It’s like my racist uncle died. He was part of the family. He helped build the house. He showed up at every holiday, said things you winced at, but still pulled you aside with a candy cane or some money. That’s what it felt like when Hudson’s Bay shut its doors forever last week.
When I was a kid in the ’70s, holiday window shopping at The Bay on Queen and Bay was a big deal. It wasn’t just a store — it was the store. Canada’s flagship. The place that helped stitch the country together. Literally.
The Bay’s legacy was always complicated. It was founded on fur trading, corporate conquest and colonial expansion. It profited from stolen land and played a role in shaping a country that didn’t include everyone. And yet, it was also where we bought mittens, tried on winter sweaters, and enjoyed beautiful Christmas displays.
So yeah — when The Bay died, a part of Canada’s history died too.
I hadn’t been there in years. Like a lot of people, I drifted online during the pandemic and never looked back. But to be fair — The Bay never really called me back either. Then I heard the news: The Bay was closing down for good.
Nobody came to save The Bay. The last owner was an American company, more interested in its real estate value than its history.
If we let that happen to Canada’s iconic store — the uncle with the checkered past who still meant something to us — what chance do the new family members have?
I talk about shopping local — I believe in it — but I don’t always act like I do. There’s a great corner store in the neighbourhood: kind owners and great prices. They give my kid a free freezy every time we go. They’ve only been here a few months, but already they feel like family.
And still, I order groceries online. Because it’s easier than a five-minute walk.
But here’s the truth: the new family doesn’t survive on good intentions. They survive when we show up.
Last week, we lost a bit of the flawed and familiar old Canada. The question now is: are we going to let the new Canada die too?
