Taylor Reid, 28

Hey, I’m Taylor! Marketing manager by day, powder chaser by winter, and professional vintage hunter all year round. If my life had a tagline, it’d be “she has a blazer for that” — because I genuinely do, and it’s probably vintage.

I grew up in Calgary — south side — with parents who are the most un-Calgary people you’ll meet: my mom’s a librarian, my dad’s a high school art teacher, and our house was full of books, weird art, and extremely strong opinions about typography. My older sister is a lawyer in Toronto who wears all black and thinks my vintage obsession is “a lifestyle, not a hobby.” She’s right and I hate that she’s right. We did the classic Alberta kid thing growing up: skating on the community rink, camping in Kananaskis, and at least one extremely dramatic tobogganing incident I’m not allowed to talk about (my sister’s scar has a story and it’s my fault).

I’m a marketing manager for a tech company downtown, and I actually love the work — brand strategy, campaigns, the whole puzzle of figuring out what makes people care about something. Last year I ran a campaign that involved projecting art onto downtown buildings, and watching it come to life on Stephen Avenue at night was one of those “okay, this is why I do this” moments. My team says I’m the one who’ll pitch the weird idea in the meeting and then actually make it happen. My boss calls it “vision.” My sister calls it “being extra.” Both are true.

Winter is my season, and Sunshine Village is my happy place. I’ve been snowboarding for ten years — I’m not going to win any competitions, but I can handle a black diamond without embarrassing myself, and powder days make me genuinely emotional. There’s this specific feeling at the top of Goat’s Eye on a bluebird morning, the whole valley spread out below you, and for a second everything is quiet and perfect. My girlfriends and I do a girls’ trip to Sunshine every February: matching buffs, terrible karaoke on the drive, and at least one person crying laughing on a chairlift. It’s sacred.

But my year-round obsession is vintage shopping, and Inglewood is my hunting ground. I live in Inglewood — in a converted character building on 9th Ave — specifically so I can walk to the vintage strip. I know every shop, every rack, every owner. My best finds: a 1970s leather jacket that fits like it was made for me ($45), a silk scarf collection I’m weirdly proud of, and a pair of cowboy boots — yes, real ones, it’s Calgary — that I wear to the Stampede every year. I have a rule: if I can’t tell you the story of where I found it, I don’t buy it. My closet is basically a museum with better lighting.

Inglewood life is the best: Saturday mornings at the farmers’ market, gallery hopping at the Esker Foundation, live music at Festival Hall, and coffee at the little spots along 9th. In summer the whole street feels like a festival. Calgary surprises people — they expect cowboys and oil rigs, and then they find this creative, artsy neighbourhood with the best vintage in the west and patios full of interesting humans.

My other low-key obsession is Calgary’s food scene, which doesn’t get nearly enough credit. I have a running list on my phone of restaurants to try — currently at forty-three and growing — and my friends know that a Taylor dinner invitation means something interesting. Last month it was a tiny ramen spot in Chinatown that seated maybe twelve people. Worth every minute of the wait.

What am I looking for? Someone with their own passions — I don’t need a clone, I need someone interesting. Someone who’ll try snowboarding at least once (I’ll teach you, I’ll be patient, I’ll only laugh a little when you fall). Someone who appreciates a good find, whether it’s a vintage jacket or a hidden patio. I need wit — banter is my love language — and genuine kindness underneath it. And honestly? Someone who’s up for things: road trips, weird art exhibits, trying the new restaurant everyone’s talking about. Life’s too short for “nah, I’m good.” Let’s go find something amazing.