When you lose everything in a house fire, you have to make a lot of quick decisions, often racing against time and the changing of the seasons. Eight years ago, as the first real snow began to fall during my morning commute, I was still wearing a pair of borrowed flip flops. I immediately decided to be late for work, blowing past my highway exit and continuing instead to the nearest mall with underground parking so I could get myself some boots and other accessories. I needed an easy solution and found it at the Hudson’s Bay department store, where I could grab everything in one go. It’s how I ended up with a cashmere scarf featuring the classic HBC stripes.
It turned out to be a good scarf. Warm, soft, lightweight and oddly dirt repellent. Seriously, I’m not sure I’ve ever washed this thing, which is sort of gross to admit, but it’s the kind of gross I can totally stand behind because it still looks and smells ok.
In recent years, however, I’ve felt conflicted whenever I wear it because I’m not comfortable with having a symbol of brutal corporate colonialism emblazoned across my body for all to see. When I bought it, I was a less-informed person, one who only thought of the Hudson’s Bay stripes as kitschy Canadiana—on the same level as red flannel shirts, hockey sticks and toques with earflaps. Back then, it felt a little patriotic to own something so iconic.
But the simple stories I was taught in school about the Hudson’s Bay Company—and heck, all of Canadian history—were whitewashed versions of how things really went down, and I should’ve known better.
It is a beautiful thing to learn and grow and admit that you are wrong. I’ve heard that most people cling more tightly to the certainty of their beliefs as they age, but I’m happy to say I have changed my mind about many, many things in the past decade. I am still learning to see the world from perspectives I’d never considered before, and I hope I continue to do so until I die.
But back to the scarf: What do I do with it now? Do I wear it even though it unsettles me, especially if the unsettling is a good thing? Do I keep it as a reminder to think before I shop? Or is it sending an awful message? Is it disrespectful to Indigenous people? Should I wear it only with the ends tucked inside my coat so that the stripes don’t offend? Would giving it away solve anything?
Thankfully, I don’t have the same problem with my winter boots, made by an inspiring Indigenous-owned company here in Canada. These mukluks were a gift from my husband a few Christmases ago, and are warm and comfy enough that I don’t need to wear socks when walking my kids to school:
Now, I’m not so naive as to suggest that buying anything is going to solve the longstanding racism, social injustice, environmental recklessness and colonial mindset inherent in contemporary Canadian society, but I do believe it’s important to think about who I’m buying from and what they stand for. It’s a privilege, of course, to be able to shop this way, and I am trying to use my privilege as responsibly as I can.
For me, it will always come down to what I can do as an individual (like making a small monthly donation or choosing eco-friendly paints), which doesn’t feel like much as the world burns. And honestly, it is not enough. But it’s a start, and we all have to start somewhere.
:) Teresa
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