When Waste Becomes Art

This Toronto centre is ‘saving the planet, one scrap, one stitch, one piece at a time’

By Raghad Genina

A shelf in the Creative Reuse Toronto centre that is filled with a variety of crafts that have been made out of repurposed materials on Monday, Feb. 29, 2024. (Raghad Genina/CanCulture)

In a facility housed under a newly built condo building in the middle of the Parkdale community, the rhythmic hum of sewing machines breaks the silence. As you enter the centre on Abell Street, you are met by floor-to-ceiling windows that bathe the place in sunlight. The sounds of the sharp edges of scissors coming together as they slice through layers of fabric and the clink of buttons, as they're being sorted into different piles, echo through the room. A wide variety of tapestries, baskets and crafts, made of repurposed materials, line the walls and shelves of the centre. Deep into the room lie countless stacked plastic containers filled to the brim with materials like yarn and different types of textiles that would have been thrown out if not for Creative Reuse Toronto. 

Unlike traditional recycling, where materials are recovered and then broken down and converted into something else, Creative Reuse Toronto keeps these materials out of landfills by repurposing them into art. Textiles like fabric take more than 200 years to decompose in landfills, making this an important initiative. A 2023 report by Fashion Takes Action, a Canadian non-profit organization focusing on ethics and sustainability in the fashion industry, estimated that about 500,000 tonnes of post-consumer clothing end up in Canada’s landfills each year. 

“We throw away things and don't realize where they're going or what their impact is,” says Helen Melbourne, retired artist and co-founder of Creative Reuse Toronto. 

  As Melbourne guides a visitor through the maze of shelves, each corner is filled with discarded items waiting to be repurposed. From stacks of abandoned fabrics to jars filled with an assortment of colourful buttons, this space is a sanctuary for those who see potential where others see waste. 

Melbourne views materials differently than most people. From baskets made out of plastic grocery bags to mats made from shreds of fabric masks and clothing made from 100 per cent repurposed textiles, when Melbourne sees any scrap material, she thinks, “What is the material? What could it be?” She says, “everything has potential.” 

This mindset has been ingrained in her since a young age. She recalls her childhood, filled with creativity. “I made my own dolls, bedspreads and even doll houses out of cardboard. It was so rewarding to do it as a child.”

The average Canadian throws away 37 kilograms of textiles each year, 95 per cent of which can be reused or upcycled. Creative Reuse Toronto is attempting to help combat this issue by taking textiles and other materials and upcycling them. 

The tipping point for Melbourne came when she took a tour of the Keele Valley landfill before it shut down in 2002. It was the largest landfill in Canada during its operation. Although she took the tour decades ago, she still remembers the moment as if it was just yesterday. She says the dump was unbelievable and overwhelming, reeking of mould. She describes it as “a colossal mess.” 

Melbourne first had the idea for the centre in 2017. She posted her idea of opening a Creative Reuse centre on Facebook to see if anyone would be interested in pursuing it with her. Now co-founder Sue Talusan responded to the post right away, as she has always been passionate about reducing waste and had worked on this issue during grad school. Talusan grew up collecting items from people's curbs and garage sales and repurposing them, just like Melbourne.  She is also currently leading the design, strategy and product development of an innovation ecosystem impact accelerator.  

After three years of talking and bonding online, they finally set up a meeting at a church near the St. George subway station where they would discuss their plans. Laughter erupts around the Creative Reuse Centre as Talusan recalls the moment when she first saw Melbourne in the church and embraced her in a big hug. “I had no idea who she was,” says Melbourne. She never knew what Talusan looked like until that moment. After that big hug, they hit it off “to the point where we were finishing each other's sentences,” says Talusan. 

As Melbourne continues to recall moments in her life when she felt she needed to help make a change, volunteers come in and out of the centre, greeting each other with excitement. Whispers can be heard amongst them about what they plan to create with all the materials that have been donated. While the volunteers continue to converse, a community member walks up to Melbourne, asking her for advice on how she would repurpose a book filled with colourful fabric samples. Melbourne, without hesitation, gives the idea of a flip book that would be filled with different images. “You were just flipping through it and it looked like a flipbook,” says Melbourne. 

“She gives good ideas. Helen is a wealth of information,” says Diane*, the community member.

Melbourne describes some of the centre's artwork. One piece was created for a person with visual impairments. It contains parts of various-textured textiles such as corduroy, shag carpet and silk that have been sewn together to help enhance a blind person's perception of tactile images. Like all the art made here, it is created out of 100 per cent repurposed fabrics.  

All the textiles and other materials in Creative Reuse Toronto have been donated by fabric stores and manufacturers that are either downsizing or closing. Some donations also come from clothing design studios, the estates of seamstresses, quilters and individuals who are clearing out their stashes. Much of their initial stock came from businesses that were closing just after the first lockdown due to the COVID-19 pandemic. During this time, businesses also donated most of the centre’s tools and equipment, such as sewing machines, storage containers, tables and art supplies like knitting needles. 

Talusan recalls that right after they signed their lease, as they were on the brink of opening, the COVID-19 pandemic hit. This set them back significantly. However, several years later, Talusan reflects on the journey of resilience that has led to the now thriving centre. During COVID-19, Creative Reuse Toronto survived because of the community's support. Donations kept this place running, and volunteers contributed not just their own time but also dipped into their own pockets to help keep the place going. Now, Talusan says that a combination of sources, such as  paid sewing classes, workshops and donations, keeps the centre open. 

Talusan looks back at a moment a few years ago when a big company offered them 60 skids of gift boxes. Although they didn't want to say no because they didn't want the boxes to end up in a landfill, they had to as they didn't have enough space for it in their centre. 

“Why would you be offering it in the first place?” asks Talusan. “The choice they made of producing too much with no repercussions. Then they try to put the responsibilities on us instead of taking responsibility for it.” 

The core of Creative Reuse Toronto is its commitment to "saving the planet, one scrap, one stitch, one piece at a time," a phrase that echoes through the centre's walls. 

“I believe in this, in a better world for both the people and the planet,” says Talusan. “In a perfect world, we would put ourselves out of business.” 

The hustle of student business owners

Student entrepreneurs show ambition and drive since their humble beginnings 

By Aliya Karimjee

After growing tired of hearing the people around him simply say they would follow their dream without committing to it, RJ Mijares, a third-year business management student at Toronto Metropolitan University (TMU), persevered to show dreams can come true with hard work.  In February 2023, he created RJM and Co., a printing and embroidery business. 

Today’s status quo for young adults is to gain post-secondary education in order to secure a stable job or make career moves of their own, with nearly 58 per cent of working-age Canadians having post-secondary credentials. However, TMU students have taken it into their own hands  to use the skills they’ve acquired from their university programs to create their dream businesses on their own — without waiting for graduation day. 

Hoping to be a "young businessman who can prove himself in the real world," Mijares chose to apply the knowledge he has gained so far from his program and additional psychology electives to a real-life business. 

From his major, he has learned elements of a successful business alongside its technical aspects, such as operations, purchasing and supply management as well as general finance and accounting skills. 

Using his resources and connections, Mijares created his own brand, focusing on the human relationship between him and his customers.

“I really wanted to bring a sense of coolness to the manufacturer. Usually when you’re creating a product, you don’t really think about the actual person that’s behind the scenes making it. So I really wanted to create something where people are like, I want to be in a relationship with the person that’s making my products,” says Mijares. 

He believes fast fashion’s quality is incomparable to small businesses and he aims for his products to last longer than a year. In order to do so, Mijares keeps in close contact with his overseas distributors. 

Mijares wants to ensure his customers of the high quality and effort they receive in the products he manufactures. To provide transparency with his customers, Mijares posts photos of his business’s progress and reels of the process — in which he also includes failed attempts. 

Unlike many large-scale corporate businesses, which usually don't connect personally with their customers, Mijares decided to prioritize client connections in his work. He confirmed this is especially important since his business model depends on people wanting to create. 

Some examples of his holiday products include a custom-made hat for a couple in which the girlfriend drew a dog on a cap. (Courtesy of RJ Mijares)

The possibilities are endless. These types of gifts give a personal touch and allow storytelling through art.

He has also produced orders for school clubs, political movements and many other requests from his clients. 

Since he started his business, Mijares has planned his orders and schedules two to three weeks ahead of time, with an average of 30 orders a week. Initially, he struggled to get his business out there and know how to price point it for customers to be interested.

"I think the big problem when we first started was settling for low margins, settling for break-evens, and those hurt you [badly],” shares Mijares. “So I think that the hardest challenge was figuring out how to get price points for things." 

This green sweater is an example of one of Mijares’ products, this one for a Palestinian Cultural Club. (Courtesy of RJ Mijares)

Since then, he has learnt that reinvesting money is the best way to keep his business going. 

“It’s not about profit, it’s about having money left over to invest in the business,” explains Mijares. 

He has set goals for when he wants to innovate specific ideas. Within his classes, Mijares has learned that discounts aren't very feasible for small businesses. Instead, he believes in customer loyalty programs and is considering implementing such initiatives for continuous shoppers. 

Mijares’ future ideas involve playing a role in his customers’ holiday shopping and integrating his business into other schools. Thinking two seasons ahead to the summer, Mijares knows he will get the chance to participate in summer markets — a dream goal of his. 

Mijares isn’t alone in his bold business moves and ambitions. 

The entrepreneurial journey of TMU student Nazha Syriani 

Nazha Syriani, founder of Nazha’s Crafts, produces crochet goods such as pillows, hats, bags, bracelets or scrunchies. 

The third-year TMU fashion student’s creativity is inspired by political movements. 

Her crafts are influenced by her Palestinian and Newfoundland backgrounds and her previous knowledge of, and she incorporates fashion, which includes sewing, crocheting and designing. 

Initially, she was posting Instagram pictures of her crafts or proudly wearing them outside. 

Recently, she crocheted a Palestinian flag for herself; however, in support of her country, many people took an interest. (Courtesy of Nazha Syriani)

"I had the [Palestinian] flag as a keychain on my backpack, and one of my friends noticed it, loved it and asked to buy it from me,” Syriani says. “People want to show their support, so I started making more.”

On top of being a student five days a week, a dancer twice a week and a daughter to her family, she believes all her hard work in this business is worth it because for her, especially when she gets to see her clients' faces and think, “I created that expression.” She welcomes creativity and will produce any design her customers’ hearts wish. Simultaneously, she also has designs of her own.

In personal and professional projects, she always values sustainability. 

Everything Syriani makes is handmade, and whenever she can, she uses “upcycled material.” 

"Recently, one of the things that I had at the Christmas market was a tote bag I made,” shares Syriani. “The fabric from the strap was used from an old pair of jeans, and then the actual stuff was from Value Village." 

An example of Nazha Siryani’s work, a handmade bag made out of an old pair of jeans and some other stuff from Value Village (Courtesy of Nazha Siryani)

She explains that larger-scale companies you could easily buy from don’t share those same efforts. 

“The tag will say 5 per cent recyclable, but it’s only talking about the actual tag, not the garment itself,” says Syriani. 

She finds it very important for people to support local services to not only help small-business owners like her, but also keeping the environment in mind. 

Syriani adds that she, herself, supports small businesses. She remembers visiting the Eaton Centre in Toronto where a small market was taking place earlier in the year. Within the market, many small businesses had set up their own stands from which she “tried to buy items from almost each one.”

Understanding the struggles of being a small business and the market she's entering, Syriani’s putting in the change she wants to see.

Syriani is no stranger to small-business struggles, and “finding the balance between knowing how to price things and the cost of my time,” echoing Mijares’ personal obstacles as well.

As a fashion business student, she tries to solve this issue with the knowledge she learned in certain classes that went over concepts, including calculating the costs of labour and materials. 

She had to create a cost sheet in her design courses after sewing a pair of pants. 

"That helps me [to create] prices. Especially if I'm buying wool, I can't use the same price as what the wool cost; I have to price it as to how much I will use from that roll. So every little thing comes into place," says Syriani. 

All the touching moments make all her efforts in business worth it for her in the end. 

She recounts one of her most memorable moments: her first sale. Syriani’s high school friend saw the evil eye pillow she had crocheted and bought one for her sister. After that first sale, she followed up with the purchase of a Palestinian pillow. 

“When I sold [the evil eye pillow] for the first time, I took a picture of myself with my money envelope,” says Syriani. “It was a very special moment because I've never sold anything I've made before besides making it for others [as] gifts.” 

Syriani adds that the TMU community has been just as supportive of her. She says her design history teacher bought a little coin purse and ordered the big evil eye pillow.

To achieve her goal, Syriani plans to take the necessary steps to grow bigger and bigger. By crocheting, posting more, getting noticed and going to markets, she hopes to gain enough profit to move her company onto an online platform like Etsy. 

However, her ultimate goal is to be a fashion designer using her own name, as it’s also her Teta’s — grandmother in Arabic — name. She believes her name makes her unique, and it’s a part of who she is. 

"I am Palestinian and want to represent that part of myself,” says Syriani.  

In everything she does, especially in designing, Syriani tries to incorporate her mom’s Newfoundland culture and her dad’s Palestinian culture. 

“I'm not just Canadian. I'm not just Palestinian. I'm both, and they're both very important to me." 

A Love Letter to Cross-Cultural Connections

Sometimes,  home isn’t home, but the heart of another’s

By Melanie Nava Urribarri

(Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay)

You stand in your childhood kitchen. The soft murmurs of your mother tongue tickle your ears as you’re zoned out with the dim evening glow lighting up your peripheral vision. From the stove, familiar smells wrap you up in a warm comfort. You know this is home to you.

For some, such memories are further away than others, feeling more like dreams than a reality they once knew. For some, it goes more like this:

Standing in a dining room, looking at new faces blink with expectations and hearing different words spoken and passed around with uncommon smells overwhelming them. An anxiety pools in their belly, uncertainty rising and taking their breath.

Zoha Naghar, a third-year Pakistani university student at Toronto Metropolitan University (TMU), recalled a similar story from when she was little. She went over to a friend's house and had been nervous to spend dinner there being Muslim and only eating halal food – food deemed permissible under Islamic law.

“I remember I mentioned it to [my friend] maybe at the beginning of the year, and her family asked me to stay for dinner. I said ‘No, I think I'll go home’, just because I don't want to make them uncomfortable.” Her friend was English and unfamiliar with her customs.

“But my friend then said ‘No actually, stay for dinner because we ordered halal food specifically for you,’ and that was weird [to me] because I've never actually felt acknowledged in that sense before,” Naghar said.

A single gesture, one reach of a hand, and everything can change. Unfamiliar places can almost feel as safe as home, and it can be as simple as sharing food and pieces of culture at new dinner tables. In the most innocent ways, this is the importance of cross-cultural communication: the support it can provide to generally isolated communities.

The intermixing of communities and cultures is a common occurrence in Toronto, a top multicultural city according to a BBC study, and it is especially true for the student communities at TMU. The cross-cultural exchanges are experiences students can find most meaningful as a variety of ethnic and cultural communities come together and find home in each other; recognize themselves in others. 

It is these stories that are just as important to tell, especially in times of need.

In the past month of October, Jana Alnajjar, president of the Palestinian Culture Club (PCC) at TMU, organized an initiative with the Afghan Student Association to fundraise for different causes – relief for the children of Gaza and for the people of Afghanistan affected by the most recent earthquake. Together, they raised $3,000, but the experience wasn’t just memorable because of its monetary success.

“When I saw everyone coming together, it made me realize that when it comes to humanity, there are no borders,” Alnajjar said. “It's an amazing, amazing feeling just knowing that there's always going to be people behind your back, even if they're not from the same country as you.”

Not long after the conjoined fundraiser, the PCC held an initiative called Keffiyeh Week. Alnajjar clearly remembered the wide variety of non-Palestinian people that were wearing the Keffiyeh (or kuffiyeh), a garment symbolizing solidarity against oppression now woven in the history of a people.

“They were taking the time out of the day to learn about it, and it was a moment at our school that basically brought everyone together, no matter your background or religion, ethnic background as well. What is key is understanding and listening.”

Noor El-Deen Murad, the PCC’s VP of marketing, stated that this sharing, understanding and listening is important in giving others the opportunity to get to know identities without the politicization of an identity.

“People will remember seeing the Palestinian foods, dances, vibrant culture, 10, 20, 30 years from now. [Sharing culture] leaves a lasting impact on people,” Murad said. “We care about humanity. [...] We will support any other club that does initiatives for humanity too.”

The American Psychological Association states that evidence links perceived loneliness and social isolation with depression. As a collective, we are always in the search of escaping loneliness and isolation, and in a land where the sun feels cold and the water currents don’t dance to the same stars of your culture, that can be difficult. It can be suffocating. Escape can not feel possible.

Perceived social isolation without knowing who could possibly understand is dangerous, according to studies. And communities play a large role in this perception.

“As the community's editor at The Eyeopener, if we have an event or an initiative like Keffiyeh Week, for example, I made sure we covered that because although it's not me actively participating in it, it's me bringing awareness to a broader scale,” said Bana Yirgalem, a fourth-year Eritrean student at TMU.

“I would want people to do the same for Eritrea,” Yirgalem added, describing how TMU has a diverse student body, and the importance for students to come to campus and see their cultures being represented in a positive light. Especially as students “tend to wish that the faculties at their programs had people that looked like them.”

Statistics Canada’s 2021 census reported over 450 ethnic or cultural origins in Canada, with immigrants (79.5 per cent) being much more likely than non-immigrants (47.6 per cent) to place importance on ethnic or cultural origins. One in four people in Canada are reported to be part of a racialized group.

At TMU’s Black Business Student Association (BBSA), though the students may not come not from Eritrea, but from different countries like Ethiopia and Kenya, Yirgalem finds a safe space for herself precisely for feeling seen and heard, while growing up she didn’t have peers that looked like her.

“The world is not just one thing. Sometimes you need people around you to show you you are welcome, especially in a country where your ethnic and cultural community is not the majority,” said Cristina Diaz, a Puerto Rican third-year student.

According to Statistics Canada, though diversity may be apparent with the largest populations of South Asian, Chinese, Black, Filipino, West Asian, Latin American, Southeast Asian, and Korean people living in Toronto, close to 70 per cent of Canada’s population reported being white.

“If I have a chance to learn about someone else's culture [then] I will, because this is them finally being able to talk about it, because they're never really given a platform to share, like their background and their experiences,” Naghar expressed.

“I feel like it's important because it just makes us realize that the world is so much bigger than just us and that there's so much more in the world than just what we know.”

CJRU reconnects community through free music therapy

As part of its Re: Connect program, the radio station holds wellness sessions led by a certified music therapist 

By: Emily Di Natale

Christophe Couttolenc (left) and Jacod De Rose (right) pictured together (Christophe Couttolenc/CanCulture)

CJRU 1280AM has introduced its newest community-based program; a series of group wellness sessions focused on music therapy. The free program is open to Toronto Metropolitan University (TMU) students as well as the rest of the Toronto community.

The radio station is affiliated with TMU and continues to be heavily influenced by community values and motivated by a desire to give back. “This radio station always has the community first in mind,” said radio host, fundraising coordinator and 4th-year TMU sociology student, Christophe Couttolenc. “Whether it be through playing local artists, giving people the opportunity to be on the radio station or by wholeheartedly supporting a project like this.”

The station’s newest program is in partnership with Miya Creative Care, an organization that partners with health-based facilities to integrate art and music therapy into their programming. The program works to help to facilitate openness and genuine interaction within the community, says Couttolenc.

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The sessions centre around the importance of music in the lives of its participants. Activities range from a general conversation about music and group listening to considering the impacts of technology and social media on participants' health. 

One activity in the first session, which was led by music therapist Jacob De Rose, had the participants listen to a song while intentionally scrolling on their phones.

“Even though we knew what we were doing, it was surprising to see how easy it was to get into your phone and tune out everything else,” said Couttolenc. 

The second time they listened to the song, De Rose instructed them to put their phones away. 

Couttolenc said the second listening was a better experience.“It was much more profound to actually listen to the music than to just go through your phone – which is what we are doing a lot of the time now.”

He added that as a result of personal experiences throughout the pandemic, he felt a need for reconnection with the community as things slowly shifted again.

“Offering [people] the ability to have a real genuine connection over something we all love, which is music, without our phones, without these distractions, is sort of how it came to be.”

Eunice Addo, a recent graduate of TMU’s arts and contemporary studies program says her experience with the session was constructive and informational in nature.

“I really liked that it was really informative. Jacob went into what music therapy is, examples of music therapy and he went through different things we could do.”

The program had its first session on Nov. 2, followed by its next session on Nov. 17. The last session before the new year took place on Dec. 7. CJRU  hopes to continue the program along with other community-based initiatives, always open to students and Toronto community members alike.

“It's free and accessible, all a person needs to do is come to the space open to learning,” says Addo.

Dhruv Gogia: A student's journey of rejection and resilience

How one Toronto student found light in darkness on his way to TikTok stardom

By: Yanika Saluja

Dhruv Gogia’s single, middle-body shot (Sarah Boh Hasan/CanCulture)

You’ve probably read about celebrities or influencers who made it big and are now idolized by millions of young people world-wide. The stories you haven’t seen, are likely those of aspiring artists in the struggling phases of their lives, trying to step foot into the industry; something we know is no walk in the park.

Dhruv Gogia, 20, is a third-year media production student at Toronto Metropolitan University and is doing a minor in acting. Dhruv Gogia shared his story of overcoming barriers and personal growth, in an interview with CanCulture. While speaking with him, it became evident this story wasn't just his— it spoke to the struggles of racialized emerging artists all over the world.

With a bag full of talent and motivation, Gogia dreamed of being an actor since he was a kid. He started making TikTok videos in 2021 and was lucky enough to gain over a 100,000 followers overnight. After overcoming a recent creative slump, Gogia plans to release his own eight-episode TikTok series, with approval by TikTok Canada. This series will be inspired by Gogia’s personal life and is going to star people he’s close to.

“I am trying to put the real unfiltered version of me,” said Gogia. “This series is inspired [by] the thoughts I had and is derived from personal events; it’s not exactly how it played out in real life.

“It’s about love, heartbreak [and] my not so perfect, perfect life.”

Gogia’s outlook on rejection in this industry is a little different from others. He says being told ‘no’ is part of the journey and something you eventually get used to. “The normalization of rejection is due to how ‘dark’ the industry is. You have to get rejected until you find a perfect role," he said.

As Gogia is no longer a stranger to rejection, the fear of being told ‘no’ has simply vanished from his life. He expressed how much the rejections and non-stop auditions have led him to get to where he is now. Gogia says that all of these hurdles up until now in his career have helped him so much.

Dhruv Gogia and Zubair Sarookh in Filmfare Middle-East awards (Courtesy of Shaukat Sadiq)

For a long time, Gogia’s racialized identity held him back in following his dreams. He now looks at it as an opportunity to fill more unique roles. However, he is bothered by the stereotypical roles he sometimes gets offered. “I rarely get those kinds of roles, but when I do, it bothers me [when] I’m told to speak in a certain accent and dress a certain way.” Gogia says he would never take any role that doesn't authentically represent his community. 

“It feels like my community is trying to be put in a box and that’s exactly what I want to change.”

“Why does a Brown guy have to be a taxi driver and not the passenger in the car and why does he have to sip masala chai and not Starbucks?” Gogia questioned.

After overcoming numerous obstacles, Gogia, at the age of 18, was named the best male TikToker by Filmfare Middle-East in 2021. Last year, in November, he signed his debut Toronto web series, was featured in a FIFA Qatar commercial which will be released soon and accumulated over 350,000 followers on TikTok and over 30,000 on YouTube.

Apart from pursuing an acting career, Gogia wishes to help other up-and-coming artists. His number one advice for people is to be authentic and not settle for the bare minimum. “I realized when I was doing TikTok before, I was just not being myself because I was trying to be the people that I watched on the internet,” he said. Gogia realized people liked him more when he was his authentic self.

At the end of the day, Gogia would not change a single thing about his life because he believes everything happens for a reason. “I can literally point out instances that were bad, but also what came out of it.

“It’s a journey and appreciate everything in this journey,” Gogia expresses.

Gogia learned to change his perspective towards life and so success came his way because you cannot find success without facing rejections.

‘Black thighs save lives’: Dainty Smith at the Highbrow Burlesque

By Isabelle Kirkwood

It’s getting late in The Danforth. The east-enders are dragging their feet as they saunter back from the office in a mid-February flurry. The streets begin to clear out as the night grows colder, but at the Social Capital Theatre, Dainty Smith is only just warming up.

The green room is at peak chaos. The room is teeming with flying feathers and the musky odour of perfume as dancers fix on their bedazzled pasties and coat on the last strokes of lipstick in a frenzy. Smith is priming herself for Highbrow Burlesque, a monthly spectacle where erotic entertainment meets vaudeville cabaret.

“I've been doing this for over ten years and I've never gotten over being nervous,” Smith said. “I think that's probably a good thing.”

In 2011, Smith assembled a “wolf pack” dance troupe known as Les Femmes Fatales, a dance collective of women of colour espousing female and black empowerment through the art of burlesque. Tonight, she’s dancing solo, but her activism still fuels every performance.

“I’m interested in the ways in which I can reclaim my body and find self-love as a black woman on a platform,” Smith said. “We tell stories onstage, loving and owning our bodies. Being able to do that is a defiant act.”

After a year in George Brown’s theatre program and discovering black burlesque icon Josephine Baker, Smith decided to teach herself to dance for burlesque. Those days were lonely but liberating, and overtime, she began to trust her body and her instincts as she learned about herself, her style and the power of the female gaze. All this translates into what she does today.


Her outfit of choice is her black velvet tap shorts that sit high on her waist over sheer pantyhose, paired with a black brassiere and trademark pasties.

“I probably wear too much black on stage,” she said. “It's sort of a 40’s or 50’s retro aesthetic.”

The theatre isn’t as kitschy as a typical burlesque show. There is no crimson curtain or intricate set design. The stage itself is quite small. The visual vacancy onstage acts as a canvas for the performers to make their own statement. For this Highbrow event, Smith splits her time between dancing and hosting the show. For Smith, her role as emcee pivots upon the perfect medium of entertainment and education.

“I encourage folks to respect the performers, respect the art, respect women,” she said. “But I think that it's really important that the audience is not passive in entertainment and in art.”

Smith grew up as a preacher’s daughter in a Hebrew-Pentecostal Church in a majority-white suburban neighbourhood. She now describes herself as “the church girl gone bad.” Her religious upbringing both shaped her approach to emceeing and developed her focus on the “sacredness and holiness” of marginalized women’s bodies. She said burlesque is now a form of church for her.

“Can I get an amen?” she shouts, beckoning the microphone to the audience before they bellow a powerful “amen!” back.

The audience includes couples looking to experience a unique but timeless form of entertainment. To lighten the atmosphere, Smith cracks a few quips about intersectional feminism. She said this allows the guests to feel included and respected through storytelling and humour.

Intersectional feminism  is a framework of analysis which attempts to identify how interlocking systems of power impact those who are most marginalized in society. The term was first coined by legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw in the late 1980’s. Crenshaw discussed Black feminism, which argues that the lived experience of a black woman cannot be understood in terms of being black and of being a woman considered independently, but must include the interactions, which frequently reinforce each other.

After a series of lively performances, it’s show time for Smith. Tonight’s routine is set to the tune of Dave Brubeck’s Take Five, a classic jazz number. While some of the performers’ flairs are more high-flown or humorous, the spirit of Smith’s performance appeals to raw emotion, while her sensual choreography casts a steamy spell over the audience. Her movements are performed in sultry and soulful arrangements under the ghost light of the stage, that build up to the climactic pasty-reveal. That build-up, Smith said, is what she loves most about the performance.

“It's one of the few moments that a woman is really in charge and in control of her body,” Smith said. “There’s something really powerful about a woman on stage, taking as long as she wants before she shows something.”

The audience response ranges from beguilement to elation. The date-night couples are wide-eyed, almost paralyzed under her gaze, while the more seasoned burlesque spectators hoot and holler when she sinks down to her knees or raises her arms above her head in fluid, spiraling motions.

By the time the curtains are closed, Smith is exhausted. Using her body and voice to intrigue and inform is a taxing but worthwhile enterprise for her, so she takes time to chat with the guests and her fellow dancers after the show ends. Many of the audience members, particularly those who came for a casual date night, are more seduced by the message than the striptease.

Smith’s energy and commitment to burlesque feeds off the sisterhood that develops from women supporting each other, whether it’s fixing someone’s broken heel in the green room or offering survival tips to women, particularly of marginalized communities. Making connections with people she assumed she had nothing in common with has been a capstone for her career.

She shuffles into a large swing coat and wraps her head in a colourful bonnet, her ankles are left rather exposed to the elements. She has a shopping bag overflowing with costumes and makeup. As she leaves the theatre and moves into the unrelenting flurry, she too is now dragging her feet. Her night was long but valuable.

“What really makes the showgirl is the glitter and glamour, but also the bandages and self-actualization,” Smith said. “It's pretty beautiful.”

This piece was edited by Jacklyn Gilmor