It's been a while since I've slid my (vintage) designer-clad ass into a leatherette booth at the Drake Hotel.
While some of the decor elements may have changed and the demographic shifted - at least for tonight - but the artsy bent and high end energy are the same.
The mixologists are talented; this sherry/passion fruit concoction is possibly the most delicious cocktail I've ever had.
|A sherry cocktail, they said|
Down market seems to be in vogue these days as a design aesthetic. We are served little paper cups, with wooden forks to pick out the fragrant, spicy rice laced with salmon roe and fish along with veggies. It feels virtuous, somehow, albeit glutenous.
A DJ spins the tunes one into another and naturally, Purple Rain is on the list.
I'm watching the crowd of white scenesters groove, eat and drink to black music. Upstairs, they listen to hip hop as they chatter and take hors d'oeuvres, only to set them down again after a single bite.
These people aren't writers, in other words.
|Drake Hotel, rooftop lounge (image by Anya Wassenberg)|
There are photographers swarming all over the place.
I'm glad the Rorschach wallpaper and the tangled arrangement of lights along the wall have survived redecorating binges. They've always been among my favourite features of this room.
The crowd is fashionable 20-somethings, with a smattering of oldies like me.
They've tricked the young fashionistas into wearing ugly, shapeless dresses and blocky, unattractive shoes. They wear the kind of old-lady gear I used to make fun of in my teens, such has the pendulum of fashion swung around.
And around and around...
|Rorschach wallpaper at the Drake Hotel, Toronto (by Anya Wassenberg)|