Look Out, Vancouver! I’m Dressing for Joy

There goes a saying when you move to a new place: three weeks in, everything is exciting. At three months, you find conflict between your old and new home. After three years, you’re finally settled. As the third anniversary of my time here in Canada approaches, I’m on great terms with Vancouver. We’re getting along fine, apart from one fact: me and my clothes are raging against the city.

The subsets of Vancouver fashion are well-rehearsed, but I’ll recap my observations: there’s the gorpcore crew, the people who wear utilitarian technical apparel everywhere from the office to a night out in Gastown; they are ready for the mountains at all times. There are the “more-is-more” luxury devotees who flock to the high-end designers. And of course, there’s the Lululemon athleisure brigade.

Vancouver residents are united by a uniform of muted, monochromatic clothing, loved for its comfort and simplicity. Why stand out when you can fit in!

I understand it objectively. But an uneasiness creeps in when I pull on an all-black Vancouver ensemble. I walk in and out of mainstream stores, irked at the lack of vibrant colours and patterns.

They’re just clothes, I say to myself. But what to do with my genuine frustration that has been boiling underneath the surface?

I’m dopamine dressing.

Like the post-pandemic fashion boom that had us rejecting comfy clothes for extravagant outfits, I’m on a daily Vancouver duel against monotony and practicality.

My quest: brighten up my wardrobe, one piece of clothing at a time.

Clothing is communication

Take the raincoat, which is core to our existence in this watery city. The excitement of buying my first Patagonia piece was high, but something didn’t sit quite right, and I sold it on Facebook Marketplace.

Later, a friend spotted a fizzy, sherbert-orange parka at an outlet mall. I knew it was the one. Is it distinctly less waterproof? Yes, but I would rather be a little soggy and communicate something. Joy, play, celebration for the sake of it.

Disclaimer: I come to you in humility. I am no fashion expert. Across my wardrobe, I’ve got three looks: denim (dark and raw, crushed and velvety, washed out, whatever), a Mara Hoffman-inspired balloon silhouette, or boxy streetwear that a young hypebeast would approve of.

I like it, but nothing about my style is groundbreaking, here or on the other side of the Atlantic.

In London, I worked opposite the renowned fashion school Central Saint Martins, where alumni include John Galliano, Stella McCartney and more recently, Grace Wales Bonner.

In June, an old work friend and I returned to the neighbourhood and a current student stomped past in an ensemble so impractically structured that the only detail I remember from the encounter is myself and my friend clutching each other in appreciation. There’s nothing like the streets turned into a runway on a Wednesday to jolt you into trying something.

I get it. In a city where affordable housing, homelessness and fires that decimate local communities and the environment are frequent concerns, clothing is not a priority. And yet, fashion isn’t exclusive to how we engage in society.

As the city raises questions about the display of pro-Palestine symbols on the clothing of public library staff, fashion continues to be a tool to show the values that we align with.

And we know that clothes can affect our mood, too. A survey of 576 Canadians during the pandemic showed that respondents dealt with and improved their mood through clothes.

Critically, in a city where people go to great lengths to find meaningful relationships, I’ve found that clothes are one of the easiest ways to connect.

My quilted, cobalt jacket holds the top spot for the most conversations started. I met a close friend two years ago at a film event when she complimented the pop of colour.

Soon after, someone who I’d been trying to befriend struck up conversation about her kids seeing me around town. Having met them in passing, I asked how they recognized me. Reader, it was the jacket.

Dear Vancouverite, if you’d like to join my joyful rebellion, here are some things to consider. Try putting on one bold colour that you love to look at. Is there an item you already own but you’re saving for a special occasion or feels a little out there? Wear it on a Tuesday. This could also be an opportunity to make part of your cultural wear a staple in your daily rotation.

And if in doubt, start with an accessory. I recently met a teen who wore earrings as hair charms. Maybe that scarf isn’t a scarf — it’s a new belt. Could that oddball keyring that someone bought you from a trip cosplay as your very own Labubu doll?

And fuelling Canada’s textile waste is not required.

The extensive thrift shops and consignment stores in Vancouver aren’t just a cool quirk of the city. After being disappointed by every Zara and H&M between here and Surrey, I was driven to consignment retailers like Front & Company, Turnabout and Mintage that offer a variety of colours, styles and quality materials that traditional shops don’t have.

Or better yet, dig into your closet and look around for something you can revive.

So if you see me on the streets of Vancouver looking like a neon highlighter marker, please say hello.