Mia Shulman is a guest writer for Handsome. Mia is an aspiring journalist based out of Toronto. She is known for being in the know.
My friends and I recently had the luck of hearing about an event so absurd, so surreal, so “hip”, we could do nothing but jump at the chance to check it out, even as the invitation warned us of broken glass and advised us to bring headlamps. The event was a mix of art installations and performances by indie bands in an abandoned, partially demolished warehouse, produced by a group of what I can only imagine to be hipsters, artists, musicians and trespassers.
Inside the building, art collided with destruction. It looked as though someone had taken a jackhammer and gone to town. One room showcased drawers, hanging on string from the ceiling with tea lights strewn about. Others merely held piles of debris. The most perplexing showcased a woman seated behind a table with slices of oranges and orange peels and the type of knife you’d find at the scene of a crime. A sign hung with the title “a moment of heart break” leading us all to wonder what had occurred, what was the message, and what did vitamin C have to do with it? Must have been an homage to the men who died on Cartier’s exploration of the St. Lawrence.
We walked through the building, up a grand staircase and into room after room, filled with scenesters of all ages, wearing the veritable uniform of skinny jeans, oversized tee shirts, sweater vests, and quirky hats. Spectators came in hundreds, most with beers in hand, but it was all very civilized. We walked about in bewilderment, sharing the excitement of unearthing something so peculiar and cool, and revelling in the satisfaction of having a story tell the following week.
People began to gather in the largest room of the building for the bands that were set to perform. Just as anticipation was mounting for the show to begin, word started circulating that the police had arrived, and no, it wasn’t a surprise reunion, it was Toronto’s finest, here to rain on the parade. Surprisingly, all was calm and the hipsters made their way out, single file, with a short-lived “fuck the cops” chant. We left the building, meandering for a few minutes to take it all in; the absurdity of the evening, the view of Toronto’s night sky, and the police beating some hooligan, resisting arrest in the name of art, or beer, or god knows what. As we made our way back to our car, we passed a group of kids who’d got word of the party a little too late. “Was it any good?” they asked, hoping to be reassured they hadn’t missed out. Without a moment’s hesitation, I smugly replied “Yeah, it was fucking awesome”. And it was.
- Mia Shulman
- On their way out, the children whispered “fuck tha police”
