at the age of thirteen. I told her that I really wanted to see her in four years when it was her turn to be a Corsage girl. And I meant it; because for sure I will be there in four years.

In the end, her mother gave me an enormous hug and the whole family headed for the subway with a Swarovski necklace, dress, shoes, bag and shawl in toe with the Pink! Victoria Secret gift bag that had full sized Estee Lauder products that I can't even afford.

And that might be one of my other favourite thing about the event, and no these girls aren't stupid or live under a rock, but for the most part they aren't "tainted" by labels and designers. Amidst the racks there was Hugo Boss, Emanuel Ungaro, Vera Wang but these girls aren't tag readers they are just girls who want to be beautiful for one night of their lives. And you wouldn't believe the power of stopping a girl in the hallway and telling her that she looks absolutely beautiful.

It was also really wonderful to see notable Toronto fashionites at this event too: Sarah Nicole Prickett (Fashion, Eye Weekly) was sorting dresses in the change rooms, Jessi Cruickshank (The Hills Aftershow) and Anita Clarke (fashion blogger @ I Want, I Got) were both personal shoppers. I apologized to my first client that I wasn't a celebrity.

If my heartwarming personal shopping experience hasn't melted your icy heart, I will say this: you're right, I haven't cured cancer, there are still international conflicts, people still went hungry. But in two one-and-a-half hour interactions with two young women I was able to establish a rapport, build trust and help them feel genuinely happy. What the hell did you do with your Sunday?





Coda: What the hell, it's past midnight now, it's all back to me now: I am glad that there are roadblocks on the expressway to douchedom that I seemed to be zooming down. I'll always be the same girl I always was, and somehow I'm okay with that.