A Ukrainian Vyshyvanka on St Patrick’s Day

Through Immigrant Eyes

Viktoriia Kantseva

When you first arrive in Ireland, you quickly learn two things: people talk about the weather a lot, and St Patrick’s Day is not just a holiday — it’s practically a national mood.

The first time March approached, I didn’t fully understand what was coming. I had heard about parades, of course. I knew something about shamrocks and the colour green. But I wasn’t prepared for just how green the country becomes. Green hats. Green scarves. Green shop windows. Green decorations in places you didn’t even know could be decorated. At some point you start wondering if Ireland owns a secret national warehouse where they store all the green things for eleven months of the year. And then suddenly — it’s everywhere.

For us, last year’s celebration had an extra detail that made me smile more than anything else. My daughter decided what she wanted to wear. On top — a Ukrainian vyshyvanka. On the bottom — a bright green skirt. And in her hands — small Irish flags she insisted on bringing with her. If you think about it, the combination made perfect sense. Though I’m not entirely sure traditional Ukrainian embroidery designers imagined their work would one day appear at an Irish national holiday, surrounded by shamrocks and people wearing leprechaun hats. But there she was — happily running around, completely comfortable in both worlds.

And that’s something I notice more and more about children who grow up between cultures. They don’t overthink it the way adults do. They don’t ask where one identity ends and another begins. They simply add things together. A Ukrainian shirt? Perfect. A green skirt for Ireland? Also perfect. Problem solved.

Watching her that day made me realise something small but important. Immigration often feels complicated for adults. We analyse everything — language, customs, traditions, what belongs where. We worry about fitting in, about doing things correctly, about not looking out of place. Children don’t seem to carry that same weight. They simply join the celebration. That day we walked through town, watched the parade, listened to music, and tried to stay out of the way of extremely enthusiastic people dressed as leprechauns.

My daughter waved her flags proudly and asked questions about everything she saw. At one point I looked at her outfit again — the embroidery from Ukraine, the green skirt from Ireland — and thought that maybe this is what our life looks like now. Not one place replaced by another. Not one identity exchanged for a new one. Just layers. Some from where we came from.

Some from where we are now. And if St Patrick himself had happened to pass by that afternoon, I like to think he would have approved of the colour co-ordination. Because honestly, it’s hard to compete with a Ukrainian vyshyvanka and a very determined green skirt.