Recently, I was fortunate to be invited to the annual Friends of We Care gala.
The event, held in the International Convention Centre near Pearson Airport, was co-hosted by Kevin Frankish of Breakfast TV fame and Michael “Pinball” Clemons, Toronto’s most famous Argonauts player and two-time coach. Over 900 Friends of We Care supporters attended this lavish and wild event. The theme was the Kentucky Derby, aka CAREtucky Derby.
Friends of We Care is a vast network of supporters, drawn from all facets of the foodservices industry: from suppliers and manufacturers to wholesalers, distributors, franchise owners, commercial service providers, and everyone in between. Friends of We Care is a wonderful charitable organization that raises funds for children who are physically and mentally challenged. Their goal is to send these children to Easter Seals summer camps across Canada, specifically designed to provide them with a very happy, rewarding, and transformational experience.
Many of the gala’s female participants were dressed in brightly coloured gowns and dresses, and were sporting wild and outlandish hats consistent with the horse-racing theme.
I humbly escorted the Silver Fox, pictured below, who wore a stunning, off-the-shoulder red dress, with a revealing split up one leg. (The girl’s got great gams.)
Note the Silver Fox tripping the light fantastic with Pinball.
Donald Trump has just experienced his most super of Super Tuesdays. On Tuesday night, he crushed his opponents — the smarmy Cruz and the inept Kasich — by overwhelming margins in Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Connecticut and Rhode Island.
To date Trump has secured 988 pledged delegates. His magic number now is 249. (He needs 1237 delegates to win the Republican nomination).
Trump is expected to win handily in such upcoming states as New Jersey, West Virginia and California.
The very liberal CNN, clearly no supporter of Trump, believes he will lock up the nomination in California, well before the GOP convention.
In other words, there will be no contested GOP convention, where the establishment Republican forces, in cahoots with the once reviled Cruz, would have used sleazy back room tricks to frustrate the democratic wishes of millions of primary voters.
Most establishment political pundits at the Washington Post, New York Times, the Weekly Standard, CNN and Fox News have been saying ad nauseam that Trump will lose out to Cruz or some other establishment figure in a contested convention.
So what has changed in the last two weeks?
Well, Trump got his mojo back. He killed his opponents last Tuesday in his home state of New York, winning by healthy majorities throughout the state.
Then Trump took on the ridiculous attempt by Cruz and Kasich to gang up against him. Trump publicly lambasted his opponents for “colluding” together, a word that implies illegality. This was a typically over the top Trumpian attack, but effective nonetheless.
Trump also pointed out that such coalitions are terrible ideas both politically and optically. For liberal-oriented Kasich to jump in bed with extremely right wing Cruz, Trump insisted, demonstrates that neither man has any principles.
When reporters questioned Kasich about the coalition, Kasich tried lamely to pass off this major political development as “no big deal,” and just a way to conserve his resources.
Say what? By telling his liberal supporters in Indiana and in Los Angeles to support the viciously right wing Cruz? Has Kasich gone completely nuts?
Then Kasich backtracked and encouraged his supporters to vote for him in Indiana after all. That will split the anti-Trump vote and definitely ensure a Trump victory in the Hoosier state.
Months ago, my political instincts suggested Trump would take the GOP primaries. Now the hard and cold numbers support this view.
Jackie English is one of Canada’s rare quadruple threats in the entertainment world. She is a brilliant actress, dancer, director (film, theatrical, tv, online) and writer. Jackie’s the one with the glasses..
But don’t let those correct teacher-like glasses fool you. With Jackie, there is definitely more than meets the eye.
I first caught her act as part of the ensemble of Playboy Bunnies, in the very entertaining 2014 Fringe musical, “Hugh and I”, a bio play about the iconic Hugh Hefner, starring Daniel Abrahamson, as seen through the eyes of these women.
In 2015, Jackie was the writer, director and star of another successful Toronto Fringe musical, “Becoming Burlesque”, where Jackie transformed herself from mousy backstage assistant, to a gorgeous and erotic Burlesque diva. See photo on right.
Among her many other accomplishments, Jackie was production manager of a recently filmed full length indie theatrical film. She has written and directed numerous short films. Her most recent film directing gig, was helming
and producing the popular short film, “Duty Calls”, starring the real life husband/ wife team of Sean Cullen and Deb McGrath.
Jackie has also penned a thoroughly engrossing full length screenplay that is beautifully written. Very timely and provocative. I am confident it will be produced, very successful- and Hollywood will definitely be calling to lure Jackie away to the west coast.
Until then, you could catch her act and her fine-feathered Brazilian dance friends, most Saturday nights in the Greater Toronto Area. On that note, check out Barry Manilow’s “At The Copa” musical video.
On Saturday night, I was flying solo. I was about to head to the Four Seasons d/bar when
I noted on Bloor Street, that the local Bloor Street Hot Docs theatre was planning on showing Prince’s iconic
film. The 10pm show was fully sold out, but I had a shot at the later 12:45 am show. So I took it.
Like most Prince fans, I was caught up with the sadness and tragedy of his sudden death and I wanted to share the experience of watching Prince, at his peak, at his most Purpleness, in his well-known film, “Purple Rain”.
With fellow true believers.
You had to be a really hard-core Prince fan to wait in the friggin cold outside the Bloor Street theatre for about one hour to cop one of the 700 seats in that old theatre. I am such a crazy, irrational fan.
So here is my take on the film and the whole scene. Experienced through a purple haze of nostalgia, sadness, and heavy weed, man, that the majority of the fans were smoking and had been smoking prior to the show. One theatregoer, in line, shared with me, “It looks like this whole place is full of people, young and old, “fully ripped”. She then offered me “one toke over the line”. Purely medicinal, I was assured. I declined, but appreciated the offer.
I suddenly realized I was in Justin Trudeau territory. Oy Vay!
The Good: the extreme, unshakeable loyalty to Prince, and love of Prince, the artist, the man and above all, his music- by his fans. I was standing in line for an hour talking to all sorts of Prince fans- aging 60ish rockers, 50ish Italian suburban types having made the long trek down from Woodbridge, hipster college dudes in hoodie, baseball caps and requisite beard, hot yuppie Annex couple, a whipsmart 40 something black woman, Lina and her multi-ethnic friend, Riva.
Lina has been following Prince for years. She had been to multiple concerts. Had most of his records and CDs. She could sing out all his top hits. She said that Prince’s lyrics and music got her through some tough times in high school, in college and in life. Most of my fellow Prince lovers shared those same heartfelt sentiments. She was a true believer as were most fans in the cold that night.
The Better: The penultimate moment of “Purple Rain”, loosely based on Prince’s life, is of course at the end of the film. Prince has gone through all kinds of shite with his family. His father, in the film, a songwriter and pianist, frustrated by his life and his failed dreams, was physically abusive to Prince’s mom and to Prince himself. (In real life Prince’s father, a songwriter and pianist had separated from his own mother at an early age and Prince was shuttled between two homes for years)
Prince, in turn upset by his girlfriend, Apollonia, joining a rival girl group, hits her ( shades of his abusive father) and thoroughly alienates her. Prince also alienates his own band and refuses to consider their own material for the band.
After his father’s attempted suicide, Prince seeks redemption, he adapts his band members’ work. Hence the song Purple Rain, whose lyrics deal astutely and sensitively with his father, Apollonia and his band mates.
See the full lyrics below.
This song and the whole score won the Academy Award for best original score, that year. And rightfully so.
It is powerful. It is moving. It is timeless. And its lyrics resonate. This song became Prince’s signature song in most of his future concerts.
The Ugly: my major beef with the actual film is the writing is boring, predictable and derivative.
Prince was a brilliant composer, singer, musician, and performer, but his screen acting is mediocre and weak.
And Apollonia’s acting is worse. The love and sex scenes between these two are cringe worthy.
The chemistry between them is non-existent. Their love and lust- unbelievable.
Prince was a unique genre-bending and gender-bending phenomenon. More Michael Jackson, then Action Jackson.
His slight 5’2” frame did not lend itself to leading man/romantic/lover status. Perhaps that is just me.
Lina, a die-hard Prince fan, admitted much the same. The music was memorable in the film, “Purple Rain”, but the rest, including Prince’s acting, was lame. She astutely observed the film was produced to promote and support the music.
Bang on.
I don’t mean to purple rain on Prince’s eulogy parade. But Prince should be remembered for his great music and his amazing talent. His actual film career-not so much.
Purple Rain
(written and performed by Prince and his band, Revolution)
I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted to one time to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you
Laughing in the purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
I only wanted to see you
Bathing in the purple rain
I never wanted to be your weekend lover
I only wanted to be some kind of friend
Baby, I could never steal you from another
It’s such a shame our friendship had to end
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
I only wanted to see you
Underneath the purple rain
Honey, I know, I know
I know times are changing
It’s time we all reach out
For something new, that means you too
You say you want a leader
But you can’t seem to make up your mind
I think you better close it
And let me guide you to the purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
If you know what I’m singing about up here
C’mon, raise your hand
I must admit, in my many prior lives, I had never met a woman quite like Kelly Simpson Broadhurst.
I had occasion, as a young parent, with elementary school age kids, and later as a single parent with very challenging teenage young adults, to hang out with many wonderful stay-at- home moms whose children were the centre of their lives. And for the most part, their entire lives. My own mother, was such a mom. May she rest in peace.
As a Bay Street guy, I was fortunate to interact professionally with some very impressive female lawyers, bankers, and consultants who were first and foremost successful careerists. But the role of loving, warm, supportive mother- for them, was just not in the cards. These women could not physically or emotionally make that role a primary priority. No judgment here. But those are the facts. My first wife was in this latter category.
Ms. Broadhurst is that rarest breed of woman (or man for that matter), who, on one hand, is a very warm, loving, supportive, fully committed parent to her four children; ranging in ages from the ages of nine to twenty-one. (there are three daughters and one son. There was a fourth daughter, who tragically died at a very young age).
But on the other hand, Ms. Broadhurst has also impressively developed a very successful home-based marketing business, involved with health, wellness and wealth creation. She has personally recruited, currently supplies and oversees a growing empire of thousands of customers and a sales force of many hundreds of people.
As a single mom, Ms. Broadhurst is the “go-to” parent for her four children, one of whom is studying abroad in the nation of Quebec. ( as a former Anglophone Montrealer, born and raised in La Belle Province, I think I am entitled to the odd Quebec shot)
Kelly’s typical day starts way before sunrise and she goes non-stop until she crashes late at night. Her day is chock full of making breakfasts, lunches and dinners, driving kids to early morning dance/gym classes, parent/teacher meetings, doctors’ appointments, afternoon pick-up and driving children to post-school tutors or classes or appointments or play dates.
Evenings are spent overseeing homework, editing papers, watching films for school and dealing with the emotional roller coasters of pre-teen and teenage angst, worry, frenemies and boyfriend and girlfriend issues.
When not dealing with these multiple day- to- day parent/kid issues, Ms. Broadhurst is otherwise constantly on the phone or online or in face to face meetings- helping people lead better lives by assisting them in becoming healthy and fit and staying healthy and fit.
As Ms. Broadhurst has said to me on many occasions, “She views her job as wanting to put the sizzle back into people’s lives.” Note that Ms. Broadhurst’s customers also include high performance athletes who are looking to increase their strength, endurance and improve on their personal best.
Ms. Broadhurst is one of many key players in a very successful international supply, distribution and marketing company, which develops and supplies a whole range of healthy products for men and women -from the young to the young at heart, as well as the highly competitive athlete. What distinguishes her from many in the health and wellness field is her commitment to her customers and her incredible work ethic.
(Trust me, I can vouch for Ms. Broadhurst’s very hectic schedule. I have tried to arrange a business conference call with her (as we are talking about my advising her on her growing business) and there are very few windows of opportunity in Kelly’s day.
I have also seen Ms. Broadhurst in full- out business mode, dealing with potential customers and salespeople. She has a very honest, sincere way about her. She genuinely cares about helping and assisting people with their lives; whether it be relating to health and wellness matters or wealth creation.
Ms. Broadhurst not only talks the talk, but she walks the walk. She and her whole beautiful family consume on a daily basis the very same healthy products, she promotes. And clearly, the proof is in the protein shake.
Her whole family appears very fit and healthy. So these protein shakes, protein bars and vitamin supplements are clearly working. But in addition, the whole family is clearly very athletic, smart, happy, loving, mutually supportive, ambitious, educationally-oriented and highly motivated. And that is all Kelly Simpson Broadhurst’s doing.
Yes, Virginia. Wonder Woman does exist. And she is alive and well and making a difference in Leaside and throughout the province of Ontario .
The above title is more aspirational than real. And anyway, who wants to become a multi-billionaire overnight?
And lose my “Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish” status. Not me. Not in this lifetime, cowboy!
Note the photo of me with the hot black Lamborghini, is not mine. It belongs to a friend of mine. Though this Lambo perfectly matches my dark hair+dark brown eyes. But this Lambo got me thinking. What if very successful, independent women, wanted to retain hot Uber guys to drive them around in Lambos, Maseratis, Porsches and take these lovely women out to dinner, dancing, shows, luxury hotels and resorts. And basically drive them and take them wherever they want to go. No Questions asked. No Judgment.
Hence I came up with the brilliant idea of merging Uber with the hot dating app Tinder to create: Voila- UberXrated-Tinder. Genius, I know.
My friend from Goldman, Sachs just cut me a cheque for $100 mill for 10% of the action. You know to lease a fleet of fancy sports cars and the services of hot, educated and eligible men for the very discerning and high-powered female clientele. Now, if I could only learn to drive “standard”, I would be golden. Ciao, babe.
The d/bar, comfortably nestled in the new Four Seasons Hotel at Bay/Yorkville, is the “go-to-place” for Toronto’s growing population of male and female Boomers – to engage in casual encounters.
But if you relied solely upon the Toronto liberal media, you would never be aware that such a vibrant and dynamic subculture does actually exist in Toronto, “No Longer The Good”.
Awhile back, Toronto Life magazine was all agog at its discovery of Toronto’s downtown sex-crazed Tinder generation – sex texting, drinking, partying and literally getting it on from nooners to last call at such hotspots as Earls Kitchen & Bar and Drake One Fifty.
Both establishments, located on York Street amid phallically-inspired bank buildings, cater to the downtown 20-early 30-somethings who populate the nearby towers as male and female junior bank/securities analysts, lawyers, accountants and consultants.
The gang at d/bar.
Of course in this breathless Toronto Life article, there was no mention of 50 something Boomers (aged 51-67).
As if they do not exist.
What are they? Chopped liver?
Contrary to popular opinion, Toronto’s aging Boomers have not all retired to die in some sleepy suburban Amica Retirement Home called Aspen Woods or Celestial Gardens. Nor do they spend their nights in their condos or apartments chugging back Metamucil as they stare dimly at CBC’s follically challenged Mansbridge of The National, as he tries to lull them to sleep with liberal platitudes and empty bromides.
Though many of these Boomers are no longer Bay Street or Wall Street masters of the universe, they are still more than masters of their domain.
Many of these Boomers, unencumbered by spouses, children and mortgages, are still working hard and playing hard.
As in the classic film “Casablanca”, where all roads led to Bogart’s “Rick’s Café”, in Toronto – for Toronto Boomers and their friends – all roads still lead to the Four Seasons’ d/bar.
d/bar hangouts.
I have been dropping in at the d/bar on a semi-regular basis. For research, of course. It is a Dirty Martini job, but someone has to do it. As a result, I have become familiar with the regular denizens of d/bar.
Just around the corner from the hotel’s lobby on the main floor, the d/bar displays a certain casual elegance- from the gracious hostess, to the friendly bar tenders manning the long marble bar to the taupe comfy chairs and couches located strategically around the room.
The place, particularly on Thursday evenings, is packed with a good and even natural mix of male and female lawyers, dentists, doctors, real estate agents, business people, publicists, consultants and wheelers/dealers and guests of the hotel. As expected, the men are roughly older (50-65) than the women, who are generally a little younger, 38-50, but not that age inappropriate.
Fred, the “Closer”, and Jerry, the “Dentist”, (actual names withheld to protect the innocent and not so innocent) are your typical d/bar habitués.
Both men in the late 50s, are fit, single, divorced and apparently quite content with the cards life has dealt them.
Fred is a friendly real estate guy, happily unmarried. His three children, all finished university, are independent and working. Woo-hoo! Off the family payroll.
Jerry is a semi-retired dentist, also with grown and independent children.
These two are not your typical Tinder demographic.
Their approach to women at d/bar is more old school. Easy banter and buying of drinks all around.
The only swiping they do, is with their credit or debit cards.
(FYI: Tinder is a dating app, in which men and women, living in close proximity, post photos and brief profiles online, and when two strangers on their smart phones swipe to the right on each other’s profile, an oral contract to Tinder date each other is consummated.)
As Jerry the Dentist confided to me, “d/bar sure beats sitting around alone in your place or at a sports bar with a bunch of strange guys, all staring at the female server’s tight t-shirt.”
Jerry, like the Closer, hangs out at d/bar, mainly for the regular social connections and the chance of meeting a new person or reconnecting with a familiar face. If these encounters lead to dinners, film dates, brunches and casual hook-ups, even better.
At this stage of their lives, they are just happy to let nature takes its course and just go with the flow.
Interestingly, the women at d/bar have more aggressive agenda. Sophia (mid 40s) a single mom from Brampton with two teenage children, regularly hangs out at d/bar in the hopes of meeting her Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now, for a little roll in the hay.
Lillian, Scottish-born from Burlington, is a married woman of two teenagers. Though happily married, she had confided to me of her desire to three way with another woman and a willing male participant. Apparently, she envisioned the male member more a bit player in this fantasy. Hence her nickname, the “Scottish Sappho”.
This quiet and sweet suburban married Burlington mother also confided to me that she fantasized about having rough sex with strange men in the d/bar unisex washroom. And then proceeded to ask what our safe word would be?
The first word that popped in my head was “Ezra” as in Ezra Levant, a notorious conservative right wing provocateur and pundit.
The Scottish Sappho laughed, nervously, then excused herself from the table, muttering into her Neo-Negroni cocktail, that I was really weird. I never saw Sappho again.
Clearly, she was a left wing Trudeau supporter.
Even here at this Boomer haven d/bar cocktails and politics apparently do not mix.
Cassy: Mitch, ever since I left the country, I've been staying home and going out less- glasses of juice and my hair’s a mess… Hanging out with cats I’ve never seen before… But yeah, I will call you on your cell phone – Late night when I need some Denny’s.
Mitch: Oh Cassy, I’ll definitely call you on my cell phone. Late night, when you are alone. Your hair’s a mess. Who cares? You make me quiver. Text your address, cause with Denny’s, I do deliver.
Cassy: Mitch, these days all I do is wonder if you’re bringing over Denny’s for someone else, wonder if you’re rolling up with grandslams for someone else, bringing things I order, getting free birthday pancakes with someone else. Gonna make your hotline bling. I need some onion rings, bring me some onion rings… That’s right I want “The D”. Some Dunkin’ Doughnuts please…
Mitch: Cassy, I only have eyes for thee, there is no place that I’d rather be, than Dunkin my donut under your tree. I’m not slammin’, rammin’ or Grandslammin’. I’m no fool. Only you can make my hotline bling, as I savor your onion ring.
Cassy: I’ma make your hotline bling, but you can’t have my onion ring. I might let you double dip. But that’s next-level IHop shit… Babe, I’m a lady, no need to get crazy, go easy on the gravy, babe go easy, I like my bacon greasy. Start with Moons Over My Hammy, but later on, Grandslam me, Those Cheddar Bacon Tots… Don’t treat me like a THOT. You ain’t like all those other guys, eating everyone’s cheese smothered fries. And I ain’t like all of those other chicks, I want a side of those chicken strips. Don’t need no diamond ring, take me to Crispy Kreme.
Mitch: I ain’t like those other sheets, I like my steak and frites, and you aint like those other dolls, you’re more Holts, than Walmart malls. So I can’t have your onion ring, I bet I can make you sing. Let me double dip you, and cherry top and nut you. I may not be hip and greasy, but I’ll love you, over easy. Put your Moons over My Hammy, and don’t forget to Grandslam me. Oh, I’ll take you to Crispy Kreme, we’ll shoot up sucrose like a dream. Though you can’t eat it any more, you’ll still beg me for S’more.
I was never a big fan of former three term Liberal prime minister Jean Chretien, but I must doff my frayed chapeau to this straight-talking dude. Chretien’s solution to this horribly dysfunctional Cree reserve is to encourage its inhabitants to get the hell out of dodge. Or more appropriately, leave this extremely isolated community on the west coast of James Bay and head for a more metropolitan centre, i.e. the city of Timmins about 500 kilometres south of Attawapiskat.
The implication is that this reserve is done like dinner. No amount of combined federal and provincial support can revive this place. No amount of hard-earned Canadian taxpayers’ money can solve the fundamental problems within this isolated reserve. No amount of bleeding heart provincial and federal liberals beating their breasts can turn this situation around. This reserve is doomed to disease, suicide and death. Period.
As Chretien wisely noted referring to this situation, cutting through the political BS and political correctness, “there is no economic base there for having jobs and so on, and sometimes they have to move, like anybody else”.
Chretien is no “Jean-come-lately” to this file. Back in the day, he was Minister of Indian Affairs and Northern Development from 1968-1974 in the Pierre Trudeau cabinet. While Prime Minister in the mid nineties, his government was faced with its own Attawapiskat-like disaster. It was called the Davis Inlet Innu reserve in Labrador.
Attawapiskat in 2016 is reminiscent of Davis Inlet in 1993 – the same sad and tragic story.
Prior to the relocation of all the 500 Davis Inlet residents, six Innu youths, aged 11-14 were caught on video, attempting suicide by sniffing gasoline fumes. According to the then CBC report, many children, some as young as six months, were neglected by parents too drunk to care. The majority of these children suffered from tuberculosis and skin infections caused by poor hygiene.
95% of the adult population suffered from alcoholism.
In 1993, 25% of the population tried to commit suicide. Of the then 360 children (about 10%) some as young as five years old, were “problem sniffers” of gasoline.
As in the Davis Inlet situation, in the last six weeks in Attawapiskat there have been 39 suicide attempts in a community of 2,000 – including 11 attempted suicides in the last week. I suspect these figures are just the tip of the tragic iceberg.
I suspect the number of residents of this community, like in Davis Inlet, who have attempted suicide is much higher.
Also like in Davis Inlet, the children suffer from poor hygiene. And alcoholism, drug abuse, depression and despair are rampant among both young and old residents.
Predictably, Indian officials like Ontario Regional Chief Isadore Day, point their fingers at the federal and provincial government. Of course, these suicides and these multiple problems are a result of that old “go to” scapegoat: “the residential school” system.
Leftist NOW magazine blames this situation on the “usual suspects” of Canadian colonialism and institutional racism.
Of course none of these politically correct native Indian officials or misguided leftists, point their fingers where the fault clearly lay – the Native Indian elders, the chiefs and the adult natives Indians and parents of these children.
All these so-called leaders and adults should be held accountable for their apparent negligence, their carelessness and for their wrong-headed desire to stay attached to a land and to their traditions of hunting and fishing that cannot sustain this isolated community or provide the bare necessities of life to themselves and certainly not to their children, who prefer taking their lives, than living another day in such deplorable conditions.
If this Attawapiskat reserve was instead an extreme Jewish cult in which its children were attempting suicide, the provincial and federal authorities would be all over this place, removing the children to save their lives, and throwing the cult’s leaders in jail.
But because it is 2016, and native Indians appear untouchable, their children are doomed to die early deaths due to our national liberal political correctness. Shame.
CAFA (Canadian Arts and Fashion Awards) put on its gala awards night at the Royal York last Friday and many of Toronto’s glitterati were present in all their finest and latest designer gowns and threads.
In the OMG, drop dead, jaw-dropping category, the competition was fierce between my two friends Jenna Bitove in a wild blue bird of prey Stephen Caras gown, with an outrageous train that needed its own limo, vs American TV personality Tricia Mitchell, in a sheer, lacy, pinkish, low cut, leaving-nothing-to-the-imagination mermaid gown. Both took my breath away, but I am going with the statuesque Tricia, who kindly accompanied me on the red carpet.
In my next category, the Battle of the Glam Socialites, this was a very close contest between Sylvia Mantella and Suzanne Rogers, both very glamorous and classy in white. But Sylvia won the judges over with her cleavage- baring milky white ensemble, with a slit up the front. I thought Suzanne looked wonderful as well, but I thought she could have doffed her Rosedale reserve and showed a little more originality, daring. And skin. Suzy looked to “Mother of the Bride-ish”, for my taste.
In my third category, suburban MILFS, (Mothers I’d Love to Fashionista), the judges awarded a tie to two absolutely gorgeous women, for their style and natural beauty. In the photo below we have the lovely Julie Armstrong (left), wearing a classic Nicole Miller gown, with her signature scalloped lacy V-neck. If you have it, flaunt it. Then the always charming Claire Salisbury (right), in a black Badgeley Mischka strapless gown, exposing the most beautiful soft shoulders at the gala. Personally, I loved the golden halo thing. Her radiant smile, soft hazel eyes and Sephora lips certainly won over this judge.
Both women- clearly great PR for their Bella boutique “By Tocca”, in Oakville.
Sadly, the judges gave a resounding thumbs down to one of our very own – Kim Cattrall, wearing a black pant suit that Sex and the City Samantha would never have been got dead in. What was she thinking? Hey, the “6” aint New York, but come on, girl, we ain’t Cleveland neither. Hey, Kim, next time bring your “A” game, babe. The outfit was fine, if you were dressing to be a jockey in the Kentucky Derby! Hey Kim, what are you wearing, Hillary Clinton?
Lastly, a shout out to local designers: The boys at Greta Constantine, you rock, fellas!
Kudos on your 2016 CAFA designer award. Shown here with fashion maven, Lisa Tant.
Mitch Wolfe: The Playful Contrarian 