Photo credit: Jeffrey Chan

My Mom had never been to a fashion show, so when I was invited to Mikhael Kale‘s Autumn/Winter 2013 presentation at the Artscape Wychwood Barns, I asked her to be my guest.

“Great! But I have nothing to wear,” she lamented. She continued this theme when we arrived at the venue. I pointed out the socialites and bloggers I recognized as they came in. Even though Fashion Week was long over, the glitterati that evening dressed to the nines.  

“I tell you what–I need to get some nicer shoes,” she said.

The Wychwood Barns, built as a streetcar maintenance facility in 1913, is a perfect setting for a runway show. The atrium is high ceilinged and long, stretching the length of the building and ending with a garage-style glass door.

Just before the show started, a beautiful man sat down next to us. Naturally, Mom made friends with him.  It turned out he was an actor and model with the Plutino Group.

“I thought I’d come out,” he said, “partly because I live in the neighbourhood.”

“I live in the neighbourhood too!” my Mom said.

“Are you in the industry?” he asked.

“No, I’m here with my son,” she said proudly. The lights dimmed and the music started. “I’ll take your cues on when to clap,” she whispered to me.

The glass door at the back of the building lifted like the door of a spaceship. Models entered after crossing the street outside. (Some of their noses were red from the chilly evening air.) We may have been at St. Clair and Christie, a stone’s throw from the Starbucks I used to work at, but as soon as the models came down the runway we were transported to another planet. The first ones looked like intergalactic Goth aliens in torn black bodysuits, lace and cashmere jackets, and long trailing scarves. But what really made the models look not of this world were the shoes–black four-inch high heeled boots. I watched with alarm as a model’s trailing scarf almost got caught under the spiky heel.

“One of them is going to fall,” I whispered to Mom. Immediately, I regretted my lack of faith.

“Maybe they’re not as difficult to walk in as they look.”

“They are just as difficult to walk in as they look.”

Kale moved the peplum up to just above the waist, creating a corset effect and providing volume to dramatic black sequined Morticia Addams-ready gowns. Knitted separates in sky blue, poison green, and teal left the skin above the belly button and below the breast exposed, recreating the 1940’s midriff from old movies.

The last looks combined the futuristic cuts of Star Trek uniforms with coral and burnt orange lace. A pink floral and beaded three-tiered dress looked like a deconstructed prom gown. The finale, worn by a model with long red hair and a strong resemblance to Florence Welch, featured wool knitted to appear like bits of string. When they shifted, the under bedding of crystals sparkled in the light.

“Don’t the models all come out once more?” my Mom asked.

“Yeah, I think it’s just taking a little time because of the length of the runway and the shoes.”

When the models walked down the runway for the last time, the applause was enthusiastic. That’s when it happened. With their backs to us, almost off the runway and out of the building, one of the models tripped and fell. There was a dramatic gasp from the audience as someone raced over to help her up. As she rose and continued walking, we clapped in support.

“It had to happen at the very end,” I whispered. “Poor dear.”

Despite the fall, the feeling afterwards was ebullient as I waited to interview Kale. There were actually two tall, red-haired Florence Welch-looking models, and lots of people wanted photos of the not-super-tall designer nuzzled between the two of them. In the change room, Kale sang the models’ praises, saying that, in dress rehearsals, they all had been confident and comfortable in the shoes.

“It’s just the nerves of actually doing the show,” he explained.

As if to prove his point, a friend of his snuck into the room and tried on the heels. At least he found them easy to walk in.

“Was this always what you wanted to do?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” Kale said. “I don’t tell many people that. I think that sometimes it’s a bit cheesy to say like, ‘I always knew!’ But I grew up with l five girls–my mother, my aunt, my sisters…there were always girls getting dressed in the house. So I guess that’s where it started.”

Kale has been a talent to watch since getting into the prestigious Central Saint Martins College in London where John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, and Stella McCartney all studied. But the experience wasn’t everything he wanted it to be.

“You don’t learn how to sew there. That was my big disappointment. You just draw all day.”

“Do they expect you to know how to sew already?”

“No. It’s that you’re a designer; you’re not expected to know that. You hire a team. They say that if you know how to sew it limits you.”

“That’s kind of like saying a poet shouldn’t know how to construct a sentence.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Kale bravely left Saint Martins and went to Italy, where he got an internship with Dsquared. In the evenings, he studied with a 75-year-old Italian woman who worked for Armani Prive. She taught him how to hand sew. It was the basic skills that he had been dying for.

Coming back to Canada, the plan was to stop in Toronto briefly en route to New York where he always dreamt he’d end up. But the designer has had one of those careers where, at the most fortuitous moments, the right person recognizes his talent and hard work. He created a small capsule collection and on a lark showed it to Holt Renfrew. They picked it up.

“It didn’t sell very well,” he admitted. “I was a brand new designer, but the fact that they believed in me was incredible.” From there, Kale developed relationships with influential clients on a one by one basis. (He explained that his decision not to show during World MasterCard Fashion Week stemmed from the fact that a lot of his dedicated clients were busy during their children’s March break.)

After he listed the financial difficulties of starting your own brand, I asked him why he thinks he’s been successful.

“I put my all into what I do. And there’s no ego. I think the most important thing is to work hard and have an open mind, because it’s about something bigger. It’s really about the women. I’m not making clothes for me.”

“One last question,” I said, pointing to his scalp. His head is painted a dark colour mimicking a buzz cut. “Is that dye?”

“Yeah, it’s a dye. My mother would kill me if I tattooed my head. Italian Mothers do not play around. I have no tattoos, no piercings…”

“Was your mother here tonight?”

“No. I didn’t invite her. My mother’s a little bit older. It’s difficult for her to get places. And she’s just about to leave for Europe.”

I came out from the dressing room and found my mother waiting for me. She had collected our stuff on one of the see-through plastic chairs as the tech crew packed up the lighting.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“It went well,” I said. She handed me my bag. It felt much heavier than I remembered. As we exited the Wychwood Barns, I peaked inside.

“Mom, why are there four Mikhael Kale bottles of water in here?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to just leave them on the chairs.” 

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Max Mosher writes about style for Toronto Standard. You can follow him on Twitter at @max_mosher_. 

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