Magazines I Read, and Think You Should Too

Buying magazines is nice. Browsing racks of thick, glossy goodness leaves you with a feeling like you should be in a movie right now because look at me browsing these magazines. Since I am very comfortable with my status as a try-hard poseur, I can confidently say I’ve bought magazines before with little intention to read them, it was just that they looked cool and I knew I would look cool buying them.

It’s a ridiculous thing, this life.

I do, in fact, also read magazines. I love them. I’m a massive book nerd deep in my core, but I love opening a mag and drooling over the editorials and fashion spreads. Even the advertisements are nice to look at (especially if we’re talking Vogue’s September issue. That thing is 40% adds and I live for it.)

One of the best things you can do is find a shop that has an extensive and somewhat odd selection of magazines. Chains are fine and dandy, but my preference goes to places that carry a lot international magazines. Honestly, the fashion spreads in those are just so much cooler. Independent places are key. When I lived in Kingston, I could trust Novel Idea’s small but wickedly awesome options. In Ottawa, it was Mags & Fags’ enormous selection of the hippest magazines you’ve never heard of. Here in Toronto, I’ve yet to find my Shangri-La of mags, but I’m always open to suggestions for good places.


All magazines are fabulous, but some are more fabulous than others. In my time as a magazine aficionado, I’ve come across some mags that are, in my humble opinion, top notch. Here are my recommendations for some groovy reads.

Dazed (Formerly Dazed & Confused)*


Country of Origin: Britain

Dazed magazine is the quintessential cool-kids’ fashion magazine. The website has a lot of content you’ll see from other magazines: current events, cultural news, etc., but the magazine has eye-grabbing covers and interviews with some of the most interesting people in the industry you may or may not have heard of.


Extra points for expertly-styled editorials combining high and low-end fashion, with A+ photographers working their magic.

*Not to be confused with the excellent 1993 film by Richard Linklater.

Dazed’s Website

In Bloom


Country of Origin: Scotland

In Bloom hasn’t been around long. In fact, the quarterly magazine only has three issues out to its name, but let me tell ya. Every issue so far is consistently gorgeous and unique. This is magazine I love purely for the editorials. When I first picked up an issue, I was blown away by the art direction and styling, and how the magazine is able to put such different editorials in the same issue and make it work.


Every single time I go back to flip through an issue, I weep for the fact  that I will probably never style photoshoots as well as the contributors to this magazine can. I am (definitely not patiently) waiting for the next issue.

In Bloom’s Website



Country of Origin: United States of America

Fun fact: whenever I got my hands on a new issue of this magazine, I would immediately pop it off to my former roommate Selena, an industrial design student. Every time, I would burst into her room, flapping the magazine in the air going, “Bruh, you will LOVE.” Kinfolk is the only magazine on this list that isn’t a fashion magazine, or doesn’t regularly publish fashion spreads. I would call it a design and culture magazine for sorting purposes. And it is so fucking good.


It’s stupidly nice and every issue has a vague theme, such as “adrenaline” or “travel”. That should be pretentious but somehow it isn’t. The last winter issue I read had a one-page article on how the ways we carry and move our bodies change in the colder seasons. I liked that piece so much I got genuinely angry that it wasn’t me who wrote it. Super diverse content and wonderfully creative editorials. 10/10.

Kinfolk’s Website

The Gentlewoman


Country of Origin: Britain 

Listen: I love this magazine. I love it so much I had  dream that I worked there and when I woke up and realized it wasn’t true I actually cried. (It’s been determined in this post that I cry all the time.) Editorials, interviews, articles, everything about this magazine is top-shelf. My only complaint about it is biannual releases, but when you physically hold a copy and read it, you’ll understand why. I’m guessing this is a very expensive magazine to make, with different articles printed on different paper, all bound together in the same magazine. I can’t believe I’m talking about the paper, yet here we are.



It’s a thick magazine, filled with some damn good writing. There is advertising, but not as much as you would expect. Profiles cover everyone from actresses to athletes to scientists. There are some badass women interviewed for this magazine. It’s inspiring, beautiful and contains to-die-for fashion editorials. I’m not saying this part of the post is me screaming, “NOTICE ME,” at The Gentlewoman staff, but it pretty much is.

The Gentlewoman’s Website

Wearing Colour (an autobiography)

My hair used to be white. Straight up white. It had nothing to do with genes or premature aging. Oh no. I bleached the crap out of my head for two whole years. I fucking loved that hair. I thought I looked like some kind of alien queen visiting from a far off galaxy. Fear me, humans.




December, 2015. Very sassy.

Two years, however, is a long time to bleach your hair. Anyone who’s done that before will know. You will get breakage, your scalp will be sensitive and you won’t want to do ANYTHING involving heat for fear it will start to fall out. Combine those factors with the expenses. Frankly, I’m pretty crap at doing hair. There was no way I would ever attempt to bleach my head by myself when I can’t even do a decent braid. I went to a professional, and had to pay out of my ass for that.

So, one day, I said fuck it and went back to brown.

While I was still a blonde, I wore black all the time. I still do now, but when I had my platinum hair I thought the contrast with black was so badass. (Sidebar: I stand by that to this day, regardless of that girl in my film class who asked me, “Who’s funeral are you going to?” I’m like, bitch, probably yours.)

I didn’t want to wear white very often because then looking at me would be like staring into the sun. Yellow was out because I would resemble a lightbulb. Generally, all other colours would be totally acceptable, but I was constantly rocking the black. Sometimes variations of grey. Every St. Patrick’s Day and Valentine’s Day it was the same deal. I still don’t own any green. I still don’t own any red or pink.

Now, of course, I have gone through immense growth as a person and own one red dress. And two pink t-shirts. I’m not even being sarcastic, I just went into my wardrobe to confirm those facts.


T-shirt: Ginger G; Shorts: Aritzia

I know, people are going to read this and go, “What’s the big deal? So many people don’t like wearing colour simply because they don’t like it.” Fair enough. Some people might also see this and think, “Why the hell are you so opposed to wearing colour? Give me all the colour.” That’s also very fair.

For a while, I just thought my style thing for a while was going to be monochrome. Even when I went back to brunette, I thought I would keep it white, grey and black always, sometimes with a bit of navy or brown.

I had a weird hangup about it. For me, wearing colour, especially bright primary colours or *gasp* combining colours wouldn’t work in my favour. I didn’t want to look childish, and for some reason, I thought colours would do that. This is the reality of it: my face is hardly mature-looking. I have round cheeks that bulge out when I smile, big eyes and about a million freckles. I thought, I can’t pull off wearing colours without looking like a tall pre-schooler. Obviously, that’s a ridiculous thing to think, but I didn’t know how ridiculous it was until I started wearing colour again.


Top: Aritzia; Denim skirt: Topshop

Now, I actually got out of my way to find colour, especially since it’s summertime. Lord knows I have enough white and black in my wardrobe to pair with it. And the truth is the colours I wear are still pretty conservative in terms of brightness or boldness (probably not a word), but it’s how I style colour. It’s how I wear it. I wouldn’t call this a personal breakthrough or anything, but it’s a small change, a small thing that has expanded my personal style, which is a process I hope never ends.


Top: Urban Outfitters; Skirt: American Apparel

What I Wore: First Day on the Job



On the first day of my internship, I was faced with a dilemma. I needed to look professional, in a I get my work done well and efficiently way, but I also needed to look cool, in a I get invited to a lot of parties kinda way.

I have no idea how successful I was on either of those fronts, because I honestly believe those are two vibes I am just unable to give off.

But let’s move on. I wore black skinny jeans, even thought it’s June, which are great because they’re stretchy and are definitely more appropriate than my ripped-knee blue jeans. My brogues, I thought, were a perfect combination of the professional yet cool vibes I wanted to emit. A little cutout never killed nobody. (Even if it’s on the foot.)


My blouse was chosen mainly for comfort purposes because it gets some nice ventilation, and also because I fucking love the colour. Accessories-wise, I always have a watch on, but I threw on some other simple adornments just to add a little extra to the look.


My internship doesn’t have a strict dress code. I think it’s more of a wear what you want place. That being said, I work with some exceptional cool-looking people, so I need to step my game up.


Sunglasses: Quay Australia – No longer available.

Blouse: Aritzia – No longer available (in that colour.)

Jeans: Topshop

Shoes: Michael Kors – I got them majorly reduced at Little Burgundy, but they’re not available anymore.

Necklace: Etsy

Watch: Daniel Wellington

Rings: Brandy Melville – I can’t find the link for them online., but they should still be available.

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Move On Up

The first place I can remember really wanting to move to was New York City. Chalk it up to a Sex and the City obsession. I still curse Carrie Bradshaw for giving me ill-advised career and apartment fantasies. (A writer can afford that apartment in Manhattan? I weep.)

Next, I became obsessed with British stuff. This coincides nicely with my introduction to One Direction, and my subsequent shameful yet passionate stint as a fangirl. Because of my parents, I grew up with a steady diet of British film and television. I worship at the altar of BBC Drama. When I was 19, I visited London, England with two friends of mine. I had a wonderfully rose-coloured experience where we stayed with my friend’s parents, in their disgustingly beautiful apartment in Sloane Square. Apparently J.K. Rowling lived down the road. So, I didn’t experience the reality of living, or even staying, in London, but I knew after that trip I wanted to live there. I’m not completely oblivious. I know it’s one of the most expensive cities in Europe to reside in. However, it is most disheartening to see articles saying things such as, it is now cheaper to live on a cruise ship than to live in London. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What we can gather from these anecdotes is I’ve always wanted to live in the biggest cities, which also happen to be the most expensive ones. It’s been a long-standing dream to have a sick downtown apartment in [insert big city name here] with my kick-ass job at a fashion magazine. (Boyfriend is negotiable, but hai Tom Hardy.)

I’m holding onto this dream, but I’m not holding my breath. I have a degree in journalism. We are taught disappointment.

Yesterday, though, I took a step towards that vague, probably unattainable dream. I moved to Toronto for an internship.


Behold, the room.

I’m subletting an apartment above a tiny shop that sells interior accessories with two strangers. My room is small and doesn’t have a closet, but it is a room, with a bed, a shower down the hall and a moveable clothing rack. Honestly, there is little else you need, especially at this point.


The move-in went fine because my dad is the king of moving, or rather, he has lots of experience helping his children move into various questionable yet charming apartments in busy areas of town.

Now, it all really begins. The rest of… whatever. The beginning of the rest of my hypothetical career. The potential close to my on-again-off-again relationship with Kingston.

The room is small, and my makeup is in dollar store bins on the floor, but I love it. The street I’m on is never quiet and there are at least six coffee shops within walking distance. It’s beginning to feel like home. I doubt Carrie Bradshaw would be into it, but it’s definitely good enough for me.