Hudson’s Bay stores across Canada turned into eerie treasure troves Monday as shoppers scavenged bare shelves and climbed silent escalators, chasing discounts and a slice of history. From Edmonton to Vancouver, the nation’s oldest retailer—teetering on the edge of liquidation—drew bargain hunters and loyalists mourning the end of an era.
In Edmonton, two Bay locations looked like retail graveyards: racks stripped, iconic wool blankets—those green, red, yellow, and indigo-striped relics from the 1800s—nearly gone. Shoppers like Susan Carpenter, snagging deals at 40% to 70% off, couldn’t hide their bittersweet vibes. “It’s a crying shame,” said the Montreal native, whose grandmother once manned the store’s switchboard and who herself worked there during Christmas 1971. “It was a big deal then, and it still is to me.”
Hudson’s Bay Co., born in 1670, is racing to unload $315 million in inventory, a move threatening thousands of jobs across its 80-plus stores. An Ontario Superior Court hearing wrapped Monday with no final word on liquidation approval, leaving the retailer’s fate dangling. In Vancouver, diehards like Julie Bagyan lined up outside the six-storey flagship before trudging up six flights—elevators and escalators kaput—to browse menswear. A 35-year Bay fan since arriving from the Philippines in 1988, Bagyan reminisced about Boxing Day sales: “I’d line up for those branded steals.”
Not everyone’s shedding tears. Edmonton’s Amanda Valette, whose mom used the store’s 1960s daycare, said the Bay’s time was up. “Who spends $300 on a blouse at a department store anymore?” she quipped. Still, the nostalgia stings—those blankets and bustling floors were Canadian DNA.
Historian Stephen Bown, author of The Company: The Rise and Fall of the Hudson’s Bay Empire, calls it the end of a 355-year legacy. “It’s a portal to our past,” he said from Canmore, Alta. The Bay didn’t just sell socks—it shaped Canada’s identity, bolstering Britain’s case against U.S. expansion in the 1800s. “It kept us from being the 51st state—or maybe the 46th back then,” Bown noted, half-joking as Trump’s annexation chatter looms. Losing it, he warns, risks erasing a chunk of history too big to forget.