September is film festival time in Toronto and every nightclub wants to be the IT place for celebrities. Mike Chalut, my constant host to the city, has informed me that I am to spend my week at his parties. Who am I to argue with such a charming host?

So last night, Michelle and I had Acey, Mike’s afternoon show co-host, and her girlfriend over for drinks and snacks before we all headed out to Maison, which is holding its grand opening during TIFF. Mike had equipped us all with nifty little cards that gave us access to the place, but we didn’t actually need them, because he was there waiting for us on the red carpet when we arrived. He ushered us in, making a show of pulling us through the crowd lined up outside. It was all very Studio 54.

Having been a person passed over for prettier, more scanitly-clad women in the crowd myself, I am not really sure how I feel about the whole exclusive club experience, to be honest. I don’t really get why anyone would line up around the block to get into Maison, or any place, for that matter, when there will inevitably be another watering/dancing hole a half block down the street anyway. But hey, the drinks were free and I had good people with me, so I didn’t think too much on it.

Inside was a mishmash of style without context. There were classical mouldings along the walls and crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, but that more traditional décor was paired with modern minimalist white boxes for speakers and bars. There were random things like shoes hanging along the walls, and disco balls punctuating the place. It was very odd. The music was uptempo dance and Top 40, accentuated by these massive LED screens showing the most ridiculous videos, such as a porn-fantasy version of women in prison pressing themselves against the bars for a dancing dominatrix prison guard. I cracked up.

Watching the crowd made for an interesting ethnographic study in the mating habits of straight people. Next to us was a group of men with a couple of women. One of the women, whom I will call Leatherpants for the purposes of this story, was the object of desire of every man in the group. One by one, the menfolk engaged in some sort of demonstration of their masculinity in hopes of impressing her. Some of them danced, some brought her mounds of drinks, some lifted things, and some wrestled with each other for her amusement. Leatherpants was blitzed drunk and enjoyed every one of their demonstrations, without returning any advances.

In the meantime, the other woman, whom I will call OtherWoman, was trying desperately to win some attention away from Leatherpants. She pulled on the arms of the men, downed shot after shot with them, and even climbed up on a table and danced seductively until a bouncer came over and pulled her back to ground level. At one point she finally managed to nab herself a dance partner. Leatherpants saw people dancing and seemed to think it looked like fun, so she joined them, at which point, of course, OtherWoman’s hard-won catch deserted her for the more coveted prospect.

I found myself wondering how these arbitrary decisions on attraction were made. Both women were pretty, and both seemed quite pleased with the company. If it was about sex, OtherWoman seemed very willing and eligible, so why were the men all drawn to Leatherpants? Further study would be required in order to answer that question.

But as it was, my drink tickets had run out and I decided to call it a night. At one point I saw Mike, who had been running around making sure the party was pumping all night, and he reported to me that Ed Norton was supposedly on his way over, but I didn’t stick around to find out if he made it that far.

In general, Maison isn’t really my kind of place. It’s just a bit too straight for me. But despite that, I had a surprisingly good time just dancing and people-watching. I had my Studio 54 moment and it was pretty fun.