Finding Myself in Fashion (28 page)

As I approached my drop-off point, I began to see familiar faces by the side of the road—friends and family who had come out to see me run. My boyfriend, Barry, was there with his sister, Joyce, and her husband, Pat, both wearing jackets emblazoned with the words “Team Beker.” My dear old friend Mark Labelle came out. And perhaps most touchingly, Denny's two sisters and their kids—still family, despite all that heartache long ago—were there, holding signs that read “Go, Auntie Jeanne!” I was overwhelmed with happiness.

The bus dropped me off at my starting point by the side of the road, where I cheerfully posed for photographs with assorted fans all craving a piece of the torch relay's magic. After a couple of minutes of sheer exhilaration, dancing to the strains of “Build Me Up, Buttercup,” which was blaring from a promotional Coca-Cola truck in the convoy, I was escorted to the middle of the road and suddenly surrounded by other runners. I was jumping up and down with excitement! My torch
was ignited, and we all began following a truck with a camera on the back of it, which was beaming my image live on the Internet to the rest of the world. I knew my girls and Penny would be watching together back home in Toronto, my sister would be watching in L.A., and even my dear mum would be sitting at her new computer, transfixed by the technology that allowed her to share this special moment with me. And as I gazed up at that beautiful flame dancing above my head, I saw my whole life in an instant—felt the love and the pride and the passion of my parents and my children, remembered the dreams of my past, and kindled new hopes for my future. The side of the road soon became a blur of red and white and smiles and waves as my heart glowed. For three hundred glorious metres, the little kid in me just couldn't stop smiling as my inner voice shouted, “I love you, Canada!” over and over and over again.

DRESSING UP

FORTY-EIGHT YEARS after our first Ottawa trip together, my mother, at the age of eighty-seven, was invited back for a special Holocaust remembrance ceremony on Parliament Hill. She had been asked to lay a wreath in memory of her own family and the six million other Jews who were annihilated. About fifty Holocaust survivors from Toronto and Montreal were set to participate, and the plan was to bring them to Ottawa for the day by bus. As excited as my mother was about the trip, my sister and I felt that all those hours on a bus would be too tiring for her. I realized that if my mother was going to go to Ottawa, I would have to accompany her there by plane, and it would be best if we spent the night there, since the journey would undoubtedly be exhausting. She was exhilarated by the prospect of not only travelling with me but also making the pilgrimage to our capital city to honour those she had loved and lost.

I mentioned to my friend Mitchel Raphael, the Ottawa society columnist for
Maclean's
magazine, that we were considering making the trip. Immediately, the cogs in his brain started turning. A couple of weeks earlier, Mitchel had reported that the prime minister's wife, Laureen Harper, was a huge fan of
Fashion Television
and had been
following my career closely for years. Mitchel decided to let the personable Mrs. Harper know that I was planning a visit to Ottawa with my mother. Perhaps she would like to meet us for tea? No sooner had he informed us of his plans than we were invited to 24 Sussex Drive for dinner! We were flabbergasted. My mother marvelled at how a girl from a tiny shtetl, who was once forced to run for her life, could ever be invited to such an illustrious place. Armed with perhaps the most prestigious invitation my mother had ever received, she and I made the trek to Ottawa. Like a child, she was thrilled by the view of Parliament Hill outside her hotel room window, and she wondered if she would actually get the chance to meet Stephen Harper himself.

It was the eve of the Holocaust memorial service, and our anticipation mounted as we were picked up at the hotel by Environment Minister John Baird and Jason Kenney, the secretary of state for multiculturalism, who were also invited to dinner. Mitchel was on board as well, toting a huge bouquet of flowers for Mrs. Harper. He was thrilled to be included, having never been invited to 24 Sussex for dinner before. Entering the front gates was a fantasy. But reality set in when the great front door opened and we saw Mrs. Harper standing there, dressed simply in white slacks and a black-and-white top. “Hey! I thought this was going to be a casual dinner!” she quipped, taking in my dramatic Louise Kennedy embroidered coat and chic David Dixon navy crepe dress. My mother had opted for an elegant black silk jacket and skirt. Apparently the prime minister's wife had expected us to show up in jeans.

But although it was merely another cozy home-cooked meal for Laureen Harper, it was for us the height of splendour. Unfortunately, the prime minister had had to fly to Calgary that afternoon, so the super-attractive Mrs. Harper was hosting solo. I had heard it was the prime minister's birthday, so I brought him a whimsical Ferragamo blue silk tie decorated with tiny dragonflies. (Doubt that he's ever worn it, but he did follow up with a lovely thank-you note a couple of weeks later.) As for the lady of the house, she was warmer and more affable than we ever could have imagined. Laureen Harper had grown up on a farm outside of Calgary, and she jokingly kept referring to herself as a mere “farm girl.”
Shortly after we arrived, she began regaling us with tales about Nicolas Sarkozy and Vladimir Putin, joking that now she would have to keep up with the French president's fashionable wife, the former model Carla Bruni.

We could hardly believe we were sitting around a table where such dignitaries had sat before. Yet there, telling her own story, was my diminutive, starry-eyed mother. It was a story I had heard countless times. But to hear the saga relayed at the home of the prime minister was especially powerful. My mother was particularly moved. She had grown so used to hiding her identity as a Jew that it seemed at once frightening and liberating to be discussing her past so openly. “If you live long enough, you get to do everything,” she said.

The next day, in the bright Ottawa sunshine, in front of an impressive audience of government dignitaries and Holocaust survivors and their families, my mother placed a wreath at the base of the war memorial on Parliament Hill. I watched the tears well up in her eyes as the memories of that dark chapter in her life came rushing back. But moments later, we were posing for cameras and meeting the Israeli ambassador, and all the sadness seemed to dissipate. My mother was a survivor, and life in the here and now was remarkably sweet.

At dinner the night before, Laureen Harper and I had bonded as I luxuriated in my own “proud Canadian” moment. I was especially impressed by Mrs. Harper's down-to-earth, candid nature and her curiosity about the fashion world. She admitted that she didn't know much about the subject, and she said she was hardly familiar with any Canadian designers at all. I told her how important I thought it would be for her to start wearing Canadian fashion, and offered to take her on a shopping spree in Toronto and introduce her to a handful of our top designers. She was game, and a couple of months later, we hatched a plan for her to visit Toronto to familiarize herself with some of our best talent.

Mrs. Harper's wee shopping spree had to be kept a secret: She didn't want everybody thinking that she was spending too much on designer duds at a time when the economy was hurting and her husband was implementing so many cutbacks. Of course, I was dying to bring my
cameraman along to capture the excitement of turning the PM's wife on to Canadian designers. What a great story that would have made! But it was obvious that she regarded this type of publicity as inappropriate. So I had to settle for an intimate experience, and I began calling various designers to arrange for a showroom visit.

Toronto's Lida Baday, whom I had been wearing for years, was at the top of my list. She had cultivated a strong following for herself, both at home and in the U.S., with her highly wearable, clean, modern lines and sophisticated styling. The veteran designer Wayne Clarke, often referred to as Canada's “King of Glamour,” was also a must. Wayne, originally from Calgary, is a legend in Canada for his fabulous red-carpet designs. I also wanted to introduce Mrs. Harper to Joeffer Caoc—a solid Toronto designer whose slightly edgy and urbane creations would be perfect for the spirited prime minister's wife. Greta Constantine's Stephen Wong and Kirk Pickersgill were also on my list, for their avant garde but glamorous creations, as was R.U.'s Rosemarie Umetsu, who designs striking and memorable frocks for many Canadian women in the arts. An accessories designer was also in order, so I invited Toronto's Rita Tesolin into the mix as well. I knew her innovative, affordable costume jewellery would be a hit.

Laureen and I had a grand time running around to the different showrooms and meeting with some of the designers. (Unfortunately, Lida and Joeffer were out of town that day.) It was especially fun encouraging the prime minister's wife to try on various looks and listening to her speculate at just what occasion she might wear some of these creations. The petite Mrs. Harper looked smashing in just about everything, and I was delighted to see that despite her insecurities, she tried on items that were initially out of her comfort zone, sometimes with delightful results. She was a great sport, and charmed everyone we met with her honesty and unpretentiousness. “I'm not one of those women who dresses effortlessly,” she said. “I wish I was. I'm very jealous of those women who throw something on and look great. That is definitely not me. By day I'm the fleece-wearing mum, and a few times a year I get to dress up and go out with my husband.” Everyone agreed that Laureen Harper was likely the prime minister's best asset.

In the months that followed, I was thrilled to see Mrs. Harper out and about in some of the outfits she had ordered that day in Toronto. And once America's new first lady, Michelle Obama, started getting attention for some lesser-known American designers, Laureen decided to step up and make a little more noise about her own patriotic foray into the fashion arena. In the summer of 2009, she asked me to help her choose a dress to wear to a fancy dinner she would attend at the G8 Summit in Italy. She was eager to make a Canadian fashion statement, knowing she would be photographed alongside the likes of Michelle Obama and Carla Bruni. “I think both these women are beautiful,” she said, “and great ambassadors for their fashion industries.” And she had come to appreciate just how crucial this sort of attention can be for a designer. (Jason Wu was catapulted into the media spotlight when Michelle Obama started appearing in his creations). I suggested Andy Thê-Anh might be the ideal designer for this outing, so we agreed to meet in Montreal to visit his Peel Street boutique. It was there that Mrs. Harper fell in love with a fab red cocktail dress. As it happened, there was no swank dinner party at the G8 after all, so she was forced to delay her dress's debut until a National Arts Centre gala in Ottawa later that fall. “I love the colour of the dress. Like every other woman, I wear lots of black, so this is a bit out of my comfort zone,” she admitted. She was also taken with the garment's beautiful beaded straps. “That took the stress out of picking jewellery, as I didn't need any,” she said, revealing again her innate practicality.

The biggest kick for me was the email I received from Laureen after the dress's debut. “You've really inspired me to try some new things and step it up,” she wrote. As a proud Canadian, I couldn't have been more pleased. And I'm still amazed and flattered that the wife of Canada's highest official asked
me
to help her dress.

But it's not like Mrs. Harper's brush with high style heralded a grand fashionista-in-the-making. “Most Canadians wouldn't know me if they ran into me on a sidewalk,” she explained with disarming humility. “I'm very rarely recognized, and I like that. The wife of the prime minister has no official role or title. I'm usually just another mum running around after kids. But once in a while, I get to go to an event and dress up, and I find that's lots of fun.” It seemed that “dressing up”
was something Laureen Harper was beginning to enjoy more and more, even though she continued to harbour a few insecurities, especially when it came to the challenge of “keeping up” with her powerful hubby. “My husband walks very fast, and I have to run after him in three- or four-inch heels,” she told me. “I have to remind him ahead of time to slow down. It isn't very ladylike to yell at him to slow down,” she added.

I have often wondered about the women behind some of the world's most powerful men and just how much they inspire, enable, cajole, and cheer them on. My friendship with Laureen Harper has been a revelation to me—but I suppose I'm most impressed with her accessibility and characteristically Canadian lack of pretension. Ultimately, she has helped remind me what this country is all about, and why I'm so lucky to call Canada home.

ROUND AGAIN

TRUTH BE TOLD, I'm not too preoccupied with thoughts that life is passing me by, that I'll never achieve certain goals or get the chance to recapture a certain happiness. By now, you probably understand why I have so much faith, and why I'm so tenacious. I'm living proof that dreams come true if you focus and don't let go. Happily, as I write this book, I'm still on a roll in this magical life of mine. In addition to my career as a broadcaster and journalist, I'm getting a second chance to create a line of stylish pieces for women who love fashion and are looking for an easy and affordable way to put their wardrobes together. Since September 2010, “EDIT by Jeanne Beker” has been available exclusively at The Bay department stores across Canada. And it all came about in a most serendipitous way.

In the spring of 2008, I was invited to a luncheon at Jamie Kennedy's restaurant at the Gardiner Museum in Toronto. It was hosted by a Montreal company, Levy Canada, which I knew as a producer of quality sportswear. Levy Canada produces the outerwear for such well-known international brands as Liz Claiborne, Betsey Johnson, Perry Ellis, Nautica, and Laundry. Although I wasn't familiar with anybody at Levy Canada, I was still editing
FQ
magazine at the time and felt this
might be a good relationship to cultivate. After all, whenever a Canadian company is behind an international brand … well, that's impressive. But I also had another motive in mind. My dear old pal Bonnie Brooks—who was once editor-in-chief of
Flare
magazine and subsequently moved to Hong Kong, where she ran the hugely successful Lane Crawford department stores, becoming one of the industry's most respected retailers—was coming back to Toronto to become president and CEO of The Bay. Bonnie and I were eager to work together somehow. It seemed like a no-brainer for me to come up with a fabulous new clothing line for the stores, but Bonnie had informed me that she wasn't doing any “private labels” for the time being, and that if I wanted to sell them a clothing line, I would have to find a manufacturer and pitch her the collection. So that was all at the back of my mind as I went off to the Levy Canada luncheon.