Pretending to be European

Uniqlo blouse
Oak + Fort dress (c/o) (similar)
J. Crew sandals
RayBan sunglasses
Sezane tote (similar)
Celine necklace (similar)
Aurate NY ring (c/o)
Mejuri earrings (c/o) (similar)
Location: The Manitoba Legislature – Winnipeg, Manitoba

I was always pretending to be someone, or something, as a kid. My memories of what I spent my time pretending to be are far less vivid than my memories of pretending as an act. I made up elaborate stories for my brother and me to act out in our playroom when we were still basically toddlers. By the time I was mid-way through elementary school, I was putting those stories on paper, writing three or four “books” in the time it took my classmates to write one. (I could easily write about how pretending is the earliest stage of a writer’s career, but I’ll save that subject for another day.)

I’ve always loved pretending because it allows me to live experiences, however inaccurately, that would otherwise be inaccessible to me. Recently, I joked that I’ve been pretending to be European since 1985 – in other words, since I was born – but that isn’t strictly accurate. In reality, I started when I was nine. That was the year I read The Diary of Anne Frank. One day after school, I was sitting on my bed with the book in hand, half-reading, half-reflecting on how it could be that a girl basically my own age had endured such horrific events in what was, in reality, the recent past. History felt very close to home, that afternoon. I pulled out my mom’s old globe, the one that still had Burma and Ceylon on it, to look at exactly where in the world Anne lived.

Frankfurt and Amsterdam were easy enough to spot. I wondered what those cities must have been like, and then paused – I was thinking about them in the past tense, but in reality, they still existed. People like me, kids with parents and worn out library books and old globes, still lived there. Because of course they did. Europe hadn’t been vacant since the end of World War II. The continent was just so far removed from my reality that I’d never stopped to consider that life went on there just as it went on for me in Winnipeg.

Suddenly, I wanted to know everything.

My fascination with Europe began that afternoon half a lifetime ago. It’s never waned in the intervening years. I’ve been to Amsterdam and Frankfurt, both briefly, and even to the house where Anne Frank lived in the former city. I’ve been to countless other cities, too. We visit the continent every year, twice if we can, staying for as long as we can, pretending our visits don’t ever have to end.

This year is different – for everyone, not just for us. There will be no European travel for us in 2020, unless some kind of miracle occurs in the next month. We just have to adjust. There are countless ways to do that, but personally, I’ve found some solace in pretending. Not in a conventional way. I’m not making up stories for myself to act out, but I am seeking out European-looking architecture for our photos. I’m frequenting the French bookstore here in Winnipeg to buy my favourite newspapers and books from France. And I’m leaning, increasingly, on building my wardrobe with pieces from European brands like Sezane and Rouje. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s the best one available.

We may not get to be in Europe this year. But in the right place, at the right time, with the right outfit, we can pretend.

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