Buckle in, pop your umbrella, turn on the fireplace you swore you’d never use, and prepare yourself for the very real chaos that is winter in Vancouver.
Have you noticed how all the Ontario transplants (aside from when they’re in Whistler at Longhorns) suddenly stop posting between the months of October and May? The daily sunset pics. The “can’t believe I live here!” and “my backyard” and “west coast best coast” captions slowly fade away… just like the sun.
What are they so busy doing during those grim winter months, you wonder? As a born-and-raised Vancouverite, I can speak on their behalf: trying to survive.
Below are the things you’ll only understand if you’ve actually pushed through a Vancouver winter — not the curated, golden-hour June version of the city — the real, soggy, slightly feral, character-building one.
In other cities, people slip on ice. Embarassing. Predictable. Logical. In Vancouver? It’s the leaves that take you out.
Once October hits, our streets get blanketed with bright, crunchy foliage (really pretty, very Nora Ephron for about three days). However, after the first rainfall, these leaves turn into slick, clumped, brown death pancakes.
You’re walking. Maybe even vibing. You’re holding your $14 matcha latte from cowdog. Then suddenly… boom. You’re horizontal and your dignity is evaporating faster than the rainfall (which, to be clear, never actually evaporates).
Every Vancouverite has a “I slipped on leaves on 4th avenue” story. And if you don’t, don’t worry, your time is coming.
I’d like to start by saying that this point is addressed to the 25-and-under crowd. If you’re going to The Roxy unironically past that age… therapy is an option.
I also say the word “clubbing” loosely when talking about Vancouver — we don’t have a booming nightlife. However, if you’re young and ready to hit the dance floor in the wintertime, here’s what you need to know:
All this to say, get out there young-ins. Clubbing in the rain builds resilience.
Every Vancouverite who has lived through a winter has, at some point, experienced their February-Dark-Night-Of-The-Soul-Crash-Out™. It’s not pretty, it’s not fun, and it’s best if your significant other leaves you alone during this time.
Symptoms include:
You won’t move to Calgary. This breakdown doesn’t completely make you lose your mind — only partly. But you will dramatically threaten to.
This is the one no one warns you about.
Move to Vancouver in the winter and watch your melanin pack its bags and leave. You will become pale in a way that is not aesthetic, not editorial and not Bella Swan in Twilight. It’s more like “foundation shades do not go this light and I can see every one of my pores in the grey-light-of-day.”
Every Vancouverite has asked themselves at least once:
People will try to sell you self-tanner. You might buy it. You might not. But either way, you’ll have to accept your newfound winter aesthetic — Victorian ghost child.
Dating in Vancouver is already a labyrinth of cryptic texts, situationships, and 37-year-old men who “aren’t ready for anything serious” because they’re “working on themselves” by doing a “breathwork course” (yes, this is a real person).
Now add winter. Suddenly, no one wants to leave their apartment. You’ll work up the courage to message your Hinge match: “Drinks?” only for them to reply “sorry I have a cold,” and you’ll be relived. Because you didn’t want to go out in this rain anyway, and you know a typical winter date involves:
No one is hot in Vancouver between November and March. We’re all vitamin-D-deficient and just doing our best.
Instead, I recommend hunkering down, making a cup of tea, and rewatching all the Harry Potter movies. Love doesn’t stand a chance until spring.
Everyone drones on about how cold the East Coast is. “We’re braver! We’re tougher!” Sure. Congratulations. Everyone loves a martyr. However, when it’s cold and sunny, you can still:
But Vancouver rain during the winter? It’s a dark wetness that soaks into your soul. It’s sideways. It’s diagonal. It’s misty. It’s sheets. It’s spitting. It’s targeted.
Did you know that there are weeks — literal weeks — where we do not see the sun? Vancouver averages just 60 hours of sunshine in all of January, which is basically, I imagine, the same emotional experience as living inside your back-of-cabinet Tupperware.
You can’t do anything. Your hobbies will become:
Your personality will defrost around May.
This sounds like a horror movie, and honestly, it kind of is. Picture this: it’s pouring rain, it’s dark at 4:30 p.m., visibility is awful. Brave (yet slightly delusional) cyclists with tiny, dim lights zoom in front of cars.
Cue: screaming, slamming brakes, a driver honking as their soul leaves their body, someone yelling “BRO *EXPLETIVE*! WHAT THE *EXPLETIVE* ARE YOU DOING?!” into the void.
Nobody’s actually mad. Everyone’s just overstimulated, wet, and trying their best. My recommendation? Avoid rush hour from November to February unless you’re emotionally stable. (And if you live in Vancouver in winter, you definitely aren’t).
And yet… every single year, we stay. Because when summer hits? When the seawall dries? When English Bay turns all gold-yellow-pink at 9 p.m.? We forget all of it. We fall back in love.
And then, October hits, and the cycle begins again. Rinse, sun, gloom, February crash out, repeat.
Godspeed, Vancouver.
The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Narcity Media.
