DESIGNING COMMUNITY
Over the years, whenever I’ve been asked what work I’d do if I weren’t editing a magazine, my answer has always been immediate: I’d open a knitting store. Don’t get me wrong—I know how lucky I am to love both what I do and the people I work with. But, still, I’ve always had this little fantasy of creating a ( licensed!) space where locals could hang out, grab a glass of wine and work on a project together.
I’ve come to realize that my alternate world is less about the knitting (though I can whip up a mean toque if you ask me to) and more about creating a great community space for people to find connection through an activity they cherish together. And that’s what I love most about our Designers of the Year Awards—in particular, the event that caps off the creation of the issue you’re reading right now.
Ten years ago, we held our first Designers of the Year in a show suite for the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Vancouver (the following recession meant that particular project never came to pass). We’d predicted about 150 guests, but it was close to 300 that ended up cramming into a fairly tight space. The sound system wasn’t quite up to par, but the mood was electric—it was the start of one of the buzziest design awards programs in Canada.
Since then, that awards night has grown to 700 guests each year, and the vibe is just as thrilling. Last year, no less than three of our winners teared up during their acceptance speech (as did the crowd listening). We’ve seen an incredible roster of judges join our annual panel—Karim Rashid, Barbara Barry, Jonathan Adler, to name a few—and a just-asincredible lineup of winners, including the nine highlighted in this issue.
Yes, it’s a competition—there’s a real rush to being named Designer of the Year, after all—but on awards night, the community of designers we have here is one that’s incredibly supportive of each other’s work. There’s great cheer for every winner up on stage and lots of laughter as everyone catches up over a glass of wine. And that’s a community I feel privileged to be a part of—no knitting required.