In high school, I was one of those dorks who thought he knew it all. Whether it was a question about my future, the calculus problem from third period, or what someone should wear to the prom, I had the answer. And I wasn’t stingy with my knowledge, especially when it came to fashion. Between periods and during lunch breaks at my Toronto school, I could usually be found in front of my locker dispensing style advice, lemonade stand–style. Some kids stopped by with serious inquiries; others snickered and walked off, muttering under their breath. Some passersby got judgments from me, whether they wanted them or not. In any case, I always felt the need to be honest—but constructive.