Fashion has a unique way of both uniting people and making them feel like imposters. As a kid growing up in the Nipissing First Nation in Ontario, Christian Allaire would bond with his sister and female cousins and friends over pretend fashion shows and, as they got older, designer brands. Working his way up from doing internships at Flare and the National Post in Toronto to returning samples at Interview magazine in New York City, he eventually landed his dream job introducing coverage of Indigenous style to the world’s foremost fashion authority, Vogue. But while uploading images of the runway collections from New York, London, Milan and Paris fashion weeks as the revered publication’s digital producer, Allaire felt he wasn’t cool enough to be among celebrities and other attendees who were wearing better outfits.

“I felt like that for a very long time, honestly, but now I feel like I’ve earned my place,” he says on a video call during New York Fashion Week in February. “I think about exactly where I come from and what it took to get here, and [I know] I deserve to be in this front row.”

Allaire, who is of Ojibwa, French and Italian descent, shares how he got there in his new memoir, From the Rez to the Runway: Forging My Path in Fashion, which was published in March. Between the summer of 2023 and the end of last year, Allaire juggled writing the memoir with his full-time job at Vogue—he’s now the senior fashion and style writer—where he’s known for dissecting celebrity style, analyzing trends and spotlighting Indigenous fashion. Speaking from his Brooklyn apartment, where he’s lounging on a couch and wearing a dentalium-shell necklace by Cree/Dene designer Osamuskwasis, he recalls the chaotic late nights dedicated to writing. “I had no social life for about a year,” he says.

The result is a fascinating look at the journey of someone who identified their love of fashion at an early age and did everything it took to reach the hallowed offices of an industry institution like Vogue. From the Rez to the Runway also includes Allaire’s slow realization that the powwow-dancing family and community he left behind in Nipissing had given him the inspiration to put Indigenous fashion into his work.

It wasn’t an easy decision to put his life story on paper. “I thought it was weird to write a memoir as someone who’s in their early 30s—like, it’s not even a third of [my] life, if [I’m] lucky,” he says. “It is kind of crazy to think about how a little rez kid ends up working at Vogue in the middle of the fashion industry, so it might not be my full life picture, but I think it’s a story that people can relate to if they’re trying to achieve their dreams.”

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It was also difficult for the private Allaire, who is used to interviewing others—from Cate Blanchett to Sabrina Carpenter—to turn inward, especially when it came to exploring some of his lower points or past mistakes. “You have to face things that you don’t really want to face sometimes,” he says. “It’s essentially like letting people read your diary, and I don’t think anyone wants that, but I think your duty as a writer is to share your perspective and hope someone can relate to it.”

One of the universal elements of Allaire’s book is the restlessness he experienced growing up. “When I was in high school and college, I was not out partying with my friends; I was applying [for jobs] or writing things,” he says. “[I was] such a nerd and, honestly, a loser. But I was driven.” He wanted nothing more than to leave his small town and enter the fashion world he dreamed of belonging to.

Ironically, it’s the place he left that helped him stand out at Vogue. In his memoir, he details how his career flourished when he began to pitch stories about Indigenous fashion. Designers and artisans from Indigenous communities had rarely appeared in the top fashion magazines, and readers and designers alike were effusive in their responses.

“Every time I write about someone, the number one [response] I get is ‘I never thought I would be written about in Vogue’ or ‘I never thought anyone would write about my work, period,’ and it’s frustrating that that’s so common,” he says. “[We] should be writing about these artists because their work is out of this world and it’s such a shame that people aren’t discovering them. Every time I hear [their surprise at being featured], it drives me to do it even more because this has got to stop being the reaction.”

Given that Allaire comes from a community-focused people, it is unsurprising that he wants more for the talented creators he highlights in his work. It also goes without saying that his intended audience for his latest book are younger versions of himself. “I wanted to show Indigenous youth that you can do anything—like, if I’m from a small town in Canada and can somehow end up working at Vogue in New York City, you can too,” he says. “I didn’t come from money; I made this happen out of sheer will, sheer luck and maybe a little bit of talent. [With the book], I wanted to show that you can make your wildest dreams come true but also that paths to success are not linear. There isn’t just one way to get there—my path was certainly messy at times, and I had a lot of setbacks—so I just wanted to be honest and show that it might be hard to get to where you want to be, but just persevere and keep doing it, because somehow that worked for me.”

Before he prepares for a night of fashion shows and, presumably, more writing, Allaire reflects momentarily on releasing his private life into the public. He’s nervous but not scared, he says. He’s in his confident era—deservedly so—because wherever he is, whether at Vogue or at home in Nipissing, he no longer feels like an imposter. “When you find your niche in fashion and [your] voice and style of writing, you become more confident as a result. It’s important to find your It factor in fashion.”