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21 Jun 2011

Fashion Victim: MMVA Best and Worst.

Fashion Victim: MMVA Best and Worst.


I knew I was in for a fun-filled night the first time I got a glimpse at side-boob. It did not come from Lady Gaga—though I can think of countless girls who are aiming to ape that bedazzled and be-spiked deep vee—but from the infinitesimally pint-sized fille d’amoure of similarly pint-sized Canadian heart-throb, the Biebs.

It kind of felt like catching my younger sister out in my favourite, Parkdale-combing, slutwalk outfit, with her sleazeball boyfriend totally trying to cop a feel. And it made me uncomfortable.

Unfortunately for ‘Canadian Music,’ (woe is it to everything good that’s happening musically at the moment if the MMVAs are to be representative of you!) this was just the first of many crimes against sartorial discretion. Let’s start from the bottom.

It seems that no matter how loudly I scream, the sick, sad world of cross-seasonal cross-ups continues to persist. While Biebs was trying to get an eyeful, I was trying to look away, as S.Go apparently lost the will to decide between white gogo booties and silver and gold sparkly, strappy disasters. What started out with an innocent one-shouldered dress turned into a horrific scroll-down fug as I realized that this girl will never outlive her fashion crimes.

Nevertheless, the show must go on. While we were (luckily) spared the tormet of gladiators and grecian sandals, the crimes against thighs continued. Ignoring Gaga’s “archived Versace” Lichtenstein-esque prize-collecting get-up, one of our own native-borne dared to brave Queen St’s red carpet in a dress shorn from a rooster.

The worst thing that managed to top my worst-of-the-worst-of-the-worst was the fact that Simple Plan (remember Simple Plan? Apparently they’re still a band and still making pop punk tunes for junior high dances) is so committed to outdoing themselves they tried to convince everyone they were important by showing up in this:

It’s so hideous I can’t even look at it.

A few general pointers can be gleaned from the events of the previous evening. If you’re a girl attending a party in Toronto—and are not S.Go or Dev and sporting a, hold on, wtf, white vest?—thou shalt abide by the following commandments:

  • Thou shalt wear something white, sparkly, and thigh-grazing
  • Failing that, thou shalt don all thy leather and pleather apparel
  • If thou wearest not white nor leather, thou takest part in superfluous frills and ruffles
  • If thou dost none of these, by decree, thou must grow thy pits and pubes a lovely mermaid hue

It’s so infrequently that my final thoughts regarding an evening of fashion exhibitionism find in favour of menswear. All around (mostly—Simple Plan are obviously excluded from any reckoning), the dudes showed up cleaned up: dapper suits, crisp lines, able to walk normally. Whether it was the coordinated three-pieces of Far East Movement, the slim-cut look of puke-worthy crooner Bruno Mars, or Beiber’s subtle homage to a television show that stopped airing before most of him and his fans were natal, suits were the name of the game. And I’m not complaining. (Mostly.)

The few douchebags that showed up in jeans and wrinkled button-downs deserve as little attention that we pay to the (unnattractive) Abercrombie adolescents on the subway. As in, maybe I’ll take a look in five years (when you’re close enough to legal to be able to operate an iron) but in the meantime, I’ll put up with the fact you exist without acknowledging your actual existence. To wit, Ian Somerhalder (who will perpetually, in my mind, be a poor-mans Chace Crawford).

All in all, this years MMVAs were a disappointing testament to how little Americans care about Canadians. Underneath all the pandering (“We’re going on a Canadian tour! We love Canada! Toronto is amazing!), the MMVAs this year appeared to be a warm-up run for the rest of the populist music and video awards that will come this summer. I don’t know about you, but I feel ripped off a little. No meat dress, no flaming Madonna bra, just proof that bush is back, in a mean, mean way.
At least we didn’t get Miley on a stripper pole again.

About the Author


i read a lot of books. you probably shouldn't take me shopping. i tweet useless observations @_arriving.



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