Montreal’s Plaza St-Hubert Is Thriving In Its New Weird Era

If Montreal is a city built on contradiction, Plaza St-Hubert might be its most honest reflection. It’s where quinceañera shops sit beside streetwear boutiques, where a smoked meat counter, cowboy boot store, French ex-pat hangouts, a tiki bar, and a Colombian bakery all operate within a few blocks.

Walk it end to end and you’ll hear three languages, see four decades of architecture, and pass both newcomers trying something fresh and old-timers doing what they’ve always done. It might be the one street that most clearly shows what Montreal actually is: in flux, overlapping, stubbornly specific, and full of life. It could be any Montreal artery—but the Plaza doesn’t sound, smell, or look like any other.

There are over 400 businesses on this 1.2-kilometre stretch between Jean-Talon and Bellechasse—and depending on who you ask, the Plaza is either finally finding its footing or still very much in flux. Opinions may differ, but both conclusions are a good place to be.

“We’re in this in-between moment where it’s not clear what the Plaza wants to be,” says chef and Épicerie Conserva co-owner Massimo Vincelli. “But that’s kind of what makes it interesting.”

It’s been a trip to say the least: What started as a limestone-rich farmland carved up by rail lines and tramways eventually gave rise to one of the city’s most iconic commercial strips. All told, this stretch of Saint-Hubert has been many things to many people since—department store strip, wedding dress capital, immigrant shopping destination, nightlife hub, a local curiosity—but now, in the wake of major renovations and an influx of new businesses, it’s become something else entirely that supercharges the city.

A long street with a longer memory

If you lived in Montreal during the Plaza’s heyday, you probably remember the neon. In the ’60s and ’70s, the strip pulsed with signage, formalwear, smoked meat, and foot traffic. Wedding dress shops flourished, in part thanks to waves of immigration that brought entire industries to the street.

“People forget that the Plaza wouldn’t exist without the Lebanese families who came in the ’80s and built the bridal trade,” says Graeme Anthony, co-owner of the streetwear shop Lopez. “They bought the buildings. They made it work when nobody else wanted it.”

Plaza Saint-Hubert at night near Saint-Zotique Street, circa 1967. | Photograph: Antoine Désilets / BAnQ, Antoine Désilets Fund

The famed marquise was added in 1984, a 1.2 km glass canopy built to hold its own against rising suburban shopping malls, but the Plaza was showing its wear by the late 2000s. Foot traffic dropped, store vacancies rose, and debates over the street’s identity intensified.

From 2018 to 2020, major infrastructure work ripped up the street. New sidewalks, improved drainage, redesigned awnings—it was necessary, but not easy. “Nobody likes change,” says Mike Parente, the SDC’s director general. “But our role is to listen, to help our members navigate that change and see it as an opportunity.”

Le Roi du Smoked Meat (left) & Le Système (right). | Photographs courtesy of SDC Plaza St-Hubert

The numbers suggest a rebound: Parente notes the street has gone from 85% occupancy when he started to about 95% today. “The arrival of new bars, restaurants, and various other businesses has helped reshape the artery to the neighbourhood’s needs as well as visitors’ needs,” he says. “We remain an artery predominantly run by independent businesses, which keeps us unique.”

That uniqueness was part of what drew Vincelli and co-founder John Barros to the street in 2018. “We caught wind of the whole revamping project,” he recalls. “We knew we wanted to be here before the renos started, so when the inevitable hype came, we’d already be on the street—ready to rock and roll.”

Timeliness and timelessness

There’s no one archetype for today’s businesses on the Plaza. You’ll find a decades-old cowboy boot store and high-end grocer sharing space with zero-waste pubs, niche bookstores, a tiki bar, and record shops—all between long-standing bridal boutiques and Latin American eateries.

“It’s a weird street. You can walk it a hundred times and still find something you’ve never noticed,” Vincelli admits, affectionately—big words from someone who’s been coming to strip day in and day out for years.

Scene from the early days of Lopez, circa 2019. | Photograph: @mayamalkin

Newer entrepreneurs often see possibility in that weirdness. “We chose the Plaza because it was still being shaped,” says Anthony of Lopez. “Perfect for us because we’re not just a store. We’re building an ecosystem.” That includes collaborating with neighbours, running community events, and mixing disciplines—Lopez stocks everything from Japanese labels to Criterion DVDs.

And that sense of community doesn’t just live in theory. “We know a lot of our customers by name,” says Vincelli. “We wanted that old-school butcher vibe, where someone walks in and we know folks by their first name. That goes for our neighbours too.”

Across the street, Johnny Libertella of Boulet Boots lives above his store and has run it for 37 years. “Same people, same street. The only thing that’s changed is the audience,” he says. “But I like talking to people. Even if they don’t buy anything, I enjoy it. They come back two years later and say, ‘I remember you.’ That’s what keeps me going.”

Johnny Libertella of the Boulet Boots dealership Go West Inc. | Photograph: JP Karwacki / @johnnycrust

A street with no label

Despite the influx of fresh businesses and a visible shift in clientele, some things remain up for debate—like the question of identity—but what can be perceived as a lack of cohesion can also be seen as a source of strength.

“A lot of people from other parts of the city have this fixed idea of what the Plaza is, but someone who just moved here from France? They don’t carry that baggage,” says Anthony. “They’re open to seeing a bookstore next to a piercing studio next to a restaurant. That openness is part of what makes it work.”

For Frédéric Dumeur, who handles communications for the SDC, the evolving identity is something to be celebrated—not solved. “Plaza St-Hubert has always been a gathering place,” he says. “A festival like PlazaPalooza is one way we bring that to life. It’s about creating new memories while staying true to the spirit of the street.”

Dumeur curates the lineup with community in mind, bringing in diverse artists, collectives, and performers. “It’s essential to reflect the cultural richness of the neighbourhood,” he says. “That’s what defines the Plaza.”

Horizons on the Plaza

Many see promise in the push for a more pedestrian-friendly future. A test closure of the street to cars sparked interest—but no consensus. “I’d love to see the pedestrian plan come back,” says Vincelli. “They didn’t really give it enough time. Do it for three years, then let’s talk.”

Others point to what’s already working: the layered diversity, the balance of old and new, the slow build of something resilient. “We’re a humble street,” says Parente. “The occupants are hard-working men and women. It’s a place where family values still matter—even if the client comes from 100 kilometres away.”

That humility may be the Plaza’s greatest strength. It’s not chasing trends, but it is doing something more difficult than that—making room for what was, what is, and what might still be.

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A long street with a longer memory

Timeliness and timelessness

A street with no label

Horizons on the Plaza

That humility may be the Plaza’s greatest strength. It’s not chasing trends, but it is doing something more difficult than that—making room for what was, what is, and what might still be.