The VICE Guide to Toronto

Holy shit is Toronto growing fast. About the only thing in the skyline that stays constant is that really tall pointy thing near the lake beside the building that looks like a zit. Apart from that don’t ever count on anything being the same for more than a few weeks because the city is awash in money and businessmen who drive red sports cars, which means that it is also awash in retarded development schemes. We find it remarkable that despite the massive tax burden imposed on Canadians generally—and Ontarians and Torontonians in particular—this city devours and reinvents itself every couple of years. Hence the identity crisis.  But Toronto has been growing at this pace for over 40 years. Until the 50s and 60s it was a tiny little nowhere town like Kingston. It had a garrison, a constabulary, a little stone-cut city hall, three horses… basically it was a trading outpost called Olde Yorke. Then a few things happened. First of all, big business realized Quebec was an unreliable powder keg of French hatred, so they moved. The rationale was, “Why risk being stuck with a head office in a province that wasn’t a part of Canada?” So the entire English community (read: business community) shut down its operations in Montreal and moved to Toronto. Then the Italians, Portuguese, Ukrainians, Poles, Greeks, etc., started pouring in and brought with them a work ethic that had, curiously, atrophied in the Protestant Canadians, and literally built the city up brick by brick. And then Buffalo tanked. Talk to really smart people that know Toronto history and they’ll tell you that the two cities were neck and neck for dominance over the Golden Horseshoe until the 50s. Then Buffalo burned down.  All of this meant that Toronto went from Nowheresville, Ontario, to the biggest city in the country overnight. It’s been gorging itself on land and resources ever since. The population exploded and nobody knew what to do. More importantly, nobody knew how to act. Guys over 30 regressed into hoserdom, wore lumberjack jackets, and called everyone by their last name (like: “Check out fuckin’ McCarthy over here fuckin’ chuggin a two-four like it’s nobody’s business, fuck”). Guys under 30 embraced American hip-hop culture and became such intense wiggers it’s almost impossible to understand what they’re saying. And women of all ages became ravers. Not so ridiculous for 14 year-olds but when you see someone over 40 with purple pigtails and a tiny knapsack you understand why a lot of guys are gay. There are some upsides to this insta-city, though. Unlike in big American cities, people in Toronto can actually read. They don’t make you feel self-conscious for using four-letter words and they can discuss controversial politics without jumping up and down and screaming “Nazi!” like a baby girl. There also seems to be a pretty high comedy standard. You can riff with bartenders like you’re at a sleepover and even people on the bus seem inordinately high on the comedy ladder.  Though there are quite a few genuinely good bars in Toronto, going for the cheese factor can be a lot more rewarding. It’s the safest and cleanest place on earth so you are definitely not going to get your ass kicked. Wear a bright yellow suit and a retard hat and put a pin on your jacket that says “I brake for basset hounds.” If you’re a girl dress up like you’re in Desperately Seeking Susan only about 37 times more slutty. Then you can trudge off to Planet Hollywood or the Rolling Stones bar and act like the biggest douchebag in the world. Shit, you can even smoke a joint while you’re walking down the street. This city is a goofball’s wet dream. Go to www.viceland.com/cityguides if you think we missed something but keep in mind this guide is only like 60 pages or so. Enjoy. Cover photo by Tim Barber. Velvet Underground t-shirt is by Marc Huntley. Thanks to all the Torontonians that helped out: Ryan, Greg, Ashley, Simon, Derrick, John, John, Patrick, Melissa and Claudia, Dan, the Toronto office people and Daria, our new landlady.