Rubbing Elbows at Escada
When Mike Harris walked into the room, I knew it was time to leave. There's no reason for our paths to ever cross, yet we were both there at the Escada store opening. Having friends in the industry allows me into events I'm not invited to, like this one.
Escada's Canadian flagship store on Bloor Street just finished renovations and threw a party for customers, media, industry types and friends. This large German fashion house was founded in 1976. Vogue magazine kicked off their popularity by devoting an entire issue to the house in 1984.
But until the party I'd never even set foot in Escada. I'd walk by, appraise the window display, give it a failing grade and move on. This time I didn't even look at the windows. A hot male model was opening the door for the patrons. Escada sure knows their customers.
Wealthy people milled around with drinks in hand. I dodged through them and took a quick tour of the cleanly designed, bottom floor. The shimmery elevator shaft, which was covered in little metal tabs, stood out as the most beautiful piece in the store. The changerooms were large and well-lit; the mirrors, impressive and plentiful. In every corner of the space sat comfortable chairs filled by comfortable, if bored, husbands.
I made my way back upstairs where my friend and I grabbed a drink and some munchies...
Eventually we evaluated the clothing. The drinks and munchies were better. Escada's clothing is too mature, safe and expensive. The models were cheerful and we talked briefly with some, giving our condolences to the one in the fur vest.
Mike Harris' arrival was the sign for us to leave. It was disturbing to stand even a few feet away from him. But his presence helped me understand one thing: The Escada customer.
images: Gail McInnes
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