BY Cheenee Foster, Sales Representative

During my years as a publicist working in film, fashion and art, I produced one of my most memorable fashion shows at Toronto’s iconic Horseshoe Tavern.

It was not where anyone expected to find a fashion show, which was precisely why I chose it.

The Horseshoe already had history, attitude and a slightly gritty energy that a conventional event space could never have created. I added music, dramatic lighting and probably far too much incense. By the time the show began, the room felt smoky, theatrical and very cool.

The media loved it. The room was electric, and the show became one of my most successful.

People remembered the clothes, but they also remembered how the evening felt.

That has always interested me. The way a place can create a mood. The way the right setting can change how something is seen. The way one unexpected choice can turn an event into a story.

I have always noticed those things.

Perhaps that is why I was so drawn to publicity. It brought together people, image, knowledge, instinct, timing and atmosphere. It was never enough to have something beautiful or interesting in front of you. You had to understand what made it distinctive and then create the right moment for other people to see it.

My work took me into the worlds of film, fashion and art, each with its own rhythm, personalities and particular kind of excitement.

Film festival season was a world unto itself.

My days often began with press releases and media calls in the morning. By afternoon, there was hair and makeup, followed by meetings, screenings, premieres, parties and endless networking. I could easily be working until four in the morning, only to begin again a few hours later.

It was glamorous, exciting and completely exhausting.

You never knew who might appear at the next event, which conversation might lead somewhere or what unexpected moment would become the story everyone was discussing the following day.

There was always energy in the city during festival season. Restaurants were full, hotel lobbies became meeting rooms and every party seemed to lead to another party. Publicists, filmmakers, actors, journalists and producers moved constantly from one place to the next.

Much of the work happened in the moments between the official events.

A brief introduction. A conversation in a crowded room. Knowing when to approach someone and when not to. Recognizing which detail would interest a journalist or which people should be introduced to one another.

Publicity was about far more than sending information to the media.

It was about reading the room.

Fashion required the same kind of awareness.

I was fortunate to be dressed by many talented Canadian designers, but David Dixon was always my favourite.

Fashion Cares was the fundraising event of the year in support of AIDS research. It was glamorous, theatrical and filled with major music stars, designers and personalities. It was one of those evenings when everyone made an effort, and being seen was very much part of the occasion.

For one Fashion Cares event, David gave me two gowns to choose from.

He knew that my mood might change by the time the evening arrived. He also understood that my energy had to suit the clothing for the look to truly work.

It was not simply a question of deciding which gown was more beautiful. The right choice depended on how I felt that evening and which design matched the mood and presence I would bring into the room.

David understood that when everything came together, people noticed.

One year, the Village People performed. During YMCA, some friends decided it would be a wonderful idea to lift me onto the stage with them.

I cannot dance.

Being carried onto a stage in front of one of the most fashionable crowds in the city was not exhilarating. It was terrifying.

I survived, although I am quite certain my performance did not contribute to the fundraising total.

That mixture of glamour, spectacle and complete unpredictability was part of what made Fashion Cares unforgettable.

David understood that my style was elegant and understated. His designs were modern and beautifully restrained, yet the lines, fabric and construction created a show stopping effect.

They never sought attention. They simply got it.

That was what I loved about his work.

Those years deepened my passion for fashion and design. I became fascinated by how a line, fabric or proportion could completely change the way something appeared and felt.

My love of design has always extended beyond fashion. I can become equally absorbed by the curve of a chair, the texture of a fabric, the effect of light or the way a room has evolved naturally over time.

I am drawn to fashion and interiors that feel individual rather than assembled according to a formula. I love the mixture of old and new, elegance combined with something unexpected, and pieces that appear to have been collected throughout a life rather than purchased all at once.

The most interesting spaces, like the most interesting people, reveal themselves gradually.

That understanding also shaped the events I produced.

The clothing was central, but the experience surrounding it mattered just as much. The venue, lighting, music, guests and atmosphere all changed how a collection was received.

The Horseshoe show worked because nothing about it felt expected.

A traditional ballroom might have been elegant, but it would also have been predictable. The Horseshoe gave the fashion edge and character. The venue became part of the publicity before the first model appeared.

I had created an environment that people wanted to enter and a story the media wanted to tell.

Those years were filled with contrasts.

There were gowns, cameras, premieres and beautifully dressed people. There were also early morning press releases, constant calls, last minute changes and nights that seemed to have no end.

The glamour was real, but so was the work behind it.

What stayed with me was the way those years trained me to look.

I learned to notice the energy in a room, the relationship between presentation and personality, and how the right setting could completely change the way something was perceived.

People remembered the incense at the Horseshoe. They remembered the gown that seemed perfectly suited to the evening. They remembered the premiere, the conversation and the feeling that something exciting was happening.

I still notice those things.

And I still believe the most memorable experiences begin in much the same way that the fashion show at the Horseshoe began: with an idea, an unexpected setting and the confidence to do something a little differently.