In grocery aisles, travel agencies, and TikTok feeds, a quiet rebellion is gaining steam. What began as a response to tariffs and another round of Trump-era rhetoric has evolved into something deeper. Canadians aren’t just boycotting American goods and travel — they’re questioning the very grip the U.S. has held on their culture, economy, and identity.
Welcome to the Great Canadian Uncoupling.
Social media lit up with hashtags like #BoycottUSA, #BuyCanadian, and even #SorryNotSorry. According to a Leger poll, more than 91% of Canadians now say they are actively avoiding American products, and nearly half say they’ve cancelled or postponed U.S. travel.
But this isn’t just about economics. It’s about pride — and perhaps, finally, distance.
“It's not just about Trump anymore,” says Ava Reilly, a 26-year-old content creator in Halifax. “It’s about realizing how much of my life I outsourced to America — what I wore, watched, even believed.”
Retail data supports this shift. According to Shopify Canada, sales of Canadian-made consumer goods rose 37% in April compared to the same month last year.
“People used to talk about Black Friday in Buffalo,” says Windsor resident Janelle Thompson. “Now we’re talking about Blackout Fridays — days we commit to not spending a single dollar on anything American.”
Instead, Canadians are choosing domestic getaways in B.C., Quebec, and the Maritimes, or looking to Europe and Latin America. Some are even choosing to stay local, inspired by a renewed focus on sustainability, community, and — above all — independence.
Crave, Canada’s homegrown streaming service, saw a 22% boost in subscriptions last month, coinciding with the launch of “Unscripted North” — a docuseries celebrating Canadian identity beyond the U.S. lens. Meanwhile, Canadian indie films are outperforming Hollywood imports at Cineplex screens in multiple provinces.
“We were addicted to American chaos,” says culture critic Daniel Kim. “Now Canadians are detoxing — and finding there’s a richness in their own backyard.”
Even on social media, there's a growing appetite for content creators who lean into Canadian humour, politics, and storytelling rather than mimicking their U.S. counterparts.
“We're not anti-American,” says Montreal-based sociologist Véronique Pelletier. “We're just post-American in our thinking. This boycott is a coming-of-age moment — a time to redefine what makes us uniquely Canadian, not just not American.”
The timing is no accident. With Trump’s resurgence, geopolitical tensions, and post-pandemic introspection, many Canadians are asking what kind of neighbourly relationship they want — one built on dependency, or mutual respect?
A recent Bloomberg report revealed that retail revenues in U.S. border towns have dropped by 60%, with some local stores reporting layoffs and closures. Hotel occupancy in Niagara Falls, NY, is at a 10-year low — in peak season.
“We’re not angry,” says Ava Reilly, laughing. “We’re just finally choosing ourselves.”
And that might be the most Canadian protest of all.
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A boycott that feels personal
When Donald Trump slapped tariffs on Canadian aluminum and lumber this April — while mockingly referring to Canada as “basically our 51st state” — the public reaction was swift. What was meant to be a diplomatic dispute quickly sparked a grassroots revolt.Social media lit up with hashtags like #BoycottUSA, #BuyCanadian, and even #SorryNotSorry. According to a Leger poll, more than 91% of Canadians now say they are actively avoiding American products, and nearly half say they’ve cancelled or postponed U.S. travel.
But this isn’t just about economics. It’s about pride — and perhaps, finally, distance.
From Target to Tim Hortons: consumer shifts begin
Walk through a Canadian supermarket in May 2025, and you’ll notice a subtle shift. U.S. snack brands like Lay’s and Oreos are being edged out by local alternatives. Shoppers are swapping Heinz ketchup for French’s. Even in clothing, Canadians are turning to Roots, Simons, and Indigenous-owned labels over American fast fashion.“It's not just about Trump anymore,” says Ava Reilly, a 26-year-old content creator in Halifax. “It’s about realizing how much of my life I outsourced to America — what I wore, watched, even believed.”
Retail data supports this shift. According to Shopify Canada, sales of Canadian-made consumer goods rose 37% in April compared to the same month last year.
Cancelled trips, booked selves
Travel has seen a dramatic turn. Florida, Vegas, and New York were once the holy trinity of Canadian vacations. Now? Not so much. Air Canada reports a 41% drop in leisure travel to the U.S. compared to spring 2024.“People used to talk about Black Friday in Buffalo,” says Windsor resident Janelle Thompson. “Now we’re talking about Blackout Fridays — days we commit to not spending a single dollar on anything American.”
Instead, Canadians are choosing domestic getaways in B.C., Quebec, and the Maritimes, or looking to Europe and Latin America. Some are even choosing to stay local, inspired by a renewed focus on sustainability, community, and — above all — independence.
Turning off the noise: a cultural rethink
Perhaps the most interesting shift is happening in media and pop culture. Canadian artists and platforms are seeing a surge as audiences become more selective about the stories they consume.Crave, Canada’s homegrown streaming service, saw a 22% boost in subscriptions last month, coinciding with the launch of “Unscripted North” — a docuseries celebrating Canadian identity beyond the U.S. lens. Meanwhile, Canadian indie films are outperforming Hollywood imports at Cineplex screens in multiple provinces.
“We were addicted to American chaos,” says culture critic Daniel Kim. “Now Canadians are detoxing — and finding there’s a richness in their own backyard.”
Even on social media, there's a growing appetite for content creators who lean into Canadian humour, politics, and storytelling rather than mimicking their U.S. counterparts.
De-Americanization or just growing up?
The U.S. has long been Canada’s best friend, biggest trading partner, and cultural babysitter. But as with any long-term relationship, friction builds when one party dominates the conversation.“We're not anti-American,” says Montreal-based sociologist Véronique Pelletier. “We're just post-American in our thinking. This boycott is a coming-of-age moment — a time to redefine what makes us uniquely Canadian, not just not American.”
The timing is no accident. With Trump’s resurgence, geopolitical tensions, and post-pandemic introspection, many Canadians are asking what kind of neighbourly relationship they want — one built on dependency, or mutual respect?
Fallout across the border
While the boycott has ignited Canadian self-reflection, its effects are being felt most acutely south of the border. From upstate New York to small towns in Vermont and Michigan, businesses that depend on cross-border tourism are in crisis mode.A recent Bloomberg report revealed that retail revenues in U.S. border towns have dropped by 60%, with some local stores reporting layoffs and closures. Hotel occupancy in Niagara Falls, NY, is at a 10-year low — in peak season.
What comes next?
Whether the boycott ends next month or stretches for years, something fundamental has shifted. Canadians are no longer quietly tolerating American dominance — economically, culturally, or psychologically.“We’re not angry,” says Ava Reilly, laughing. “We’re just finally choosing ourselves.”
And that might be the most Canadian protest of all.
