Author: laurenfournier



I just got back to Toronto after spending two weeks in Nova Scotia. I was thrilled to be invited as a resident artist — or “rabbit” — for the seventh annual White Rabbit Arts Open Air Art Festival in a rural community in Upper Economy along the Bay of Fundy. During this time, 19 of us artists lived, worked, and played communally at Red Clay Farm, where we were invited to take part in workshops, skill sharing, pirate radio programming, site responsive installation and performance, and more! The three ballast artists — Lindsay Dobbin, Helmut Lemke, and Sally Morgan — guided us in creatively enriching workshops such as “Deep Listening,” “Water Drumming,” “Body Mind Centering Movement,” and “Contact Mic Making.” Matthew Whiston, a Halifax-based pirate radio enthusiast, warmly encouraged each of us to develop programming for the pirate radio on Red Clay Farm, which was transmitted to radios across the surrounding area.





At Red Clay Farm we were served three delicious meals each day, with nourishing alternatives for all of our diverse needs — vegetarian, gluten-free, sugar-free, and so on. It is amazing, the role that healthful and delicious food can play in one’s life. These meals were what sustained all of the other elements of this communal living situation — the art production, the conversation and the collaboration. While I felt quite anxious upon arrival, having had a particularly difficult week in Toronto before I left, I found that my body soon became attuned to the ‘tones’ of Red Clay community and the landscape: I felt at ease in my lack of amenities, capable in my lack of usual routines, strong in my capacity to be socially engaged for sustained periods of time despite my introversion. It’s great to be able to have the opportunity to take part in non-academic spaces of learning, growth, and artistic development. Being a resident artist (rabbit!) at White Rabbit Arts felt a lot like going to art camp. While I am embedded in the Academic Industrial Complex, and have consistently had success within these institutions (receiving grants, scholarships, and so on), I remain ambivalent about its efficacy and ethics as the University system becomes increasingly modeled as a business. Are students consumers? What do we lose if and when students become consumers and professors and teaching assistants become providers of a particular product? We already live in a world in which our agency tends to be seen solely in light of our status as consumers, rather than citizens. Yes, we are all implicated in our capitalist context. And yet it is important for us to find little ways in which we can ‘loosen’ these contexts, create space in which different ways of living, different ways of existing and being in this world, can be realized. Red Clay Farm is one of these spaces.



The piece that I made for the White Rabbit Festival was entitled “Moon Hut,” a site-specific audio installation work situated in a willow dome structure behind the farm’s two large ponds. I also created a radio play and book work entitled “Mleko the Leaky Goat: A Farm Tale of Abject Feelings.” I installed this book project as loose pages in what had been, up until a year ago, the home of Red Clay Farm’s resident goat. The goat is no longer with Red Clay: the work is installed in the empty pen, existing temporarily in the absence of the goat who once lived here. The text takes up issues of anxiety and what I have loosely termed “abject feelings,” using the metaphor of a leaking goat. Other social and political issues, including psychiatric institutions and experimental anti-psychiatric movements (like Felix Guattari’s La Borde) is referenced alongside different approaches to farming and keeping animals. For all of my institutional embedded-ness — as a PhD student at York University, for example — I remain passionate and interested in learning more about alternative structures of organizing. During my time in Vancouver, many of the people I spent time with were skeptical of Universities, some of them viewing my decision to do a Masters as highly suspect. I feel immensely privileged to be able to have some funding to assist me as I undertake this PhD. It is my hope and goal that I will be able to enact real change in my communities.


During the artist residency, Matthew Whiston, a Halifax-based pirate radio enthusiast, warmly encouraged each of us to develop programming for the pirate radio station at Red Clay Farm, which was transmitted to radios across the surrounding area. I did a great on-air interview with Helmut Lemke, a UK-based German sound artist who creates evocative analog sound performances (for example, one of his performances at the festival involved fishing wire, contact mics, an electrical belt, and large felled tree branches). During our on-air interview, I played tracks by some of my favourite German artists — Can, Holger Czukay, Guru Guru, Xmal Deutschland, Kraftwerk, Einsturzende Neubauten, Malaria! — and Helmut Lemke gave his feedback on the tracks. He is brazenly outspoken (even curmudgeonly), refusing to pander to Canadian politeness, but also has a lot of warmth to him. He provided some interesting critiques of Krautrock, approaching their 1960s psychadelia from the perspective of a sound artist who also identifies as a political activist. He also recommended one of his favourite German bands, a proto-punk powerhouse called Ton Steine Scherben. We had a great time talking about German music, art, and politics.




The two dresses that I am wearing here were both purchased in Toronto at vintage stores and consignment shops over the past two years. The first is a tight-fitting halter-style dress made of a cotton and spandex blend. This is the dress that I wear on those occasions where I feel sexy and strong: indeed, one of my personal goals is to hone this feeling of strength and confidence on a daily basis, holding myself up in public spaces (urban or rural) even when I’m experiencing anxiety. The other dress was found at Kind Exchange, a Toronto-based chain of consignment stores. This dress is my new ‘witchy dress’. It holds its own shape in a way that makes me feel like I’m wearing a work of wearable sculpture. I feel comfortable and safe when I wear it. Here I am wearing my black beret and my green beret with the dress. There is a sweet story here about when I first moved to Toronto. I had plans to stay with a friend who I had not seen in over five years. I was wearing a leather jacket and a black beret on this rainy day when I arrived in Toronto from Vancouver, a large suitcase stuffed with most of my belongings in tow. When I arrived at the address that my friend had gave me, I noticed there was a piece of paper on the front door with the image of a bird wearing a black beret. It read “WREN.” The beret was sheer coincidence, and the “wren” denoted my nickname to this friend (my name, Lauren, is actually pronounced “lah-wren”). Me and this person have been dating ever since: it’s been 2.5 years now.


Thanks for tuning in! Until next time.

You can check out more photographs from my time out east here:

You can check out White Rabbit Arts and what they are up to here. If you are an artist, I encourage you to apply to their summer residency! :

Lauren Fournier is an artist and writer currently based in Toronto.
She is working on her PhD in feminist theory and performance art at York University.

Photography credits: Lee Henderson (



I don’t know if I qualify as having ‘gone to art school’, since I hold a BA and an MA (rather than a BFA and an MFA). I did eventually transfer to the Faculty of Fine Arts at the University of Regina for my undergraduate degree, after having started in “pre med” and completing all of the science prerequisites for medicine at U of S. I had always felt evenly pulled between arts and science, and had been taking English and Art History electives alongside Organic Chemistry and Biochem. My official move to Fine Arts was prompted by a trip to Europe in 2008 and my experience in Introduction to Intermedia Studio with Rachelle Viader-Knowles (RVK). RVK’s approach to art-making forever changed me. The notion that I could begin with a concept — such as anxiety or ‘getting all existential before bed’ or ‘gathering myself as a 19 year-old after the foundations beneath my feet began to crumble’ — and then choose a medium that best fits the concept to then realize my idea was hugely inspiring to me. I had never seen myself as a painter or a drawer or a sculptor, but after taking intermedia I began to see myself as a video artist, or a performer, or an installation-maker. I did not necessarily need to be skilled at representational drawing to constitute an artist. At the time, this realization meant the difference between life and death for me. I could now see the possibility of my agency — as an artist, as a creator, as a maker of conceptual and artistic experiences! I had experienced so much loss at this time — the loss of all of the things that had constituted my life as a teenager (friends, boyfriend, religion). It was in my studio art classes and my art history classes that the ‘new chapter’ of my life began: the chapter of my life as an adult, finding my own footing, being a bit of a loner, making my own decisions even if they were decisions that seemed foolish or strange to those around me. I felt elated in my newfound recognition of all things art-related, and spend the next few semesters making all sorts of more or less sad (maudlin) video art installations to process my young grief. We all have to start somewhere.



I found this long purple floral nineties dress on a thrifting adventure in Toronto. Here I am wearing the dress with my trippen platforms, which I purchased at a trippen outlet last summer in Berlin. My hair is DIY: I used Manic Panic’s “Electric Lizard,” purchased from Shopper’s Drug Mart at Yonge and College (my neighborhood!) in Toronto. This long purple floral dress is one of my favorites, and I transition the dress from ‘summer wear’ to ‘winter wear’ by adding a sheer long-sleeve black crop top over it. The shorter pink floral dress, which I am wearing here along with two nineties-style ‘tattoo chokers’, was found at Front & Company, a half consignment and half new clothing store on Vancouver’s Main Street. If you want to take the nineties look even further, this dress goes great with a pair of combat boots. I like the kaleidoscopic feel of this pattern. It evokes the “hyper-natural,” a Baudrilladian notion that I’ve been reflecting on lately. I recently had a wonderful conversation with Betty Julian, a brilliant professor at OCADU here in Toronto. She was lamenting the fact that young feminist artists still seem to be turning “back to the Earth, back to nature,” like our ecofeminist predecessors back in the 60s/70s. “Aren’t we past that yet?” she asked. During my open air arts residency, where the desire to turn back to the earth is very much encouraged by the surroundings of forest and sea, I reflected on this tension between nature and culture and where my art practice and personal philosophy fits. For feminist aesthetics, ecofeminism (long critiqued for its essentializing thrust) seems to mark one polarity, and Donna Haraway’s “Cyborg Manifesto” marks another. We have the desire to turn back to goddess mythology, back to the earth, and yet we do not want to essentialize women as being inherently more ‘natural’ than men. And yet, environmental politics and ecological disaster prompts all of us to cultivate deeper connections to our natural environments. Sally Morgan, a dancer, PhD student, and dear friend of mine, has been encouraging me to read Jane Bennett’s “Vibrant Matter,” which is next one my reading list. But I digress. I’ll leave it here, with the term “hyper-natural,” in light of the cyborg feminism alluded to in Scholar Wave episodes past.





Turning to the third dress: I’ve had this little beige dress for a long time, so long that I can’t remember where exactly I got it from! It was found at some point during my time in Vancouver, very likely at a Value Village, a consignment store, or a vintage store (the three places where I did my shopping when I lived out west). The pattern of the dress is what some might call “tribal,” though I’m resistant to using this culturally loaded and problematic (re: issues of cultural appropriation, deeming ‘the other’ more ‘primitive’, etc.) term. I love the little drawstring around this dress, which I believe is meant to be tied around the back (to cinch in the waist without the string being visible), but which I like to wear so that it is visible in the front. This ‘making visible that which is supposed to be invisible/hidden’ reminds me of a wonderful project called “Visible Mends” that an artist named Nancy Cole did as part of her residency project at White Rabbit Arts this summer. I recently spent the past two weeks out in Nova Scotia, where I was an artist in residence at White Rabbit Arts in Red Clay Farm, Upper Economy, Nova Scotia. I will speak about that experience at more length in my next T+A post (“Art School, Part II”). One of my favorite dresses — at least my most frequently worn dress — is an ankle-length black rayon sleeveless dress that I found at a Value Village in Vancouver. It has had a large hole near the bottom at the back of the dress, which I have been ignoring and wearing regardless of this ‘defect’. Then, during a workshop with German sound artist Helmut Lemke, in which I was learning to make a contact microphone, Helmut accidentally burned my dress with the soldering iron! (I was lucky that the iron only hit my dress … it just missed my thigh) It was then that I knew the dress should be hemmed: I planned to cut a few feet off of the bottom of the dress, hem the dress, and then use the remaining fabric to make head wraps. Instead, I had Nancy hem the dress for me as part of her “Visible Mends” project, and she created the following hemline which reads “Art is a Verb, 2015.”



I’m a passionate lifelong learner and an art student. Learning new things and developing my intellect is something that has been fueling me for as long as I can remember. I’m a lover of all things artistic, conceptual, aesthetic, feminist, sonic. I ‘came out of the closet’ as an artist/art freak back in 2008. By queering the spaces that I had been raised in, I found myself losing many of my old friends as we went separate ways. I ‘came out of the closet’ as an artist/art freak back in 2008, even if I wasn’t aware that that was what I was doing. Indeed, it has only been recently, at the age of 26, that I’ve started to have some confidence in identifying as that — an artist. It’s still a complicated thing for me to do. “Are you an artist?” I will be asked, as if on cue, at any given art opening in Toronto. Yes, I suppose I am.

Thanks for tuning in!  Until next time — Lauren ☾

Lauren Fournier is an artist and writer currently based in Toronto.
She is working on her PhD in feminist theory and performance art at York University.

Photography credits: Lee Henderson (

Red and Blue Velvet: Berlin


Last summer my partner Lee and I spent six weeks in Europe: one week in Prague and five weeks in Berlin. Lee was on an official artist residency through a gallery called TACT and I was on an unofficial artist residency, beginning an impromptu performance series in photoautomat booths around the city. We stayed at a lovely AirBnB apartment in Friedrichshain, an area of former East Berlin that has rapidly gentrified.


I spent a lot of time walking up and down Warschauer Straße, a long street that intersects with Karl Marx Allee, and includes Warschauer Brucke (Warschauer bridge). I would often go for early morning or late afternoon runs up Warschauer Straße, over Warschauer Brucke, and along the Berlin Wall. One evening, Lee and I stumbled upon a pop-up vintage shop on Warschauer Str., where everything in the store was 1€, 2€, or, at most, 5€. This store — not ostentatious, pretentious, or over-priced — was a residual reminder of ‘the golden age’ of post-1989 Berlin: when artists, writers, intellectuals, anarchists, and radicals flocked to Berlin in the early 1990s to realize their respective utopias.



I purchased this long vintage dress for the shocking price of 2. I love the length of this dress — how it reaches down to the floor — and how it drapes over my shoulders. I’ve noticed a trend this summer towards off the shoulder tops, particularly the 1970s bohemian-style off the shoulder shirts. I am wearing a nude colored bandeau bra under this dress. My lipstick shade is the somewhat unfortunately named ‘Flat Out Fabulous’ by MAC. What I love about this lipstick and this dress is the eccentric mixing of shades of red and blue. Residing in the purple-pink spectrum, the lipstick is quite 80s/90s: a refreshing matte re-imagining of the lipstick shades that my mother wore when she was my age. The dress appears to be navy blue velvet (or black) in some lights, and purple red velvet in others: it soon becomes clear that there are two shades of velvet intermixed into a single dress.



This necklace is a treasure I came upon at a thrift store in Vancouver. I keep it on a dress form in my apartment, as a piece of wearable decorative craft. I have no idea when or where this item originated: it appears to combine elements of Egyptian jewelry with 1960s flower power.





Thanks for tuning in!  Until next time — Lauren ☾

Lauren Fournier is an artist and writer currently based in Toronto.
She is working on her PhD in feminist theory and performance art at York University.

Photography credits: Lee Henderson (

Before the Bikini: Vintage Bathing Suits

new_PLH8951I’ve been missing the beach this summer. I’m aware that there are beaches for me to explore here in the city of Toronto — Hanlan’s point, the clothing optional beach on Toronto Island, has been on my radar, and there is an entire neighborhood on Queen East designated as “The Beaches.” And yet, my existence in Toronto continues to feel land-locked and productivity-focused. I had heard this about Toronto before I moved here: that Torontonians are work-oriented, focused on their (at best creative) output. I am beginning to understand this on a visceral level. I find myself spending the majority of my time indoors, in mine and my partner’s gorgeous studio apartment — a space that is ultimately a temporary refuge, as the waves of gentrification come up against Yonge Street and threaten what is currently our livable and affordable existence. I have had an immensely productive two years, as I witness the invigorating elation that you can experience once you overcome the fear of showing your artwork to other people. Artistically and academically, I have been attaining many of my goals — a matter which I, as a Type A who has long tried to deny or dilute my Type A-ness, is thrilling. But a key element remains, holding me back from being able to say that I like living in Toronto, or that I could see myself living here for years to come. Being able to take a long walk outside and breathe in fresh air is something I might have taken for granted, growing up in the prairies. The  wide open sky of Saskatchewan in all its eerie transparency (insert SK cliches here: “You can see your dog running for miles”) and the thoroughly sublime air of a west coast old-growth rainforest — these are what ultimately nourish me. As my psychotherapist has prompted me to think about, after I’ve undergone various upheavals in my young adulthood, “What nourishes you now?”


_PLH8955 new_PLH8957 copyThese photographs of me in my vintage bathing suits were taken on the shared rooftop patio of our apartment in downtown Toronto. Although the air in our neighborhood is unpleasant — the smell of garbage and piss is a fairly dependable consistent — I feel very lucky to be able to live in such a wonderful space with some solid neighbors. Our upstairs neighbors are actors from Calgary, and me and my partner are both artists from Regina: together we form a little prairie diaspora in Toronto, a city that on the one hand we like for what it encourages in our respective practices and creative output, and on the other hand resent for its air quality. Prairie kids in the big city. What are they to do? One idea is to cultivate spaces within which micro-communities can come together.  I think of queer place-making practices, for example, and the work of my friend Anthea Black, a Toronto-based artist whose work features in a queer feminist zine I have curated entitled SELF CARE FOR SKEPTICS. Feel free to check out the zine here ( Of course, the case of queer place-making practices is much more serious than my desire for fresh air — queer place-making emerges from the fact that patriarchal and heteronormative societies continue to pose very real threats for those who do not fit into what are their perceived gender roles or identifications: for example, those who identify as transgendered or genderqueer. I wonder how much my longing for good air quality and beautiful green spaces (and safe space) comes from a sense of privilege and entitlement, and how much is valid. And then I realize that the question of privilege in relation to this question of air quality and natural environments is quite complicated. My body longs for the west coast air, and yet I (along with countless others) do not know if I will ever be able to afford to live there long-term.

_PLH8943 For now, I put on my beloved vintage bathing suits and recline on our rooftop patio, a glass of campari soda in hand, ample SPF covering my skin. As I recline I imagine what it would have been like to live in the 1960s, the era from which these bathing suits hail. So much of my reading this year has been focused on the massive social and political upheavals that came with the 1960s. As a woman, I am grateful to now have the capacity to somewhat freely create artwork — often work that uses my own body as its medium — and to write posts like these on the internet. While there is still much work to be done, and while I continue to be aware of the stakes of identifying as a feminist on the internet, I resist naive nostalgia, for I am aware of the stakes of doing so. While I much prefer the cuts of vintage bathing suits, I do not prefer retro ideologies. We must move toward inclusivity, toward making the lives of more and more people livable. As the brilliant and irreverent Hennessy Youngman says, in his parodic lecture on Post-Structuralism, “You be like: ‘I wish we could go back to the good ol’ days.’ And post-structuralism be like, ‘Um which good old days do you mean? Umm, the good old days where people owned slaves?’… You really need to know what good old days you are talking about” (

new_PLH8887 - Version 2


I found this paisley one piece bathing suit at Mintage on Commercial Drive in Vancouver. While the original tags are missing, I believe this bathing suit is made of a rather thick combination of spandex and cotton. It feels like a piece of wearable sculpture: an entirely different texture and weight than contemporary bathing suits. I particularly like the way it dips down low in the back, as well as the small skirt-like adornment. I loved wearing this bathing suit when I had a violet-grey pixie cut in Vancouver, but I also think it looks great with my blonde bob. I found these sunglasses at a flea market in Prague last summer: I paid less than 10 Euro for them, and they have lasted me for two summers now. I tend toward purchasing cheaper sunglasses, as I get nervous about the prospect of losing or sitting on an expensive pair. Pictured at the top of this article, the 1970s floral one piece, complete with the pronounced cups, is from Community Thrift + Vintage in Vancouver’s gastown. I fell in love with this pattern when I saw it, and was happy to see that the suit fit my body. The fabric is thinner than the brown paisley suit, and more closely resembles how contemporary bathing suits feel. That being said, the fabric feels more durable: I am impressed at how generously it moves to fit my body, and how well-maintained the coloring and pattern is after over four decades.







Thanks for tuning in!  Until next time — Lauren ☾

Lauren Fournier is an artist and writer currently based in Toronto.
She is working on her PhD in feminist theory and performance art at York University.

Photography credits: Lee Henderson (

What’s Your Sign?: Astrological Wear


I’m an Aquarius. This means many things. I am said to be assertive and independent, inventive and original, opinionated and idealistic, flamboyant and unpredictable. I tend toward the intellectual, a trait that resonates as I work toward completing my doctoral degree in critical theory. It is also said that Aquarians are ‘cool’ and ‘detached’ — that they intellectualize their emotions rather than feeling them firsthand. I’m not sure if I identify with this exactly, but I do appreciate the role that astrology can play in providing a schematic for us to conceptualize our own personality patterns and how we relate to other signs.


I’ve been reading up more on my astrological sign lately, as I tap back into my interests in lunar phases, solstices, and paganism. Even though I live in a congested city center, in the largest and most densely populated city in Canada, I still long to live my life in a way that is grounded in the earth and the natural cycles governing our planet. As I read more about Aquarius, I learn that there are certain scents — anise star, lavender, rose, and pine — that might be <<lucky>> for me. One source describes my sign’s mantra as “I evolve and encompass all humanity” — a mantra which rings true as I reflect on my life decisions that have lead me to an open place that is fundamentally in flux. Indeed, “The Aquarius ego is said to be the most precarious in the zodiac, probably because Aquarius is the sign of non-conformity” ( The long dark blue and white button down dress with moon imagery featured here is one of my most-loved clothing items. I feel utterly myself when I wear it. I have worn it over a simple black dress, as featured here, as well as over jeans or black pants. I have also worn it with the buttons done up.


I bought this dress in 2013 from Chosen Vintage on Queen West Street in Toronto. This was the summer of “SEAPUNK,” and I found myself listening to the seapunk band Ultrademon’s album on repeat. Their track “Chatroom for Enya” is one of my favorites ( This dress is adaptable: it could be thrown over a bathing suit for a day at the beach, and could then be matched with a pair of combat boots and a choker necklace at night for a show at one of your local music venues. Here, I am wearing the dress with a crystal-bullet-shell necklace that my sister bought for me from Victoire in Ottawa. The platform sandals featured are from Trippen’s summer 2014 line, purchased at their outlet store in Berlin last summer.



Here I am wearing a short black dress in an astrological pattern, with a matching head wrap. This dress, which I found at Value Village in Seattle, used to come down to my mid-calf. I decided to cut off the bottom section and make a head scarf and a neck scarf with the pieces of fabric. I often bring this head-wrap with me when I am riding my bicycle in the summertime. I find that, if I have ‘helmet hair’ when I take my helmet off, I can wrap this scarf around my head and my ‘messy hair’ is concealed. I often get compliments when I wear this head-wrap, and it has become one of my most often worn clothing items.


I am by no means an astrological fatalist, but simply see astrological signs as symbols and guideposts — as a tool to help us make sense of our place in the world, how we relate to other people, and what kinds of personality habits we tend towards. When I adorn myself in moon and astrological imagery — as I do in the outfits featured here — I feel a sense of connectedness to a kind of nature-magic that, even if it is imaginative or illusory, is nonetheless powerful.
Thanks for tuning in!  Until next time — Lauren ☾

Lauren Fournier is an artist and writer currently based in Toronto.
She is working on her PhD in feminist theory and performance art at York University.

Photography credits: Lee Henderson (

Clowning Around with Onesies


Remember playing dress-up as a kid? My sister and I would go through this antique chest in our basement filled with my mother’s clothing items that she no longer wore — dresses with shoulder pads, large glasses without their frames, lycra body suits. We’d cover our little bodies with different fabrics, textures, cuts, and colours — wearing whatever configuration suited our mood that afternoon.


Once we were dressed, it was performance time. I would put a song on the CD-player from one of the few albums that my parents owned — The Proclaimers or the soundtrack to My Best Friend’s Wedding — and my sister and I would put on a dance show in front of my parents and whoever else might have been at our home that day. My sister would run as fast as her three year-old body could around our oval coffee-table, while six year-old me would mouth the words to every song, providing accompanying arm movements and expressive hip shakes for emphasis. As we grew up, my sister and I continued to play dress-up — albeit in a not-always-consensual way. She would take an item from my closet and I’d take an item from hers, both hoping that the other person wouldn’t notice the other wearing it at high-school that day. The (blessing and) curse of wearing the same size as your sister.


Since moving to Toronto, I’ve found myself dressing more conservatively than I did when I lived in Vancouver and Regina. Nowadays, I tend towards black on black on black, with little colour or pattern deviation. This is starting to change, as I rediscover some of the fascinating items hidden in my own closet. Take this stylish black pant suit-style onesie that ties up in the front. When paired with a floppy black hat and witchy boots, you get an outfit circa Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice (1988). Since summer is quickly approaching, I’ve decided to wear the onesie pant suit with my Trippen platform sandals, wonderfully eccentric and surprisingly walkable shoes from the Trippen outlet in Berlin.


I found this black and white polka dot onesie at Little Miss Vintage on Commercial Drive in Vancouver. Somehow, I feel both classically glamorous and comfortably clownish in this outfit. Wearing this makes me feel a bit like Marilyn Monroe, especially when I wear it with bright red lips. I love that the top of this onesie is a tube top — a style which I anticipate will experience a resurgence this summer as the 1990s continue to inform the latest fashion, makeup, and design trends.

This grey onesie is my personal favorite. The fabric — 100% rayon — feels phenomenal on my body. I found it at Community Thrift and Vintage in Vancouver’s gastown, a store with excellent selection that also functions as a Social Enterprise initiative in which all profits go towards PHS Community Services Society in the Downtown Eastside. For those of you in the Vancouver area, donations are accepted at the Community Unisex shop located at 41 West Cordova (


Wearing each of these onesies reminds me of how much fun it can be to play dress up in our everyday lives. I encourage each of you to play around with clothing items that you might not typically wear … it can be a lot of fun, and you’ll be building character in the process.

Thanks for tuning in!  Until next time — Lauren ☾


Lauren Fournier is an artist and writer currently based in Toronto.
She is working on her PhD in feminist theory and performance art at York University.

Photography credits: Lee Henderson (

Cyberpunk and Bird Songs: Nineties-Inspired Jackets for Spring


Without a doubt, my favorite seasons are autumn and spring. My constitution favors the moderate temperatures of these liminal states. I want nothing more than to go for a long, meandering walk through the city that I live in (currently Toronto, previously Vancouver and Regina) wearing a seasonably light jacket. At long last, I can shed the cocoon of my ankle-length ‘sleeping bag parka’ and salt-smeared winter boots of frigid months past, boldly emerging like a delirious butterfly beholding the first signs of spring. The birds are back, flittering sweet songs at my window. Final papers are being submitted as students make arrangements to occupy their summer months. I wander outside, wearing comfortable walking shoes and a jacket that fits me quite literally like a glove. I find a spot in the park to sit and read some science fiction, cyberpunk, and cyborg theory: Donna Haraway’s “The Cyborg Manifesto,” William Gibson’s “All Tomorrow’s Parties,” and Ursula K. Le Guin’s “The Left Hand of Darkness.”


The jacket featured here is in my Top 10 Best Value Village finds. I had been a frequent Value Village forager during my time living in Vancouver: my friend Melodie and I would go on regular day trips out to the suburbs (Burnaby, Surrey) and discover wonderful wares in the VVs there. Now, having recently moved to Toronto, I had not yet discovered the local VVs. On our way up to York, my friend Sally stopped by Value Village to find a Halloween costume for her daughter. I decided to join for a quick perusal. This streamlined, shiny black jacket caught my eye as soon as I entered the store. It looked glorious but tiny, and I had assumed it wouldn’t fit. I decided to give it a try anyway.


Sally told me that I looked like I had walked straight out of The Matrix, which sealed the deal. I would definitely be buying this jacket. The tag signals that the jacket is from Le Chateau in the late 1990s/early 2000s. Made from PVC (polyvinylchorlide), which is a compound similar to rubber, this jacket fits like a glove — like a latex glove used toward kinky ends. I could definitely see this jacket moonlighting as bondage wear. Wearing it makes me feel like I’m a dominatrix-type character in a 1980s-1990s cyberpunk future, circa William Gibson’s Neuromancer.


Thanks for tuning in!  Until next time — Lauren ☾


Lauren Fournier is an artist and writer currently based in Toronto.
She is working on her PhD in feminist theory and performance art at York University.

Photography credits: Lee Henderson (