by Jeanne Beker
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.
Oddly, I remember going back and forth on whether I had the time that week to attend this press event. It seemed like a luxury to be able to sit back and schmooze with other editors over lunch and a small fashion presentation. In fact, I decided at one point that I would definitely decline the invitation. But for some reason, I relented the night before, contacted the PR company that had invited me, and said I’d be there. I don’t know why I sudde
nly changed my mind. Evidently, the fashion gods had something to do with it.
Levy Canada’s presentation at the Gardiner was swank and sophisticated. The VP of marketing (and the woman behind it all), Linda Legault, was warm and down-to-earth, and we instantly connected. She struck me as a no-nonsense businesswoman, with years of experience under her belt and a realistic view of the industry. I told her how impressed I was with the presentation, and she suggested I come to Montreal to check out the showrooms of Levy Canada and their partners, the Corwik Group (which was behind a number of diverse sportswear collections) and FDJ French Dressing (a successful jeans label). I told Linda that I came to Montreal regularly because Bekky was attending university there. On my next trip, I would give her a call.
I made it to Montreal a few weeks later and visited Linda’s showrooms. I was immediately impressed by the eclectic sportswear collections I saw there, and once again the cogs started turning. What if I could cull a line by choosing a variety of affordable pieces from all the different collections produced by these companies? That way, I would work as a kind of editor with their stable of designers and stylists. Of course, we would tweak the pieces to make them original. And the line could be called “EDIT by Jeanne Beker.” Linda and her team loved the idea.
A couple of months later, I was standing in front of Bonnie Brooks and her team, pitching our focused little collection of wardrobe essentials. It felt right from the get-go, and with each piece I talked about, the enthusiasm in the room grew. Before I knew it, the team was talking marketing strategy, and we had a deal. I was stepping onto a new platform once again. It wasn’t my first foray into putting out a collection, of course, but this time, it felt better. Bigger and more solid. I knew my partners and I were in this for the long haul. The Bay gave us a huge vote of confidence by ordering EDIT for sixty-five stores across Canada. And Linda and her team began making plans to launch the label internationally. I felt as though I was off to the races once again.
EDIT launched in September 2010 and was an instant success, with some pieces selling out within the first week. The Bay started reordering within days, and the positive feedback from the press and customers was dizzying. Women of all ages, shapes, and sizes were snapping up these chic, wearable basics. Soon, The Bay started talking about a plus-size collection, as well as the possibility of EDIT accessories and bags. While I was careful not to get carried away by these developments, I was happy to think that if things continued to work out, I might have a lucrative and stimulating project to keep me busy long after I stopped running after Karl Lagerfeld in my stilettos—though retirement from that particular scene still seems miles away.
A few months earlier, in February 2010, I was nestled in the luxury of the gleaming bird’s-eye maple and cream leather interior of a plush little Gulfstream jet. As I nursed my third glass of Veuve, I contemplated the mysterious way we sometimes get to return to places, people, and situations we knew at an earlier time and in dramatically different circumstances. “Do you want to go up to the cockpit for landing?” my host asked. I knew the fog on the ground in St. John’s that morning was as thick as pea soup, but even though my vision would be limited, I welcomed the opportunity to observe the pilots in action. I went up front and was strapped into the jump seat alongside a panel of gauges and buttons and switches. Soon, a fascinating buzz of technical jargon was coming through my headset.
I had been to Newfoundland so many times since I moved there in 1975, the day after I married my first husband, Marty. For our big adventure, my dad generously presented us with his old 1959 Chrysler, which we playfully dubbed the Golden Slipper, since it was my dad’s slipper business that had allowed him to purchase the vehicle in the first place. The grand old jalopy barely made it across the island from Argentia, but we savoured every second of that romantic ride. I was brimming with idealism back then, certain I was embarking on an exhilarating journey that would change the course of my life forever. And I was right: It was in this magnificent province that my thirty-five-year affair with media began. In a funny way, Newfoundland has acted as a kind of catalyst for me more than once. First, it was where I launched my media career. Then I came back to St. John’s in January 1998, after a twenty-year absence, to produce a TV special on Canadian fashion. I wanted to include a story on a St. John’s retailer, Wenches and Rogues, whose Water Street boutique sold Canadian labels exclusively. Besides, who could resist a fashion shoot on Signal Hill? I was by then leading a much different life than the one I had left behind in 1978: I was married to somebody else, the mother of two little girls, and enjoying a successful, bustling career. When I arrived in town, I immediately reconnected with old friends, visited the streets where I had lived and worked, dropped by some of the shops I had frequented, and spent a lot of time just marvelling at how far I had come. I felt ready to take on the world! When I returned home from Newfoundland that weekend, I got the brutal news that my husband, Denny, was leaving me, and my world came crashing down.
I spent the next few years struggling to rebuild my life, and during that time, I made several trips back to The Rock. My dear friends Chabela and George Ayoub had purchased a little saltbox house in the fishing village of Bauline, about forty-five minutes outside of St. John’s. Their precious seaside home was always a great source of comfort to me, and I visited Bauline several times with my girls, taking great delight in the charm of the Newfoundland people and the cozy quiet of outport life. This province possesses a brilliant community spirit that has never failed to restore my faith in myself and in life’s possibilities. There’s a precious rustic quality to life here, a sense of innocence and adventure that I hold very dear, and that is light years away from the trenches of fashion.
And now another homecoming—this time in the cockpit of a glamorous private jet, with my beautiful twenty-year-old daughter, Joey, in tow. She’s a musician/singer/songwriter, and I jumped at the opportunity to bring her to the Juno Awards—Canada’s version of the Grammy Awards—which were being held in Newfoundland for the first time in a decade. CTV was producing the show, and the weekend would give us all a chance to hear some great music and connect with some very talented songwriters. I also brought along my producer, Christopher Sherman—one of my closest friends and confidants. He had never experienced Newfoundland before, and I knew we would have a stellar time.
My host—a prominent Toronto businessman with whom I was discussing extending my personal brand—invited us to stay in Beachy Cove, at the splendid country home of one of Newfoundland’s most legendary families. The sojourn was a fantasy from beginning to end. But one of the greatest thrills was walking the red carpet in my fringed Armani dress, which I’d teamed with a little leather shrug by Abbyshot, a local St. John’s label that had generously gifted me the garment on a previous trip, when I had hosted a charity fashion event. No sooner did my Louboutin boots hit the crimson rug than a host of kids, no doubt fans of Canada’s Next Top Model, started calling my name. I joyfully signed autographs and posed for pictures, lapping up every second of my big minute in the spotlight, pleased to be the momentary centre of attention at such a monumental event.
A few weeks later, I had the privilege of attending a special luncheon at Toronto’s CN Tower. Hosted by Laureen Harper, the event was in honour of the spouses of the G20 Summit. Sixteen wives of world leaders attended, as did ten Canadian “Women of Distinction,” handpicked by Mrs. Harper. I was among the highly eclectic, successful bunch. Others included the Olympians Joannie Rochette and Silken Laumann; Julie Payette, the astronaut; the journalist Christie Blatchford; and Senators Nancy Greene Raine and Pamela Wallin. It was an impressive gang, to be sure. Mrs. Harper was at the table’s head, with the incomparable Michelle Obama at her right, while I was seated at Mrs. Harper’s left— directly across from Mrs. Obama. I stood at the table, looking down at the placecards before we all took our seats. And for one moment, overwhelmed by this phenomenal honour, I got misty-eyed. All I could think of were my parents, and how proud my
late dad would be if he could see this. And I kept asking myself how a kid from Downsview— who simply dreamed, believed, and worked really hard—had managed to find herself sitting among some of the most prominent women in the world.
In person, Michelle Obama was even more gorgeous and gracious than I had imagined. Her sheer physical presence was striking enough. But coupled with her generosity of spirit and inimitable “comfortable in her own skin” style, it gave her a larger-than-life quality the likes of which I had never seen. Wearing a Rachel Roy brocade ensemble and pointy-toed high-heeled pumps, Michelle Obama was the last one to arrive at the luncheon and the first to leave. But not for a single instant did you get the impression that she didn’t want to be there. When Laureen kindly introduced me to her as “my good friend Jeanne Beker,” she stretched out her hand, looked me right in the eye, and said, “So nice to see you!” flashing her infectious smile. It was as though she actually knew me, remembered me from somewhere, perhaps had watched me on TV for years! Of course, I knew that probably wasn’t the case, but it was flattering and I warmed to her right away.
At the table, the conversation ran the gamut from designer clothes to diets and working out to raising children. We discussed the pressures of keeping up appearances, and the challenges of instilling good values in our kids. It was the kind of girl talk one would expect among close friends, and the wonderful warmth of the exchanges was heartening. I came away feeling high on the spirit of sisterhood and savouring an awareness that had come to me so many times before: We’re really not that different from one another.
