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“I knew working in fashion could be unglamorous, but I was surprised by how much”: Vogue writer Christian Allaire on his new memoir

In From the Rez to the Runway, Allaire recounts his tumultuous journey from Nipissing First Nation to the world of high fashion

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"I knew working in fashion could be unglamorous, but I was surprised by how much": Vogue writer Christian Allaire on his new memoir
Photo by Hunter Abrams

In 2010, Christian Allaire moved from his home in Nipissing First Nation to Toronto to study journalism at TMU. Obsessed with fashion, he landed gigs at Argyle and Flare before scoring a coveted internship at Vogue in New York. Fifteen years later, he’s living in Brooklyn as the magazine’s senior fashion and style writer. Allaire’s new memoir, From the Rez to the Runway, recounts his tumultuous journey into the world of high fashion. We spoke to him about how powwows introduced him to style and whether Indigenous stories are finally getting the attention they deserve.


You wrote a memoir at 30 years old. That’s pretty young, no? When I was approached about the idea by Janice Zawerbny, an editor at Harper­Collins, it sounded crazy. But, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I wanted to explore how a little rez kid can end up in high fashion—two worlds that are total opposites.

The book opens with a scene at a powwow. Why does that moment stand out? Powwow is a big part of why I got into fashion despite growing up in such a rural place. My favourite part was watching my sister work on her jingle dress and regalia, then seeing what everyone else was wearing. It was the only reason I ever wanted to go.

How did it shape your understanding of fashion? Even then, I understood that fashion could be meaningful. I loved the pretty regalia, but when I heard the stories behind my family’s designs, like the colours of the ribbons or the significance of the jingles, it gave me a deeper understanding of what they were making. That got me thinking about fashion not just as an art form but as a form of identity. And it translates to fashion writing too: it’s not just about the clothes—it’s about the stories behind them.

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What kinds of stories did you want to tell as a fashion journalist? Early on as an intern, I pitched Indigenous fashion stories I wanted to write, but editors just weren’t interested. There was this idea that the subject wasn’t important enough to cover, which shocked me. Thankfully, I’m pretty stubborn, so those rejections only made me want to write the stories more. The more people said no, the more I pitched.

You describe running errands as an intern in your boss’s Mercedes. How The Devil Wears Prada was it? I knew from that movie and the reality show The Hills that working in fashion could be unglamorous, but it was still surprising. Not only did I drive that very expensive car—which I had no business driving—but I even went to city hall to fight my boss’s parking tickets. It was character-building, if demeaning.

What were your go-to spots in Toronto? When I first moved there, I thought York­ville was the height of glamour. I’d spend every weekend browsing in stores and eating at restaurants I couldn’t afford. I also loved Guu Izakaya on Church Street, near my apartment, and Barque in Roncesvalles. I’d always hit up Fashion Week at David Pecaut Square and hang around the tents hoping to get photographed.

You write about facing discrimination from a Yorkville store clerk when you tried to use your status card to remove the HST on a purchase—a right under the Indian Act. Was that a common experience? Oh, yeah. People would say the most racist things when I tried to use my status card. Like, “Oh, you’re Indigenous, do you have a casino? Do you get to go to school for free?” That was the 2010s, and while the Truth and Reconciliation report has woken people up a bit, that kind of discrimination still happens all the time when people try to use status cards. Especially at the border—I was once detained at JFK in New York for eight hours because I didn’t “look Indigenous.” It was wild.

What lessons have you brought with you from your initial experiences with style on the rez? It’s given me a different perspective on what glamour is. To me, glamorous clothes are items that take a long time to make or involve high-quality materials. So often, people think it just means sparkly things. But a pair of jeans can be glamorous, if they’re made from raw Japanese fabric. It’s the same with jewelry. I’m wearing a dentalium necklace right now, which people tend to see as a casual item. But it’s made of rare shells, so it’s glamorous to me.

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How well does the industry walk the line between appreciation and appropriation when spotlighting Indigenous fashion? It’s murky. These days, people know appropriation when they see it. You can’t just rip off an Indigenous design without giving credit, so we’re seeing less of that, thank god. The early 2010s were rough. But there’s still work to be done. High-fashion brands are collaborating with Indigenous artists and giving credit—which is amazing—but it’ll be a one-time thing, and they won’t do it again for years. I’d like to see more continuity and investment. As for Indigenous bodies, brands need to go further when it comes to considering Indigenous models as just normal models. I hate the idea that they’ll hire an Indigenous model for a special Indigenous collection but not for a regular campaign. That goes for Indigenous designers too. You can put them in a roundup of Indigenous designers but also include them in the regular roundup.

What else would you like to see happen? More inclusivity. Even this past Fashion Month, there were only two or three Native models on the runways. Same with designers. There are now one or two Indigenous designers in the mix every year, but I’d love for them to get a day on the main Fashion Week calendar. And beyond models, we need Indigenous hair and makeup artists, photographers, and other behind-the-scenes talent. With people from the community running the show, the result will be far more authentic—and beautiful.

We’re seeing a rise in Indigenous fashion stars, including model Heather Strongarm and designer Lesley Hampton. Is that a step toward inclusivity? Over the past five years, outlets have finally started giving Indigenous designers and models the credit they deserve. It’s inspiring but so overdue. As the spotlight widens, we’re seeing how diverse and vibrant the community is. We’re not a monolith—there are so many nations specializing in different aesthetics. We’re not just Navajo prints, you know?


This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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Anthony Milton is a freelance journalist based in Toronto. He is the regular writer of Toronto Life’s culture section and also contributes Q&As, as-told-tos and other stories for both print and web. He lives in Little Portugal.

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