Canada’s Style Identity Is Finally Emerging 

Much like how Canada tends to define its identity, both culturally and politically, by what it isn’t — “We’re not American” — we’ve often described our style the same way. We know we’re not as sharply tailored as the Italians. We don’t do the ultra-minimalism of Scandinavia. We’re not effortlessly nonchalant like the French. Canadian style existed in the space between other, louder fashion identities, borrowing along the way alongside the stereotypes. 

You know them. Lumberjacks and hockey players. Plaid flannel. The Canadian tuxedo. Boots and touques. The clichés are familiar, but they’re rooted in geography and climate.

“It’s competent, understated, and practical. […] Vancouver skews technical and outdoorsy, Calgary is known for westernwear. Montreal can be more expressive.”

We live somewhere that demands practical clothes. We like being outside. We walk, hike, camp, layer, commute, and get on with our days while dealing with the elements — whether that’s sweltering Montreal summers, prairie winters that feel personal, or relentless Vancouver rain. 

Even our most popular cultural exports skew rural and unpolished — Schitt’s Creek, Letterkenny, Trailer Park Boys, Bob and Doug McKenzie. We’re not exactly known for the suits of Toronto, or the more urbane European styles of Montreal. 

Unlike the city of Toronto — which has spent years trying to be New York — Canadian style, writ large, seems to have stopped pretending and started accepting itself. Because, don’t look now, but over the past decade or so, Canadian style has really come into its own. 

So what is it exactly? It’s a lot of things, but technical outerwear, good knits, athletic ease, and mostly muted palettes rise to the surface. It’s competent, understated, and practical. The details change by city, but the instincts stay the same. Vancouver skews technical and outdoorsy, Calgary is known for westernwear. Montreal can be more expressive. 

We dress for our lives as they are. Loud statements rarely survive our winters, or our sensibilities.

Those sensibilities feel especially relevant right now. Rising costs, supply chain disruptions, fluctuating tariffs with close trade partners, and a renewed focus on value have pushed shoppers to think harder about where their clothes come from — and whether they’re actually worth it. Canadian brands, many of which have long emphasized local production, small runs, and durable materials, are suddenly well positioned. They’ve been making clothing with a certain honesty all along. In a moment where value and quality matter more than ever, Canadian style feels reassuring. 

Previously, Canada’s fashion claims to fame were fewer and farther between. One of the biggest was the now-iconic Roots beret — a shorthand for Canadian pride after Ross Rebagliati won gold at Nagano in ’98, draped in a varsity jacket and scarf that looked like you could wear them straight off the podium. 

“The appeal is straightforward: good fabrics, sensible silhouettes, and pieces you can wear tomorrow, next year, and probably longer than that.”

Today, Canada has no shortage of brands that reflect this preference for clothes that prioritize materials, fit, and functionality. HAVEN has long been admired for its sharp curation of global technical and minimalist brands, and in recent years has translated that point of view into its in-house label — elevated, utilitarian essentials that feel perfectly at home on Canadian streets. Body of Work, a small Toronto-based operation producing beautifully-made fleece knits in small batches close to home, is quickly gaining a cult following. Edmonton’s Kluane Mountaineering is quickly building a strong reputation for down coats and outerwear in Japan. Arc’teryx has gone from hardcore outdoor specialist to GORP-core darling. I could go on. 

What’s interesting is that this reputation has travelled beyond our borders, landing just as men seem to be moving on from the peak of hype-driven streetwear. After years of algorithm-fuelled micro-trends and dressing for the ’gram, there’s renewed appeal in clothes that simply work. There’s no lore to decode here. The appeal is straightforward: good fabrics, sensible silhouettes, and pieces you can wear tomorrow, next year, and probably longer than that. For what it’s worth, American friends of mine have told me that “Made in Canada” reads as a genuine mark of quality.

None of these brands are chasing a “Canadian look.” (I don’t anticipate “Canada-maxxing” becoming an online movement anytime soon.) They’re just making good stuff. Branding a national aesthetic would feel un-Canadian — Canadian style is something that emerged naturally, shaped by climate, care, competence, restraint, and clothes that make sense for real life.

FEATURE PHOTO BY MARC RICHARDSON.

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