The cold snap arrived early this October, sending me rummaging through storage bins for something warm. At the bottom of one, I found a faded blue sweater bearing the CBC logo—a relic from my father’s broadcasting days in the 1980s. As I pulled it over my head, the familiar smell of cedar and memories washed over me. That evening, walking through Vancouver’s Mount Pleasant neighborhood, I counted no fewer than seven people wearing similar vintage Canadian insignia—Hudson’s Bay stripes, old Hockey Night in Canada crests, and retro Olympic gear.
This isn’t coincidence. It’s the calculated success of Toronto-based clothing startup Retrospect Apparel, which has built a thriving business by tapping into Canada’s collective memory.
“We’re selling more than clothing—we’re selling the comfort of shared cultural touchstones,” says Margot Chen, who founded Retrospect in 2019 after leaving her corporate marketing job. “In uncertain times, people gravitate toward the familiar symbols that remind them of simpler days.”
Chen’s company has grown from a one-woman operation run from her apartment to a team of twenty-three with a warehouse in Scarborough. Their specialty? Reimagined Canadian classics: limited-run recreations of CBC merchandise from the 1970s and ’80s, faithful reproductions of Canada Post uniforms, and updated versions of the Team Canada jersey from the 1972 Summit Series.
Sales have increased 340% since 2021, according to internal company data Chen shared during our conversation at their showroom. The walls are decorated with framed Canadian ephemera—old Eaton’s catalogs, Beaver Lumber advertisements, and Tim Hortons memorabilia from before the chain went global.
“During the pandemic, we saw this massive shift,” Chen explains, adjusting a rack of corduroy jackets emblazoned with the original VIA Rail logo. “People couldn’t travel, couldn’t see family. These clothes became emotional surrogates for the connections we were missing.”
Dr. Arjun Mahadevan, a cultural sociologist at the University of British Columbia who studies consumer behavior, believes this nostalgia wave reflects something deeper than aesthetic preference.
“What we’re seeing isn’t just fashion cycling back, which always happens,” Mahadevan told me. “This is about identity anchoring during profound uncertainty. Climate anxiety, economic precarity, and now multiple global conflicts have made Canadians seek symbolic stability.”
Research from Statistics Canada shows that consumer confidence has fluctuated dramatically over the past five years, with spending in certain “comfort categories”—including nostalgia-based products—showing remarkable resilience even during economic downturns.
Chen walks me through their production area, where two seamstresses are finalizing a limited run of jackets inspired by what CBC camera operators wore during the 1988 Calgary Olympics. The attention to detail is remarkable—right down to the weight of the zippers.
“We source as much as possible in Canada,” she says. “The fabrics come from mills in Quebec and Ontario. The production happens here. It’s more expensive, but it’s part of our ethos—we’re celebrating Canadian heritage, so we should support Canadian manufacturing.”
Not everyone sees the trend as benign. Some critics suggest these products represent a sanitized version of Canadian identity that glosses over more complex historical realities.
“There’s a danger in commodifying nostalgia,” says Martin Whyte, curator at the Museum of Canadian Culture in Ottawa. “These products often celebrate institutional Canada—crown corporations and government entities—without acknowledging how these same institutions sometimes failed marginalized communities.”
I raised this critique with Chen, who nodded thoughtfully before responding.
“That’s completely valid. We’ve been working with Indigenous designers on a collection that examines the complicated relationship between Canadian institutions and First Nations. We don’t want to peddle simplistic nationalism—we want to use these familiar symbols as entry points for deeper conversations about who we are.”
The company recently collaborated with Cree artist Meryl Ghostkeeper on a series that reimagines Hudson’s Bay blanket patterns through an Indigenous lens, with proceeds supporting language revitalization programs.
Outside Retrospect’s showroom, I meet Darren Taylor, 42, who has just purchased a jacket styled after Parks Canada ranger uniforms from the 1970s.
“My grandfather was a park warden in Jasper,” he explains, running his hand over the embroidered patch. “This isn’t exactly like his—his had more pockets—but wearing it makes me feel connected to him. We used to hike together every summer until I was fifteen.”
As I head back to my apartment that evening, still wearing my father’s old CBC sweater, I pass a group of university students at a café. Two are wearing Retrospect’s reproduction of the 1980s NFB (National Film Board) crew jackets. I wonder if they’ve ever actually watched an NFB documentary, but then catch myself in this gatekeeping thought. Perhaps wearing these symbols is their way of claiming connection to a Canadian identity they’re still figuring out.
For her part, Chen remains optimistic about the future while looking to the past. Retrospect plans to open physical locations in Vancouver and Montreal next year. They’re also launching a program where people can send in beloved Canadian garments for restoration or recreation.
“There’s something powerful about wearing history,” she says as we say goodbye. “These aren’t just clothes. They’re conversation starters, memory triggers, and little acts of resistance against a homogenized global culture.”
I look down at my sweater—the one real artifact among Retrospect’s carefully crafted reproductions—and understand exactly what she means.
