Power Ball, the vibrant annual fundraiser for The Power Plant Contemporary Art Gallery, is always the society fete that seems to inflame a little outrageousness in the Toronto scene; guests show off parts of their bodies they wouldn’t normally, get unapologetically wasted, and enjoy being extra playful.
Typically, partygoers are met with impressive installations and performance art that inspires conversation or helps to unbutton the crowd. This year, there was a woman gyrating on a motorcycle, an aluminum foil hallway and frosted cakes on display that were begging to be destroyed. But nothing really wowed us; rooms that usually hosted rave-like dancing became half-empty spaces for shallow chatter.
Luckily, what the party lacked in art it made up for in fashion. In this sense, the guests became the art. The best-dressed got their 15 minutes (or seconds) of fame being photographed by the dozens of fashion media in attendance. Some arrived in their best interpretation of Andy Warhol while others wore bright dresses and artful heels.
By the end of the night, one woman dared to bare it all and casually meandered the hallways naked. When I asked her why she chose to forego clothes, she confidently looked at me and smiled, “You know those nights when you have nothing to wear? You look through your closet and nothing works? I had nothing to wear.” Naked lady trumped it all! Always does.
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