The story of NECESSARY
I opened a store in Toronto with no money, and definitely not the right experience
It was 2018, and I was sitting at my desk, working for a wholesale company focused on hosiery. I’d just left SSENSE and had a brief stint at Aritizia (if you know, you know). I wanted to learn more about the backend of the industry, but let’s be real—it felt like starting at the very bottom.
I couldn’t stop thinking about my time at SSENSE, the cult following Aritzia had created, and how so many emerging Canadian brands just didn’t have a space that fit them. These brands needed something contemporary and accessible—something that wasn’t intimidating but still elevated.
That’s when I decided to create it myself. I built the first version of Necessary on Shopify (www.shopnecessary.com). It was bare-bones but functional. I reached out to emerging brands, pitched them my vision, and started treating the site like a hybrid dropshipping platform mixed with editorial content. I wanted it to feel like more than just another online shop—I wanted it to tell stories.
But as much as I loved the idea of running an online store, it wasn’t enough. I wanted something tangible, something people could step into and experience. When I heard about StackT Market opening in Toronto, I jumped at the chance to launch a pop-up. I thought, Why not quit my job and take a risk?
Then, things escalated. One day, after walking out of a job interview (one I probably should’ve pursued), I spotted a variety store for rent across the street on Dundas West. I thought, Why spend money on a temporary pop-up when I could have my own store? Without overthinking it, I called the landlord. Somehow, I struck a deal: I’d renovate the space, and they’d pay for the materials for cheaper rent and we only signed a year lease. Looking back, my negotiation skills were questionable, but I got lucky. My landlord turned out to be amazing.
By February 2019, I quit my day job, and my ex and I started renovations. We had no idea what we were doing. We learned everything on YouTube—ripping out floors, tapping drywall, piecing the space together bit by bit. It was messy, stressful, and exhausting, but when we opened the doors in May 2019, it felt surreal. I had my own store.
Two weeks after opening, everything changed. My mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. I’ll never forget the phone call. It felt like my world collapsed in an instant. Suddenly, this dream I had poured everything into—the one I was so proud of—didn’t matter in the same way.
Around the same time, I was also dealing with my own health struggles. I’d been diagnosed with endometriosis, and most days, the pain was so unbearable that I could barely move. I had to smoke a CBD joint just to function, to get myself to the store and make it through the day. Between my mom’s illness and my own pain, life felt impossible, but instead of facing it, I threw myself even harder into the store.
Behind the scenes, though, I was struggling. The store was supposed to be my dream, but it quickly turned into an escape from everything going on in my personal life. Back then, it wasn’t typical to post on Instagram and say, "Hey, we're closed today, sorry for the inconvenience." So, I just kept pushing myself to hold it all together. What people didn’t know was that I was juggling another job. I worked in an office from 9 a.m. to 12 p.m., then sprinted—to open the store. I wasn’t making any money, running myself into debt, and barely keeping it all afloat.
The store became my escape. I couldn’t control my mom’s cancer or the pain from my own health struggles, but I could control the store. I could decide how it looked, which brands I carried, and the vibe of the space. When everything in my life felt out of control, the store was the one thing I could grasp onto.
But despite all my effort, the business was barely staying afloat. There was little traffic, the store was hemorrhaging money, but I didn’t care. I became fixated on just going in, smoking a CBD joint, and rearranging the displays over and over to feel something—anything. Selling felt draining, and I hated it. That’s when I realized I wasn’t passionate about selling. What I truly loved was creating a community online and building strategies. Maybe that’s because it gave me a way to hide even more—hide from my feelings, my fears, and the crushing reality of what was happening with my mom. The store wasn’t just an escape; it became a way for me to avoid facing what I wasn’t ready to confront.
By February 2020, I couldn’t keep running from reality. My mom’s health had worsened, and I had to make the hardest decision yet. I texted my landlord from my desk at my other job and told them I had to close. By mid-February, the store was gone.
It was one of the hardest decisions of my life, and my ego took a huge hit. I owed people money, I was way over my head. I felt like a failure. I kept thinking, If things were different, if my personal life weren’t such a mess, I could’ve made it work.
Then COVID hit. A few weeks later, everything shut down, and suddenly, everyone was struggling. I remember walking along Dundas West, past all the stores I’d admired for years. Some of them had closed, too. For the first time, I didn’t feel so alone. I realized I had made the right choice, even though it didn’t feel like it at the time.
The store was so much more than just a business to me—it was my way of coping with the hardest time in my life. It taught me so much about resilience, creativity, and what happens when you throw yourself into something with everything you’ve got. Even though it didn’t work out, I’ll always be proud of what I built. And who knows? Maybe one day, I’ll try again—this time with a little more balance and a lot more perspective.
Thank you to everyone that supported this crazy idea! This is also your friendly reminder to just take the risk.
Some press mentions - https://www.glossy.co/fashion/how-a-canadian-fashion-retailer-is-looking-to-popularize-local-brands/ & https://thekit.ca/fashion/canadian-fashion-brands/ch
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