Before we dive into this week's Teachings Tuesday, I want to take a moment to introduce myself and share a bit about my journey.
My name is Kim Trottier, and I began creating Culturally Committed in October 2020. This path was inspired by my experiences as a non-Indigenous person working in First Nations communities, and the treasured relationships that blossomed from that work. If you’re curious about my full origin story, please check out the podcast I did with my friend Len.
Over the past eleven years, my understanding of Canada’s history, Indigenous Peoples, systemic oppression, and Indigenous-specific racism has been profoundly transformed. Through this process, I’ve come to recognize the deep-rooted biases I carry—some I’ve confronted, and others I’m still unearthing.
I wish I could tell you exactly why I started writing Teachings Tuesday, but truthfully, it’s hard to pinpoint. In the beginning, I wasn’t sure if my voice even had a place in this space. My priority has always been to amplify Indigenous voices and teachings, so I hesitated to share my own perspective.
As time went on, however, my writing evolved. I began weaving in personal experiences of learning and unlearning, integrating the wisdom of Indigenous Knowledge Keepers, and reflecting on how these teachings were shaping my life and practice. By sharing how I’ve received and applied these lessons, my hope is to offer insight for others navigating their own journey toward understanding and reconciliation.
Despite my persistence in writing this weekly blog, it has always caused me a healthy amount of trepidation -- there are a few reasons for that:
I am not a professional writer. When I think about people reading my work, I feel a leaden weight in my stomach. Every week, I close my eyes when I hit that automation button and then snap my laptop shut before I can change my mind.
I am NOT an Indigenous cultural safety and humility expert. I’m simply on my own unlearning journey, and this space is like my journal. My thoughts are evolving, and I’m unraveling them in real time, with you as my witness.
I know I am making mistakes. Please give me grace as you read my work. I am learning and unlearning, and I am genuinely trying.
Thank you for your readership, your encouragement, and your support. I appreciate you.
In learning,
Kim
Last week, I had the privilege of attending the fourth-ever Vancouver Indigenous Fashion Week, hosted at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre on the traditional, unceded territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh Peoples. It was my first time attending this incredible event, and leading up to it, I was filled with a mix of nervous excitement. So many friends from the Culturally Committed community were going to be there, and the guest list was brimming with people I deeply admire and hold close to my heart.
Rhianna Millman, Fancy Poitras, Jillian Waterman, Katy Carson, Heather Biggar, Kim Trottier, Michelle Casavant
The event was a four-night showcase of Indigenous brilliance, each evening offering something unique and transformative. As I glanced at the lineup, I noticed that the final night was being opened by none other than Uncle Shane (Sulksan Shane Point) of Musqueam. Uncle Shane is an absolute legend—an iconic Knowledge Keeper whose teachings and insights have shaped countless organizations and institutions across this province. His presence alone carried so much weight, but what followed was nothing short of electric.
As the MC welcomed Uncle Shane to the stage, a familiar beat began to fill the room. The opening notes of “We Will Rock You” by Queen reverberated through the theatre:
"Buddy, you’re a boy, make a big noise
Playing in the street, gonna be a man someday
You’ve got mud on your face, a big disgrace,
Singing your song all over the place—singing:
We will, we will, rock you!”
The energy in the room erupted. Uncle Shane chose this song intentionally, setting the tone for what we were about to witness. With a broad smile, he declared, “Welcome to this feast for the eyes. Welcome to this redistribution of wealth by the young creative minds of our West Coast community. Welcome here, welcome here, welcome here. We will ROCK YOU.” Those words reverberated throughout my entire body.
What unfolded that night was not just a fashion show—it was ceremony, celebration, and a powerful act of storytelling. Indigenous designers and models took to the runway, gifting us their art, resilience, and talent. The designs were breathtaking, each piece carrying its own story and spirit. The runway wasn’t just a platform for showcasing clothing; it was a space to honor the deep connections between culture, creativity, and community.
As I sat there, taking it all in, I realized how much this event embodied reciprocity. The designers and models offered their gifts with such generosity, and the audience responded with gratitude and awe. It was an exchange of energy, a way of giving and receiving that felt sacred. It reminded me that fashion, in this context, is not just about garments—it’s about identity, resilience, and the ongoing celebration of Indigenous brilliance.
For me, the night was more than an event; it was a moment of profound connection. It was a reminder of the strength and beauty of Indigenous communities, their ability to create spaces that honor both tradition and innovation, and the ways in which they continue to inspire those of us lucky enough to bear witness.
Vancouver Indigenous Fashion Week is so much more than a showcase—it’s a statement. It’s a redistribution of wealth in every sense of the word: wealth of knowledge, wealth of talent, and wealth of spirit. I’m so grateful to have been a part of it and to have shared that space with so many brilliant and beautiful souls.
Until next time, I’ll be holding onto the lessons of that night: give generously, receive gratefully, and always make space to celebrate the brilliance around us.
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