The Art of Wearing Heels and Networking at the WIFVV Femme Fatale Gala

The star of the gala evening: Awkwardness and the Blue Martini

I have a love-hate relationship with networking, and an equally ambivalent relationship with dressing up. Needless to say, my invitation to last night's Women in Film & Video Vancouver's Femme Fatale Spotlight Awards had me nothing short of hyperventilating.

On one hand, I considered the potentially orgasmic array of free food and the opportunity to frolic in Hycroft Mansion. On my other trembling and clammy hand, I was paralyzed with a sickening feeling that this just wasn't my scene. For a week prior to this self-congratulatory, self-aggrandizing industry event, I was so anxiety ridden that friends nearly had to hose me down.

Listen, here's the sitch: I don't do white gloves and glam hairdos. Furthermore, the last and only time I wore heels was for grade eight graduation. And believe me, that was a very sorry affair for not only me but everyone who had to witness my awkward hobbling across the gymnasium floor. I never imagined I'd have to relive this moment in Vancouver, of all places. Really, now, who dresses up in this city, anyway?

Well, turns out everyone who's anyone in the film industry... And all in the fine, fine name of networking. Gah.

Yes, networking. As I said, I have a love-hate relationship with it: when an open bar's involved, when people actually loosen up and act like themselves, the physical act of talking about what you do or handing out business cards is more an act of friendship and genuine interest in someone, and not a slimy business transaction. Events like this have people stargazing and losing all emotion in their faces. In short, they become the walking dead. It was a superficial affair, to say the least, an excuse for people to don a new pair of shoes and believe that having food delivered to them on trays indicates they've scaled up a social rung.

Oh, and have mercy -- the food. Aside from the decadent chocolate cheesecake on a stick, the edible fare was just that: merely edible. With tickets going for 125 bones, you'd think the hors d'oeuvres would be a little more tantalizing, or at least served by a copper-skinned Adonis, dangling a delicate grape an inch from my mouth when I ask him to. I think I could've thrown a more epic gathering with iTunes' Party Shuffle and a couple of boxes from M&M Meat shop.

Anyway, I shouldn't complain. My ticket was free. I should've been honoured to be in the presence of Julia Kwan, director of Sundance-approved Eve and the Fire Horse, as well as other top ladies reprezentin' in the field, but I had other issues on my mind...

Like, thinking of how to get out of there without tripping on my new heels. Hello, grade eight. Let's bury you in the ground again.