Missing a friend is like giving up dairy. Your life goes on, it’s just way less…delicious. Over the last 4 months my life has been less delicious without my friend Nicole, the other half of Society Finch. Nic has been in LA, and I, Toronto. It’s been an unfortunately long separation, but last night we met in Toronto for a much-needed dinner date, pairing long overdue catching up with wine, laughter and sunshine! Sounds like a good 80’s album, I know. After dinner we moved on to ‘tipsy shopping’ on Queen St. West. Unfortunately most of the shops were closed, but we managed to wander into an edgy little boutique filled with ironic hipster clothing, at ironic hipster prices. (Shocking.)
How is a half top 400 dollars? It’s only HALF a top!’
Our too cool for school sales girl, recommended we visit the “garage sale in the back room”. Usually when offered a “back room” experience, I’d suggest checking the ‘No, thank you‘ box, but we were feeling wild and inspired! Or mildly intoxicated… it’s a fine line. The back room consisted of everything that ironic hipsters weren’t willing to wear, which is impressive because hipsters will pretty much wear anything…. ironically.
I’ll see a person walking the street in gold leggings, a Spider-Man T-shirt, huge glasses and a waxed mustache, and I honestly don’t know if they’re a hipster or mentally unwell. It’s a tough call sometimes.
I would love to be so confident in my coolness that I could leave the house in 80’s running shorts, a Fonz t-shirt and a fur coat, and feel that if you laughed at what I’m wearing, you’re the asshole.
Hipsters are emotionally untouchable! They are rubber and we are glue. Whatever we say bounces off them and sticks to us.
In the back room of this shop, Nic and I found hoodie dresses, ruffled leather mini shorts, and an off-the-shoulder t-shirt that said “peach cobbler.” We stood in that back room and laughed our asses off . We also sneaked pictures of said clothes while the sales girl walked in and out of the room.
I’m sure she thought we were stealing. Not bloody likely! In the end, we decided that if we HAD to buy something, we’d choose a couple of navy skull bikinis. Only because there was two of them so we could look like jackasses together.
The irony continued as we moved further west to the Drake Hotel, for a cocktail. The Drake is like The Mothership for hipsters. One of our bartenders was inked from head to toe, with mostly comedically ironic tattoos. We were big fans. Lionel Richie on his calf. Eyes wearing glasses on his forearm, so when he sleeps with his arm over his eyes he looks awake. And our favorite, a small tattoo on his collarbone that simply said, “Tough Crowd.” Thankfully he never had to pull aside his shirt collar, exposing his true feelings regarding our company, because after cocktails and a mystery shot, we were ironically crowd-pleasing.