The ants came marching two by two hoorah – HOORAH!

By Kortney Shapiro

Salivating fashion-obsessed Torontonians, be they journalists, hotfooted tastemakers, too-cool editors, bitching bloggers or Can-couture designers, knew where they had to be when the clock struck six on Wednesday, July 22-at Holts. Why? To ogle Scott Schuman, aka The Sartorialist, world leader in street style. One could almost hear the thoughts of partygoers: “Damn. I should have worn THAT instead.” “Shit! Is she wearing the same Balmain’s as me?” “He better f-ing snap my photo or I’m going to spontaneously combust in my Herve Leger.”

We were so consumed with the snap attack we could hardly hear the soft catering staff whispering in our well-coiffed direction, “Please, do try the smoked salmon and crème fresh puffs.” Sorry, must drink more of the free vino, so I have the courage to surreptitiously pose in Monsieur Sartorialist’s path.

The crowd was composed of the usual fashion darlings – Toronto’s own Greta Constantine, the folks from Elle and Fashion Magazine and of course the onslaught of blogmania eyeballing the scene for snarky comebacks and try-hards. Appropriately, the backdrop for the evening was Holt Renfrew’s menswear department. It was as stylishly subdued as it was elegant.

Q&A began with a quip at the airlines for losing Schuman’s luggage (allegedly containing a number of Burberry trench coats), but this did not seem to faze the Sart in the least. The poise is easy to understand: The Sartorialist site receives more than 100,000 hits per day (yes), and Schuman has also recently come out with his first book, published by Penguin, containing 500 pages of his photographs, along with a small amount of writing (it’s all about images and his few yet virtuoso words, as always).

When I asked the man behind the lens why the cover image of his book had been chosen, he was eager to explain. “Her name is Julie. She walks with a limp. In no way is she perfect,” he began. “Her physical challenges are present…and yet…” he pauses, and perhaps it was the wine, the flashing of many a Canon, or the smell of too much cologne, but Schuman’s sincerity melted through the microphone as candid as ever. “And yet, she has figured out how to make those physical challenges work for her. You would never have known that from looking at the photograph.” So who started the trend of imperfect beauty – Schuman or American Apparel? FASHIONISTAS DEBATE! (or was it Calvin Klein?)

Following his speech, Schuman was surrounded by a barrage of near-violent fans pushing their way to mutter mundanities: “Oh my gosh Mr. Schuman, can I just say how much I love your blog!?” To which he coolly replied, “Well…I don’t really consider myself a blogger…but thank you.” (Editor’s note: neither do we….let’s be honest, it’s an ugly word.) As I stood by, laughing to myself, I could see the anger in the eyes of many, who were perhaps kicking themselves silently for spending their paychecks on overstated Prada clutches and Artioli loafers, instead of making rent. A cheekier question asked was what Schuman’s current prized possessions were, and in true Sartorialist fashion, his answer was cool and simple: reading glasses and a pair of PJs.

As I absorbed the cornucopia of style, I was surprised at how much beige, black, and grey filled the room. I myself chose to go the minimalist route, dressed in a Marc Jacobs liquid-black blazer and black dress, with a vintage faux fur vest. I noticed only a handful of try-hards; a tragic case of death-by-Pucci was duly noted, along with too much bad red lipstick (ladies, you must find the right shade for your skin tone!) as well as countless ill-fitting boat shoes. From the Katy Perry look-alike to Barbie on crack, the assortment of style was enough to make one dizzy, and fast. I found solace, however, in the gentleman decked out in the entire Hermes Spring 09’ collection, as well as the countless haute shoes.

The Sartorialist himself was wearing his signature look; a fine-crafted pinstripe suit, hitting just above his ankles, accompanied by an unbuttoned white shirt. Among the guests, Tommy Ton of JakandJil.com, (one of the blogs featured alongside The Sart in Holt Renfrew’s current window displays) told me of his plans for the immediate future: “Traveling.” (This is part of why we love The Sartorialist – it acts as far more of an incentive to pick up and fly to Berlin or Barcelona than the wipey boards at Flight Centre.)

As Tommy Ton made his way to bid farewell to The Sartorialist, Schuman embraced him in a hug of blogger-lovin’ proportions. Subsequent to receiving my own parting bear hug from Schuman, I made my way towards the exit. While embracing me adieu, he whispered in my ear: “Kortney with a K, my middle name is Jimmy,” (it isn’t), followed by mentioning a great little café he enjoys in Florence. I then made my way through the throngs of Sartorializing habitués, to find myself once again on Bloor Street. The sun had not yet set, and the smell of fabulous still lingered in the heavy summer air. After an evening of bitch-eyes and too much free booze, one can go home smiling, still hoping, one day, to be stopped by Mr. Schuman himself on the Champs-Élysées and end up being the subject of commentary to a viewership of one hundred thousand. Until then…I suggest living vicariously, by keeping the Sart as your homepage.