Jan 4, 2010

Opera or Fashion faux-pas ain't swagg.

He is part of a few classy man in Montreal, well I’m not really sure. I don’t see him often, which probably helps a lot, but as far as I remember, he is everything a  modern man should look like: well-groomed, clean-cut and confident. Unfortunately – and strictly from a physical point of view, he is also a former boyfriend. I saw him the other day at The First held at the nightclub Opera. After two too brief hello kisses on my cheeks, he wished me a very brief “Happy New Year” and I replied more briefly “Thanks, you too” as I was waiting for my first Cognac-cranberry of the night, while analyzing his swagg. Unique walk apparently not mastered by all.

Last year, the first edition of the event at I-Nightclub was promising. Also, my always-ready-to-go girl, as well as a promoter of many hot parties in Montreal, recently told me with great fury “It’s going to be biiiiiggerrrrr”. She actually always says that, because as a promoter, she, of course, has to be both very excited and extremely fascinating to give the impression it will be the greatest night ever. And she apparently does it well because we end up being partners in crime for the second edition at Opera this year, even if I am usually not a big fanatic of this club. Well, on one side, the club is huge with impressive high ceilings, white cream walls color changing at the discretion of the blue lights, great bars with attractive bottles and cozy VIPs booths. Plus, the multiple curtains and crystal balls are the must for this sensual ambiance. Opera is indeed an elegant and hot mix between Ibiza’s club and Miami’s. Contrariwise, prepubescent girls with fake boobs dancing on pure techno music with thirty-something bodybuilder men, orange tanned, tribal tattooed, and tighten in a glittering extra-small t-shirt, with a bottle of gel on their fauxhawk are simply not my cup of tea.

Anyway, it’s a new year and we are swinging our bodies to the music of amazing DJs, in an incredibly crowded Opera that suddenly seems to be a tiny sardine box. The highlight of the event is surely the fact that despite an extreme traffic (the tickets were almost sold out at least two weeks before), the promoters remain cordial  with an extra Colgate smile for every lady. As the sexy bartender looks quite at ease serving a dozen of drinks at once, in her mini skirt and three-quarter of her breasts out of her bustier - I guess she already knows that there are some concessions to make in business! Plus, in order to go to the bathroom, I naturally learn to squeeze myself between preselected h-o-t bodies. "Oh sorry, I didn't mean to fall into your  muscular arms! (...) Oops I did it again!" The flat of the night is this drunken buffoon who has the audacity to ask me if I love women. Ok, I admit that I am constantly dredged by girls and never clearly reject their freaky proposals. Except that my brain is right now swimming into the damn Cognac, and needless to say the thoughts of my personal sex life are too drowning in the Cranberrian Ocean to formulate a clear and sensible answer. So I merrily inform the dude that my name is Tiffanie and by the way “This is none of your business”. “Ah! I knew you were lesbian! I could tell by your style” slurs the damn fool.

Right, it’s the style and not the clothes that makes somebody, but observing this guy makes me seriously question his definition of S-T-Y-L-E. Wearing pointy white shoes with a black suit not fitted at all, probably borrowed from his daddy who obviously has way more fat than this little earthworm, is not exactly the right choice to achieve the status of gentleman. No need to ask if his mummy had checked his knot before he left the house, because the tie hanging awkwardly on his dick tells me all! Plus, he and his friend make an interesting couple à la black pulp fiction. Of course, he also rocks pointyyy shoes, but the best part is the hair brushing on the top of a too short all pink suit showing off his black socks . For God's sake, they fortunately didn't dress like the fatty guy afar, who openly doesn't give a fuck about the dress code, and dares to wear a way too baggy jean with a white t-shirt printed of cannabis herb and white sneakers, for a perfect late-90s look. Oh jeez, in the midst of a mature and stylish crowd, they were absolutely lovely!


*The First is happening every first of January and organized by Cleofa Promotion, Mylk &amp Sugar Ent and Cartel Ent amongst other teams. This year, the event was held at the unique luxurious nightclub Opera located at the 32th of Ste-Catherine St W at the corner of St-Laurent St. A mature crowd was jamming in a relaxing and distinguished ambiance, helped by Djs Short Cut, Kwite Sane, Platinum D and Eddie Lewis playing resolutely modern urban music all night long.