by Jeanne Beker
FINDING MYSELF
IN FASHION
JEANNE
BEKER
FINDING MYSELF
IN FASHION
VIKING CANADA
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published 2011
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (RRD)
Copyright © Jeanne Beker, 2011
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For Bekky and Joey
“But when it does work, when it all comes together and we have one foot poised to take another step on life’s perilous tightrope … it’s the most magnificent feeling on earth.”
CONTENTS
FINDING MYSELF
Up in the Air
Home and Away
Survival Mode
NEW BEGINNINGS
The Bubble Bursts
My Own Private Paradise
Taking Chances
IN FASHION
Apocalypse Then
On the Edge
Aching for Art
Heart on Sleeve
Glossed Over
Maturation Date
Exotica
AT HOME
Back on Track
The Case of the Missing Moon Boots
Family Vacations
Tennessee Stud
A Mother’s Courage
FAME
Les Girls
The Bathtub Caper
Broken Promises
Heels on the Ground
ENDINGS
Mistress of Illusion
Bittersweet
Designers I Have Loved
Shabby Chic
Saying Goodbye
FAITH
Believing
Getting Over It
Oh, Canada!
Dressing Up
Round Again
Acknowledgments
Index
FINDING
MYSELF
The older I get, the more the old adages of childhood ring true. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, who discovers that her ruby slippers have the power to take her home, I have learned, through my high-flying adventures in fashion over the past two and a half decades, to appreciate my roots and to see the beauty of my own backyard.
UP IN THE AIR
THERE’S A SMALL BLOCK PRINT hanging in my office at work. It’s based on a line drawing I created on my fiftieth birthday, at an artist’s studio in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. The subject is a girl holding an umbrella and gingerly walking a tightrope strung between two trees. I call the image Balancing Act. The girl is me, and the precarious feat pictured is the essence of my personal story.
I pinch myself several times daily, forever amazed that I live, have lived, and still plan on living a most extraordinary life. The fact that much of my career has taken place against the backdrop of one of the most glamorous and creative arenas on the planet is just an added bonus. As much as I adored fashion when I was growing up, I never imagined that I’d wind up being a player in this rarefied world, hobnobbing with famous designers and models, attending international runway shows, reporting on trends and analyzing the sartorial zeitgeist on a multitude of media platforms. I never actually aspired to be a fashion journalist. I was initially hell-bent on having a life in the theatre. But somewhere along the way, I decided that starving in a garret was not an option for me. So slowly and serendipitously, I began carving out a new niche for myself—one that would still allow me to savour grand theatrics and human expression, but on a more practical and potentially lucrative level.
Strange as it may sound, I was a Paris-trained mime artist when I started reporting on the arts for CBC Radio in St. John’s, Newfoundland, in the mid-1970s—an opportunity that materialized thanks to both my own drive and the foresight of a young producer, John Dalton, who saw my potential and gave me my first reporting gig. And because I was ambitious, and adamant about propelling myself to greater heights, I made my way back to Toronto at the end of that decade and launched into the next leg of my journey, TV reporting. I suppose it was my ability to think outside the box, coupled with my unbridled energy, fearlessness, tenacity, and love of people, that got me here. But there was also another important factor in my success: I was determined, no matter what, to lead a balanced life. As much joy and satisfaction as I glean—have always gleaned—from my work, I know that it’s those I cherish, my friends and family, who keep me going. Just as starving in a garret was never an option, loneliness wasn’t either. Of course, many believe that we’re all ultimately alone. And I do spend an inordinate amount of time physically on my own, both when I’m travelling and when I’m writing. But I feel that my loved ones, from my late father and my doting mother to my precious daughters to my best friends, are always with me in spirit— cheering me on, comforting and inspiring me. It’s this deep sense of family, belonging, and unconditional love that grounds me and enables me to get out of bed every day.
Still, despite all this emotional support, I do sometimes engage in pep talks with myself just to keep going. These internal conversations occur in all kinds of places. Some of the more memorable ones have taken place on moving sidewalks in airports around the world. You see, I board planes the way some people board buses. It’s become a wonderfully familiar routine, and I pride myself on the fact that I really do have this travelling thing down pat. There was never any choice, really, since I wanted to operate on an international platform. Hauling my butt around the globe is part and parcel of what I do for a living.
People often ask me how many days a year I spend on the road, and how many kilometres I travel. I have never counted. Each week, each month, each year is different. Opportunities to travel to exotic destinations constantly present themselves, and I happily take advantage of as many as I can. The only certainty is that I will travel to my favourite city, Paris, at least four times a year, for both the ready-to-wear and the couture collections. And I try never to miss the New Y
ork collections. Besides these regular jaunts, my schedule is replete with other assorted trips—some for as little as a day or two, some for up to ten days. Suffice it to say that I pack my bags and board a plane at least a couple of times a month. In spite of all the practice, I do usually forget something banal—like toothpaste, my favourite cosmetic, a certain purse, a particular bra. It’s a bother, but it’s never anything irreplaceable. Why I always manage to do this is a mystery. Maybe I’m secretly intent on leaving a piece of myself behind.
Granted my kids are a lot older now: Bekky is twenty-four, and Joey is twenty-one. But I’ll never forget how those sweet little girls used to run alongside the airport limo as I sat crying quietly in the back seat, pulling away once again for yet another work-related adventure. It still breaks my heart a little bit when I think back to those days. I don’t know how I mustered the strength to leave at all. But I’m thrilled to say that they’ve grown into amazing, independent young women. So of course, while it may never totally dissipate, my guilt about leaving them behind is less intense now. Also, I know how badly I yearned— still yearn—for the kind of inspiration that a city like Paris can bring. Truthfully, though, there’s a big part of me that longs for the simple life, and I often find myself wishing I could just work in the comfort of my own little home office each evening, spinning stories at my own familiar desk and sipping ginger tea late into the night, before disappearing under my cozy duvet with my big dog, Beau, softly snoring at the foot of my bed.
However, I can’t afford to get too sentimental. Fashion is an eternal quest for what’s new, and that has become part of my DNA. That’s why switching into travel mode has become automatic for me. I always manage to gather the required energy, run the appropriate errands, get all my packing done, and make my flights on time. Often, I’m surprised by just how smoothly I sail through it all, relishing that moment when I finally board the plane, settle into my seat with a stash of great magazines or a good book, and hunker down for yet another transatlantic crossing. I figure I’m good at going away because of my ability to detach. It’s as if I stop thinking. Stop feeling. Pump myself up with drive and determination and duty. Got to go! Got to get out there and do this job I’ve worked all my life for! Why? Well, because it’s what I do—what I’ve struggled and fought for, slaved and sacrificed for. Can’t give up now! Not ever. It’s who I am, or at least who I think I am. And as crazy as this lifestyle may be, I’m addicted to it. It’s my drug.
In this modern age, we want it all, and why not? The fact that we often nearly kill ourselves trying is society’s big joke on us all. It’s as though we’ve been told to knock ourselves out, and sometimes that’s exactly what we do. But when it does work, when it all comes together and we have one foot poised to take another step on life’s perilous tightrope, secure in the knowledge that our kids are tucked away all safe and snug, it’s the most magnificent feeling on earth. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything.
I’ve learned a lot about what it takes to get through this high-wire act. Fashion’s trenches have provided me with far more than mere eye candy. This past decade has been especially enlightening. Through all its ups and downs, I’ve learned many lessons: how to heal, how to stand on my own two feet, how to raise my two girls, how to fall in love again, and most important, how to continue dreaming and doing and devouring every last bit of this delectable life.
HOME AND AWAY
I KNOW that I’m blessed. A vast array of incredible opportunities has come my way—from travelling and meeting interesting people to fulfilling countless personal fantasies—and I have never, not for one second, taken any of it for granted. But I also know this about myself: I have never been one to sit back and let life happen. From a young age, I knew that if I wanted to lead not just a good life, or even a great life, but an extraordinary life, I’d have to make things happen for myself. That’s why, when I was sixteen and a totally inexperienced young actress, I put myself on the line and went to an open casting call that a friend had told me about at the CBC.
I don’t know where I got the chutzpah to think that I could compete with the scores of professional actresses who were auditioning for the same role. My performing experience was limited to the drama classes I took when I was twelve years old and a couple of summer camp plays. But somehow, my ambition paid off, and I found myself juggling high school classes and a recurring role in a nationally televised sitcom. Three years later, not content to await discovery in my native land, I rode a Greyhound bus to New York City to enrol at the Herbert Berghof Studio, a prestigious West Village acting school. I found a low-rent apartment on Riverside Drive and revelled in every aspect of my Big Apple existence, studying my craft and befriending a host of colourful characters who were also working to make their dreams come true.
A couple of years later, I was back in Toronto, frustrated with my studies in York University’s theatre department. Determined to go all out for my art, I gathered up all the tips I had made as a cocktail waitress in the summer of 1973 and headed to the City of Light to study with Étienne Decroux, the legendary mime master who had mentored Marcel Marceau. I wanted to perfect a technique, to master the art of illusion on stage, and I was determined to learn from the best. The following year, I came to the realization that while I was devoted to being an artist, what I really craved was security. So I moved back home, enrolled in theatre at York once again, and started plotting what to do next.
An opportunity to move to St. John’s, Newfoundland, presented itself when my boyfriend was offered a fellowship to study at Memorial University. Embarking on a major East Coast adventure with the man I loved struck me as the most proactive thing I could do. So we got married, on September 2, 1975, and moved to sleepy St. John’s the next day. We didn’t know a soul in town, and my new hubby immediately entered his postgraduate studies at MUN’s folklore department, leaving me to fend for myself. I set out to find a job, planning to give mime classes on the side. As the only mime artist in Newfoundland, I miraculously and ironically landed a gig in radio. I had the gall to pitch myself as an arts reporter, and since there was a vital arts scene in St. John’s, but no one reporting on it for radio, I was given the chance to be a full-time writer/performer for CBC’s Radio Noon show. In addition to my reporting duties, I also produced a variety of arts specials for the network. And that was the beginning of my media career.
Three years later, in 1978, my husband was ready to launch into his thesis on urban folklore, going beyond the tales of local fiddlers, fishermen, and sailors to explore the lives of cabbies, strippers, and cocktail waitresses. Now that I had cut my teeth on local radio, I also felt ready for a move back to the big city. So we returned to Toronto, where my husband began working on his thesis, while I, armed with my arsenal of demo tapes, approached every program director at every radio station in the city. A couple of weeks later, 1050 CHUM, the number-one Top 40 AM station, bit. Largely because its program director, J.R. Wood, liked my “young-sounding” voice, I was recruited to be CHUM’s “good news girl,” working out of the station’s gritty little Yonge Street newsroom, booking, producing, writing, recording, and voicing seventeen different ninety-second lifestyle featurettes a week. My eclectic contributions were called “CHUM Reports,” and my regular sign-off—a cocky “I’m Jeanne Beker”—became a calling card for me, getting my name out there in a bold and snappy way.
That same year, CHUM Radio purchased Citytv, a hip downtown cable television station. Almost immediately, the CHUM execs decided to cross-promote their radio personalities on TV. I was chosen to co-host The New Music, a weekly magazine series on City, with a handsome young deejay named J.D. Roberts (better known today as John Roberts, formerly of CNN and now with Fox). The show was groundbreaking and took viewers behind the scenes of the music world, interviewing rock stars in their hotels and dressing rooms, on the road, in studios, and backstage. One Toronto pop critic dubbed J.D. and me “video virgins,” and indeed we hadn’t done any television reporting
before (though I had TV performing experience from my acting days). But most of the musicians we were putting on the show were just as green: this was 1979, pre-MTV, and the art of talking on TV was foreign to most pop stars. We were all flying by the seats of our pants. But the musicians soon began to develop their TV personalities, and so did we, and before long, we flitted between radio and television effortlessly.
Shortly after my stint on The New Music began, my first marriage ended. My husband was offered the chance to return to Memorial University to teach, even before his Ph.D. work had been completed. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse. But for me, the prospect of going back to Newfoundland when my Toronto television career had just started to take off was unthinkable. We had grown apart, and I knew I had to follow this new path of my own. So I stayed behind, eager to embrace all the possibilities that were coming my way.
Around the same time, I began having a relationship with the all-night deejay at CHUM—a charming and personable guy who had the most exquisite blue eyes I had ever seen. His on-air name was Bob Magee, but his real name was Denny O’Neil. We fell madly in love, and six years later, on February 7, 1986, we eloped and got married. A year after that, our first beautiful daughter, Rebecca Leigh—Bekky— was born. And in 1989, we were blessed once again with the birth of Sarah Jo—or Joey.
I was drunk with happiness. My life had blossomed into everything I could ever have hoped for—a gorgeous, loving husband; adorable kids; and a fantastic, creative job. I had learned that if you want exceptional things to happen in your life, you have to fuel the fires and work at conjuring that magic for yourself. But you also have to learn to bite the bullet sometimes, and hang tough. Often, those things you’ve toiled at so relentlessly are the same things that can tear you apart. Suddenly, there I was with two little kids who needed to be tucked in every night and a job that required me to travel the world. Denny was incredibly supportive, and a great father to our little girls. And five days a week, we had a loving housekeeper/nanny who helped fill in the blanks. But for me, not always being able to be there for them was an endless source of anxiety. I was conflicted to the point that feeling torn became second nature to me.
