Debate | Issue 10 | Style

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Please do not wear this issue Tāmaki Makaurau is a wonderful, eclectic city with a host of terrible problems and orange road cones. Rent is high, food is expensive, they shut down Lord of the Fries on Karangahape Road so my pretentious vegetarian ass will just fucking starve, and the teenagers infesting St Kevins Arcade are scary nowadays. In this cacophony of misery we call a city - where does our collective fashion sense sit in the tier list of shit?

Much like the rest of the city, Auckland’s fashion scene gets a bad rep. I’ve seen multiple reels of fashion influencers setting up their phone cameras for fitchecks in the middle of Queen Street, complaining about how they’re the only people who dress well in the city and wondering why everyone thinks they’re insufferable. If you venture slightly out into alternative spaces, you’ll see a variety of beautifully crafted and curated outfits that’ll express everything you need to know about a person. A good outfit can range from a simple hoodie with nice jeans, a minimalist mixture of accessories and styles, to clothes that seem way too ugly yet work worryingly well.

This has been proven as New Zealand Fashion Week announced their cancellation of the 2024 event in the face of economic burnout. Designers have hopped onto the free space to produce Te Wiki Āhua o Aotearoa, an independent showcase of what smaller designers who’ve struggled to get their work into NZFW are bringing to the style of Aotearoa (you can learn more about this in Paris Lloyd-Beere’s piece later in this issue.)

Personally, I’ve been aiming for a specific balance between being kinda cool looking yet clearly too lazy to actually try hard. My wardrobe consists of local band tees/hoodies, a single pair of jeans, and battered Doc Martens - If I can be really fucked, I’ll wear a jacket or dungarees. I essentially dressed how I wanted to when I was 13 - like an archetypal agender person on Tumblr,

who simply dresses fine. If I wanted to go all in on what I wear nowadays, I would aim to dress like a Jet Set Radio character - baggy jeans, chunky shoes, multiple accessories, and a can of spray paint in my hand. Unfortunately, that requires more than the bare minimum, so I’ll tend to stray away from what my Pinterest board and arts editor wishes for me (sorry, Stella). While I won’t be walking runways any time soon, I’ll still hopefully make random people on the street who listen to the same music as me think I’m kinda cool.

This lazy, but okay style I’ve found for myself will likely change in a couple of years' time, when I finally reach the peak fashion sense the fifteen-year-old me wanted.

It’s far from what the youths are wearing these days, but it’s a mishmash of late 2010s Tumblr trends and cool guy signalling that I’m happy enough. If you wanna learn about what other students are wearing, read on - identity-defining hats, low-rise jeans, backwards caps, and some good ol’ interviews to top it off. Have fun, and have a lovely mid-sem break before we return for our penultimate issue of 2024!

Written By Liam Hansen (they/them) @liamhanse.n EDITOR Illustration By Scarlett Kean @scarlett_k_illustrations CONTRIBUTING ILLUSTRATOR

Whining & Dining Will you be my exclusive talking stage?

So, you’re kissing someone semi-regularly. Going out to dinner, running errands, op-shopping and having the occasional boogie. On paper, they are perfect; in real life, they’re even better. You’ve met each other’s friends and whānau. There is an omniscient visceral heart beating out of your chest infatuation, and it doesn’t seem to go away. You find yourself gushing to your friends about how much you like them. But you’re not together.

answer. The best but elusive interpretations include: ‘terrible ghastly things full of yearning and despair’ and ‘dating into the nether.’ More concretely, they are romantic relationships with no defined boundaries over an extended period. The conclusive opinions on approaching them were cries of ‘absolutely not,’ ‘don’t do it,’ and ‘if I hated myself, I would.’ If the best and only advice I was given was, just don’t, how can we help our friends caught in the throes of a diabolical love interest?

You feel delusional, and you probably are. You often think, how can you be so attached to someone who won’t make that all-important commitment? Do you want to see other people?

You may not, but do they? Do they love you? Can they love you? I have a headache, and it’s not just the wine I drank last night.

In my limited experience, limerence is a large culprit for situationships. The intrusive thoughts that cloud your mind when someone isn’t giving you what you desire. If you’re looking to get out of a situationship, I think it helps to ground yourself in the reality of the person you’re with. What is the objective sense of the relationship as it exists in the world, and is that enough for you? What are your boundaries for what you want in a relationship, and how can you communicate them? Furthermore, what are you looking for in a person and a relationship?

If it hasn’t worked thus far, maybe this person doesn’t fit these criteria.

Such was the most recent romantic entanglement, or should I say situationship, of my gorgeous friend, Olivia. The issue between the two stemmed from Olivia making like a bird and migrating to another country. Famously, doing long-distance during chapter 1 of a relationship is never a good idea. And so, they did this little dance, if you can call tripping each other up dancing. Warren would oscillate between referring to her as his girlfriend and himself as single. Olivia would be pulled into the feelings of being a girlfriend while he would tell her he wasn’t looking for anything serious. The most horrific plot point is that, just before they took the train to meet his family, he mentioned he was seeing someone else. If it were me, the story would have ended in a way analogous to Anna Karenina. Olivia should have been put in hospital for the sheer amount of emotional whiplash Warren gave her.

The situationship, the relationship type of our generation, despite supposedly hating it. Something that may send you into a period of mania where you have the impulse to cut all your hair off, relate to Gone Girl a little too much, sporadically throw your phone across the room and scream into the void that is your car, while strangers look on in fascinated disbelief. How oddly specific. I fear that part of me loves these symptoms. The raunchy drama that picks me out of my mundane university-loaded days. But it’s tiring. Catch-up sessions with friends are dedicated to the discretion of a three-word text received at 1 am.

Unfortunately, our collective emotional well-being is dependent on some guy we met on Hinge. The girls are confused, and we are sick of it.

However, there seems to be a wee bit of confusion among the scholars (the bFM news team). When searching for the definition of a situationship, we could not come up with a conclusive

And now I have an angry mob of people screaming, ‘We know!’

This advice has been verbosely exchanged between friends at least once every two weeks. None of it has ever been taken.

This self-awareness should be used to your advantage. The resignation that we all seem to lose our collective common sense in relationships is a useful tool. You can then use that knowledge to make better choices. Sometimes, you will make romantic decisions that are self-destructive. This just means that once you feel the consequences of those mistakes, you can learn and try to take the healthier path the next time.

Falling in love for all its delicious and soapy messiness often results in a whole lot of anguish due to our inability to set clear boundaries for ourselves or communicate our needs. Sometimes, we sacrifice these requirements to keep someone in our lives who doesn’t actually contribute positively to it. We might not even be aware of it. Personally, I found it helpful to learn to love what I have in my life as it stands. When I focus on how I’m fulfilled as I am, I don’t feel the need to destroy it with unattainable romantic connections. Admittedly, this doesn’t always keep the psychosis-inducing individuals at bay. If all else fails, remember the wise words of my girl Willow, ‘they make you horny, but that’s the wrong five-letter word starting with H and ending with Y.’ Written By Elle Daji (she/her) @ellemnopow CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Shift to Thrifting has never been more popular. A 2023 report from ThredUp, an online marketplace for used clothing, found the global secondhand clothing market is expected to be worth $350 billion by the year 2027.

The majority of these contemporary thrifters are Gen Z. Where thrifting carried a stigma for previous generations, secondhand items are now worn like a badge of honour. If your response to “Where did you get that top?” is “I thrifted it”, then you’re probably extremely cool. In fashion, individuality is the new uniformity.

This is due to a combination of factors. A more environmentally conscious generation sees thrifting as the sustainable option. Popular beauty and fashion influencers like Emma Chamberlain, who became famous for her thrifted style, may have also had a role to play. This has only been amplified by TikTok where thrift hauls are ubiquitous content that rack up thousands of views.

With the rise of online shopping, there’s also been a sharp increase in the number of people thrifting online.

Designer Wardrobe, an online secondhand clothes retailer in Aotearoa, doubled its membership between 2020 and 2024.

Debate spoke to three students in Tāmaki Makaurau on why they started and continue to purchase their clothing secondhand.

Saahil Singh (@_saahil.s_) | Final year Law student “I remember in high school we watched this documentary on fast fashion, The True Cost, and that put me off buying clothes from H&M.” For Saahil Singh, thrifting is a combination of being environmentally conscious and creating his own sense of style. Shopping secondhand prevents Singh from falling into the trap of buying the latest popular item just because it’s trending, and forces him to focus on how he actually wants to dress in the longer term. He’s spent a few years on Pinterest working out what this looks like and now turns to models he finds interesting, like Stucci Gus, for inspiration.

Singh says thrifting has the added benefit of finding clothing that is not just affordable but is made to last - a novel concept in the age of the short life cycles of fast fashion. Singh gives the example of when he recently purchased a leather jacket, an item that was far better quality secondhand than anything he could find brand new.

“It was also rewarding.” Singh added, “Finding a unique item from forty years ago is far more fulfilling because of the effort put in.”

He did note that thrifting is not a perfect solution for the planet. It’s still overconsumption (“thrift hauls are exactly like the people who do Shein hauls”) and ultimately, thrifting is just delaying putting the same clothes in a landfill.

Stella Roper (@stellyvision)| Third-year Visual Arts student and Debate Arts Editor` “There's a mix of everything at thrift stores and you can often find things that you'd never see in currently open retail stores.”

Stella Roper’s sense of style has a range of influences. Their queer identity, creative friends, and introduction to Japanese-originating subcultures ‘lolita’ and ‘gyaru’ all play a role. Not to mention her ‘scene’ and rave-inspired fashion and the people with “funky taste” she follows on Instagram.

To them the benefit of thrifting is the range on offer, encouraging her to try on outfits she would never wear otherwise. In Roper’s words, “I've had too many moments to count where I've tried on something ‘for the bit’ or as a prank and it eventually comes into my wardrobe unironically.” They state that the clothes are often cheaper and better quality than similar items in retail stores (“the irony is real”) especially

the thrift: why students are shopping secondhand

cially when you find out-of-season discounted items. Her advice is to go to local, randomised style stores over the curated vintage ones for both style and affordability.

Roper also finds thrifting to be a straightforward, eco-friendly alternative to buying new. “My thinking is that there is always an abundance of clothes at thrift stores, so there's no reason for me not to look when it's such an obvious and easy way to lessen your total carbon and consumption footprint.”

Despite the obvious style, affordability, and environmental benefits, they’re also aware of the key downside of thrifting - it’s time-consuming. “I understand why some people can't be bothered. Money equals time and spending a day going around stores doesn't equal you finding items indefinitely.”

Lily Chen (@lil.ychen) | Final year Law, Sociology, and Psychology student “My sense of style is swayed by two simple factors - availability and affordability.”

Lily Chen started thrifting when she moved out of home to go to university.

The thrifting scene in the Auckland CBD became a godsend for her as a student with very limited disposable income. She explained that thrifting became a way for her to express her identity without breaking the bank.

Chen says that although thrifting hasn’t necessarily changed her style, it has opened her eyes to unexpected pieces. The benefit of a cheap piece of clothing allows her to occasionally step out of her comfort zone and purchase an item she wouldn’t have otherwise

considered. Thrifting also means she isn’t constrained by any preferences in terms of fabrics, patterns or textures. Every item in every store has potential.

“I love the mystery of thrift shopping.” She added, “I usually buy clothes with a purpose in mind and I would have no idea what I will wear for that occasion until the perfect outfit appears. Honestly, each store is a treasure trove and I am never disappointed by my discoveries.”

Written By Caeden Tipler (they/them) @caedentipler NEWS EDITOR

KILTER Uncovered

Written By Amani Sadique (she/her) @amani.sadique CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Consumed by darkness and covered in blood emerges first-year AUT fashion student, Abiel Biri, founder of the newly launched fashion label: Kilter. Inspired by the culture of Vivienne Westwood, Biri explores what the essence of punk is to him, physicalising them through the garments released in his first collection drop.

With gory promotional imagery and mysterious symbols, we hear the backstory and more, from the creator himself.

system is what I currently prefer.

How did you first develop an interest in fashion?

Describe what the essence of Kilter is in three words

For my first year of uni, I took urban planning, but I quickly found it had creative barriers. After that, I found myself immersed in wearable arts as it’s another way to see your ideas come to life on more than just a piece of paper and through this, I was introduced to the world of fashion. From there, I decided to change my course and study fashion full-time. I’ve never looked back.

When it comes to everything else in the world that's creative, there are other laws, restrictions, policies, economics, and subjects that you have to learn. But when it comes to fashion, you are taught all the fashion basics but in regards to concepts, it’s all up to you.

There's no barrier when it comes to clothes. Everything rides on you, the designer. Especially how you market and communicate your ideas.

Are there any fashion subcultures or individuals that inform your day-to-day style?

I would say A$AP Rocky because he doesn't dress the same as everyone else. His brand AWGE is also inspiring to me. In particular, when he demonstrated politics and stereotypes in his work for the American Sabotage men's spring/summer 2025 collection. It’s more how he interpreted clothes into something that's connected to topics of discussion in our day-to-day lives that I truly connect to. I'd also say Virgil Abloh, just because of the life lessons and aspects he had on making. He said, “I could design the candle, or I could design the room that surrounds it.” In that way, it insulates the candle.

Vivienne Westwood has always been a point of reference in my practice. That's more going into the punk theme of her individualism and how she carried herself through that generation. I have a couple of books on Vivienne Westwood that I read often.

What I find inspiring is that she brought modern punk and new silhouettes into the high fashion industry. She didn't just limit herself to punk subcultures. Vivienne Westwood is functional and accessible as a brand and you don’t see it limiting someone as an individual.

What was your experience with fashion before Kilter?

Prior to Kilter, I was a part of clothing brand, Pambi, which is an African-inspired brand that is run by Kid Rey and Thando now.

I moved from that as being able to put my voice on clothing and not limit or restrict myself to one category is the most important thing to me right now. I love being able to prioritise individualism - without barriers and hurdles of going through other people. With Kilter, I can just do my ideas and take whichever path I want to go along. Despite enjoying self-driven making, I often ask my friends for constructive criticism. It’s so essential to get another point of insight, providing an alternate perspective to what I can't see. This

The way I see it, the more minds on one thing, the harder it is to form an idea because we can’t always include everyone’s concept.

That's why it’s sometimes better to branch off and expand your horizons. Lay out all that you have in your head, and see where you go from there.

Kilter means everything.

The persona of Kilter is, it's out of the ordinary. Kilter means harmony or balance. So, when something's “out of kilter”, it's imbalance. Through looking at imperfections, people can find perfection.

What is the inspiration behind the marketing of your first drop?

‘A new chapter.’

The campaign shoot depicts someone who is running away and (spoilers ahead) they die. The video concept represented me getting rid of my old self and creating something new. We shot it in one hour while in the woods with my friend - an awesome videographer named Tung who lives in Australia. There's so much symbolism in the video. The video visuals are very dark, both in a surface-level way and metaphorically. The death of the person in the video reflects what I see as the killing of my old self. After this, something new is created - that will be represented in the second drop. It’s just an introduction to what is coming.

How do the clothes in the first drop reflect this ‘new chapter’?

There are many physical elements in my clothes which connect to the thematic points of my promo video. In the drop, I have a T-shirt design which has an enzyme wash that creates this faded, imperfect effect. I want the garments to have that connection to bacteria, humans - just living organisms. We are alive - I want Kilter to be as well.

I also incorporated water-based ink screen prints, so that the mark is embedded into the garment. That way, it feels like the essence of Kilter is truly inside the garment. There are also symbols, such as the letter “K” and a hand. The hand connects to human DNA and the “K” represents Kilter. Together they connect and highlight how I want my brand to be one with skin. To represent harmony and balance because humans are not perfect at the end of the day.

I’m also in the process of creating black pants. They will contain components such as flare, but still act functional and not too wide.

I chose this particular style of pants as I wanted it to be uniform.

I wanted it to be something that you can wear day-to-day and not feel like it'll clash with any outfit, and black is always a colour that won’t go wrong with any outfit. Even though people may coincide it with being ‘basic’, in my opinion, it's still one of the best colours to use. I'm also looking at making distressed denim jackets. Which will be coming soon, once all my samples come in.

How do you envision a classic Kilter customer?

Someone willing to grow as an individual or someone who is

open-minded. Because I would like to have a community of people who are inspired and want to wear their clothes because they feel like it's a part of them. I don't want it to be a brand like ASOS or Uniqlo. No shade. Amazing blanks, but I want Kilter to be more than a name and have bespoke pieces.

What are the future goals for Kilter?

What made you go with a punk aesthetic?

I'll see Kilter more widespread on a global scale. I'm also planning to move overseas because the creative scene in New Zealand is dying down in my eyes. However, there is a new Fashion Week collective called Āhua Aotearoa, which is a breath of oxygen to revive the industry. Overall, I’d like to experience the world and broaden my horizons because I don't want to be in the same environment and have the same ideas. Change is essential.

Because I just started reverting to wearing black clothes. Not because of the whole scene or following some particular aesthetic.

People will try fit you into a box, like “Ok, you're opium.” No, I’m not… I just like the colour black. It's simple and has so much functionality as it can be used in so many ways. Black makes me feel comfortable. This is why most of the clothes will be black in the first drop because that's what I'm most comfortable with at the moment. But since I'm growing as a person, I will learn to use colours and expand the colour palette of Kilter.

How do you find the balance of being a full-time student whilst simultaneously running a business?

My classes coincide with what I want to do, especially everything I learn in fashion. For example making patterns, blanks, or researching about artists or works such as assemblage. It's also helping me learn the ins and outs and all the various ways that you may use symbolism, surrealism, and other techniques within what you make.

So really, it doesn't feel like a job. It's more of a passion. I don't feel like any effort or energy is taken out of me because I enjoy doing what I do.

I have made great friends across the world and friends who are willing to wear it, not because they want to support it but because they like Kilter.

There will be another chapter to Kilter, my second drop, titled ‘Purity’. You'll see more light insinuating a brighter palette. Think dresses, loose garments and more neutral tones rather than such a dark atmosphere on the clothing.

I'm hoping to not create a label, but create a group of creatives who will be in different areas such as music production, and art. Just so that Kilter is more than just clothing. It's a way of life, anything is possible. … You can find Kilter, or expect Kilter to find you.

Follow Kilter on Instagram: @madebykilter

Despite previously being thought of as your grandma’s favourite hobby, crochet has now been rebranded into something cool through its popularity and growth on social media apps.

Crochet has taken over TikTok, with over 15.5 billion views, overshadowing the consistently popular hobby of knitting.

Through this popularity, crochet has been transformed into a fun and trendy activity marketed for all ages. With this growth in popularity, TikTok includes various crochet step-by-step tutorials, finished patterns, showcases of finished pieces and videos tracking people’s progress. The app also became a platform for individuals to promote their small businesses, enabling them to sell handmade crochet clothing, toys or decorations. However, with this new popularity, crochet soon became the newest victim of fast fashion.

The biggest problem is that crochet cannot be created in a machine in a factory, as it requires hand stitching, which takes a lot of time and patience. Every time a crocheted item appears in stores like H&M, shoppers tend to forget that behind that crocheted garment is someone who worked seven days a week for 14 hours (or more). Unfortunately, these are often women or children who are extremely underpaid for producing multiple items by hand.

This is further reflected in the pricing of garments. For example, on the popular clothing website Shein, a simple crochet summer top costs between $10-20. If you compare that to small businesses on Etsy, most crochet patterns cost between $5-10, whilst crocheted summer tops can cost between $40-60.

Pricing crochet items at a low cost devalues the time and effort put into designing and crocheting. People are unwilling to pay the price for small business items when they could get it for a cheaper price at places like Shein.

Whilst you may think the price of crochet items made by small businesses are unreasonably high, think of the time required to complete a top, as well as the price for materials plus the possibility of profiting from selling these garments. For summer tops, it can take around 5 hours, but this is dependent on yarn and hook size, as well as the tension of stitches, the number of different colours used, the decided stitch and the size top you’re making. Maybe 5 hours doesn’t seem like a long time for you, but let’s think bigger.

Another important thing to consider is that materials used by the fast fashion industry are not made to last, which leads to massive waste which ends up in landfill and creates more mi-

croplastics in the world. Additionally, popular fast fashion stores have stolen ideas and designs from small businesses and sold them for a cheaper price with no acknowledgement to the original designer. Consumers then buy these garments without being aware of it being stolen designs. This can be demotivating for small business owners because consumers resort to cheaper options of the exact same design.

Whilst this isn’t something that can be easily fixed, there are alternatives of what you can do to keep crochet alive and not let it become a complete victim of fast fashion. Small businesses tend to sell their items on Instagram, Depop or Etsy, whilst promoting them on other social media platforms like Instagram.

Instead of opting for the cheap option, try to buy from small businesses or try to crochet some items yourself. To a fast fashion company, you are just another statistic, but to small businesses, every order is meaningful. When you purchase something from a small or local business, you know you are buying it from someone who has made it with love.

Whilst this is a cheesy comment, you’re giving people a chance to follow their dreams. It’s true! Instead of people staying in a job that doesn’t make them happy, you are giving small businesses a chance to make money from doing something that they love, which is not something that a lot of people get the privilege to do.

Next time you’re out buying clothes, think about the time and effort gone into those garments and consider how it is a better option to shop from small businesses.

Written By C Fonseca (they/them) CONTRIBUTING WRITER

When I was 13, I made some terrible hair decisions. After a string of different haircuts, bleaches and dyes, I ended up with a hideous, unsalvageable pinkish-red bob. The best course of action was to start from scratch. I signed up for Shave for a Cure, a fundraiser for Leukaemia & Blood Cancer New Zealand. After a few weeks of gathering sponsors, my step dad drove me down to the local hair salon, where I walked in and said, “Shave it all off”.

With my new skinhead look, I leant into different styles. In my eyes, the bald head didn’t compliment my existing style. I had never dressed strictly femme, but now my pleated mini-skirts and floral dresses weren’t sitting right. Not to discourage anyone from rocking a smooth dome and girly fits, it’s a hot look. Something about being free from the confines of a “feminine hair-do” enlightened my still-developing prefrontal cortex to the concept of gender expression. However, in 2010, I had no idea what gender expression meant, or what I could do with it. I knew people called girls “tom-boys” and boys “camp” when they expressed themselves too overtly like the opposite gender. The concept of non-binary was floating around academic circles but hadn’t yet entered mainstream culture, at least not in my circles.

One of my close school friends had a similar family dynamic to me; an absent father. Every year his dad would send him new sneakers, and because he didn’t bother to ask for his size, they were usually too small. While bonding over our father’s lack of interest in our lives, my friend offered me his collection of men's sneakers that didn't fit him. They were bulky high-top sneakers which were fashionable with teenage skater kids in the 2010s. This was my first step towards masculine apparel. With shoes like those I could take on the world, they made me feel confident and decidedly un-femme.

The rest of my clothes didn't fit with these new shoes. When I paired them with fishnet tights and ripped-up denim shorts they looked like clown shoes. Things had to change. I took my brother's hand-me-down baggy jeans, long enough to cup the heel of my shoes, but tight enough at the waist that I wouldn’t be low-riding.

My collection of oversized band tees expanded and I never tucked them into the pants. I acquired a few saggy beanies and baseball caps. “Borrowed” hoodies from my stepdad completed the look.

Today, I wonder if some of the comfort I found in these clothes was related to my autistic sensory issues. Clothes that are too tight have always irritated me, tights caused constant itching and skinny jeans made me feel like my circulation was being cut off whenever I sat down. Nevertheless, donning this new attire made me feel free. Looking like the boys in class gave me confidence in a way

I’d never known before. The lack of thought that went into dressing myself every day was a relief. I’d normally spend hours trying to match the bright colours, patterns, and varying shapes of my former eclectic wardrobe. Now, my whole closet consisted of baggy pieces in plain greys, blacks and muted colours.

This new look did get me labelled by some as a dyke and a tomboy. Gender and sexuality are separate concepts and experiences.

These things are all interwoven, a complicated tapestry of identity that makes us all unique. But I’d be lying if I claimed this new experimentation with gender identity didn't open up Pandora’s gay box. I was adopting the familiar uniform of the boys my friends and I had crushes on. My best friend had a crush on the boy whose shoes I was now wearing. There was nothing weird about that. In hindsight, it feels like a complicated version of the classic lesbian dilemma: “Do I want to be her, or be with her”. Did I want to be a boy, or be the boy she would like?

Part of my cross-dressing era may have something to do with my best friend. I was now dressing like the grunge boys she had crushes on. We were those joined-at-the-hip besties, spending almost all our time together. Compared to the boys I liked, who I was so often too nervous to be myself around, she made me feel safe.

When she complimented how I looked in my new style, I couldn’t get enough of it. I started taking note of which combinations she seemed to like more, which beanies she thought were cute, as I pined endlessly for her admiration. I enjoyed the newfound freedom of dressing like a boy, but now I desperately wanted to impress the girl I had a crush on… my best friend.

It didn’t work, of course. I could never tell her how I felt, and I couldn’t cosplay my way into her affection. But I think about it often. Changing styles can be transformative. It can improve the way you perceive yourself, and the way you feel in your body. My gender stayed the same after that year, but my sexuality became clearer to me. As I got older I realised that clothes are overly gendered by society, and labels like “tom-boy” or “camp” were insulting descriptions to throw at people who didn’t conform. Yet, cross-dressing opened the door to understanding my bisexuality.

Experimenting with gender expression helped me learn about my body and what clothes make me feel comfortable, even if it didn’t get me a girlfriend.

Written & Illustrated by Tashi Donnelly (she/her) @tashi_rd FEATURE EDITOR

The Rise and Fall of Low-rise jeans CW: Diet culture / eating disorders mentioned Very few items of clothing have risen and fallen in society as frequently as the iconic and equally controversial ‘low-rise jeans’.

Similarly to one of the potted plants on my windowsill - just when I thought that it was time for it to bite the dust, it sprouts up once more. While being known most commonly as a 2000s wardrobe staple, low-rise jeans have been around way before most of our reader’s times. So if the low-rise didn’t suddenly spring up from the textile terrains of the fashion world in early 2000, then where did it come from?

I present to you, the highs and lows of the low-rise jean (and yes, I’m going to wear out the high, low, low-rise pun till it’s the death of me.)

1970s While the mods and rockers subcultures ruled the 60s, hippie culture took the world by storm soon after - bringing low rise jeans with them. Similarly to the mods, low-waisted jeans connected to a desire for freedom, being a way for the youth of the 70s to express themselves and let go of restrictive clothing and ideals.

1960s The low-waisted jeans had originally risen to popularity during the mid-1960s, along with the ‘mod’ and ‘rocker’ youth subcultures which took over the UK. The mods were more conservative in nature than the rockers, sporting well fitted suits on Vespas, hopping on the newest trends in fashion and technology.

The rockers, on the other hand, were into greased hair and leather jackets, fitting their high powered motorbikes with chrome finish for the next illegal race around the block. Rockers despised the modern ways of their flashy counterparts and preferred to have a more raw and dirty look, so it made total sense that low-rise pants got into the rocker sphere. Low-waisted pants represented a lack of care and respect for the government and rebellion against the rules of a ‘civilised society’. The contrasting values between the mods and rockers led to actual chaos through the 1950s to 1960s, with violent confrontations between the two groups taking place on the streets.

1980s The 80s. A time for huge hair, shoulder pads and aqua-aerobics.

Within this era, low-rise fell down and high-rise became all the rage. Silhouettes around the top half were more of the focus, with all the tight-fitting garments in peoples wardrobes instead made of lycra - thanks Jane Fonda!

1990s The revival of the low-waisted jeans in the 90s can be partially credited to British fashion designer Alexander McQueen, who exhibited his iconic low-rise “bumster” trousers in his 1996 Dante collection show. For the first time, the low-rise was seen on the runway. In my opinion, although there are still traces of rebellion in this iteration of the low-rise, the bumster pant seems more intent on highlighting and defining the (thin) body rather than drawing attention to the garment itself. Many credit the birth of the ultra low-rise style to McQueen, and while I refuse to deny the documented predecessors of the low-rise, the tight fitting nature of the bumster is an innovation in comparison - additionally reflecting the “heroin-chic” culture of the time.

2000s While the influence of the rockers and hippies towards low rise jeans are important, they cannot compete with how the 2000s brought low-rise jeans on the map. This was mostly due to notable celebrities flaunting them, such as Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, and groups such as Destiny’s Child and The Spice Girls. Everyone who was anyone rocked up in low-rise at some point. The influence that pop stars had on people’s closets was massive, and it is still very much that case to this day. However, there is an ongoing debate on how 2000s fashion put pressure on youth of the time. With forms of media spotlighting only slim bodies, body dysphoria and unhealthy habits inevitably followed. It was commonplace for magazines to encourage young girls and women to lose weight to look like their favourite celebrities, creating a toxic diet culture. The overwhelmingly harmful and untrue rhetoric being thinness equaling happiness.

2010s The era of skinny jeans. I think I’m too traumatised to discuss this too much further, so if you’re wanting some more insight, Tumblr is your go-to.

2020s The 2020s has had a running theme of trying on all sorts of trends from the past, and the 2000s is not exempt! With the cherry-picked reshuffle of the 2000s look, the ‘Y2k’ aesthetic has become extremely popular amongst Generation Z (with the unintended aim of making millennials feel ancient).

As Gen Z yearns for a nostalgia they’ve never experienced, we see key 2000s closet staples mixed with modern designs. What’s interesting about the use of low-waisted jeans in the 2020s is that it’s not limited to the Y2k, maximalist - dare I say - purposefully tacky looks. The item has now become a staple in a wide variety of aesthetics that wasn’t as prevalent in the 2000s. It can be found within grunge, goth, cottagecore and streetwear looks alike. I wonder if low-rise jeans can fit into my hyper-colour-majormaximalist-preppy-rainbowcore aesthetic?

Despite its long-running history, its clear low-rise jeans aren’t exempt from controversy. Whether it’s the 90’s or the 2000s, the item often goes hand in hand alongside toxic and anti body positivity ideals. As Rebecca Jennings wrote for Vox, in explaining how the 2020s have taken on the low rise and acknowledging the unrealistic standards that came with it: “Women’s bodies were the fashion, not the clothes.” However, in the 2020s that ideology began to be thrown out and replaced with a movement of body-positivity and inclusion, both on and off the runway. While there is a long way to go when it comes to non-tokenistic inclusion within the fashion industry, there is change.

Diversifying models, designers and campaign promotion is key to representing the entirety of a brand's customer base. Anyone, no matter who they are, should be able to wear something like low-rise jeans if they want to. Even if low-rise jeans hit an all-time low and fall out of fashion tomorrow, I know that eventually, they’ll rise to the occasion once more.

Written by Stella Roper (they/she) @stellyvision ARTS & CULTURE EDITOR

An Interview with Masala Bazaar is a South Asian-owned business bringing a piece of desi culture home to New Zealand. They are known to authentically embrace values of supporting local artisans and having a community-based initiative concept. They describe themselves as providing an authentic blend of South Asian treasures. Recently, I had the privilege of visiting Masala Bazaar in Parnell, talking to founder Haya Fatima Khan about fashion and the journey of creating this flourishing business.

Her beautiful insights show that often we need to become the representation in society that our younger selves have desired.

What is Masala Bazaar’s approach to ethical fashion? For South Asian people especially, why does ethical fashion matter?

In terms of ethical fashion, Haya states that many South Asians within NZ end up getting a retail role as their first job.

It is commonplace for workplaces in NZ to be mismanaged, especially in the retail sector. So you can imagine, if the payment and work culture is so bad in a country like Aotearoa (think 12 hours being the “acting manager” on the second week at work with no toilet breaks or food), imagine how bad it is back home in countries such as Bangladesh, India and Pakistan. Unfair labour and lack of adequate wages aside, Haya sheds light on the co-existing issues prevalent in South Asian countries - one example being the concept of ‘house-help.’ Often the children of these house helpers are lacking education, proper clothing or resources to live their lives to certain equitable standards. Haya says this is why “workers’ rights is not just about ethical fashion, it is about HOW we hire different people in different fields too.”

Haya says that often South Asians have tendencies to devalue their own fabrics while putting non-ethical items on a pedestal. The work and sheer magnitude of craftsmanship that goes into South Asian embroidery and pieces is too much to be undermined in this way. Gucci often charges thousands of dollars for items when the price of making them is only around $50. This, in comparison to a hand-made jhumka (South Asian earring) that takes weeks to make but is sold at a very cheap price illustrates the stark issue of South Asian heritage products being devalued. Haya pinpoints how certain things become “trends” and consequently due to the impact of colonisation, items are rebranded, remarketed and sold as something new. Something westernised. Popular examples include how sari fabrics are being marketed as “Scandinavian scarves” or jhumkas are being sold as “ethnic earrings.” The South Asian fabric market in particular has fabrics being sold for cheap prices because it’s what is quick and easy…hence the term fast fashion. Masala Bazaar, on the other hand, is all

about authenticity. “We are not trying to FIT into the trend,” Haya states. Masala Bazaar aspires to educate people and raise awareness about healthy ways to consume. They are ensuring people have a curated wardrobe of pieces that will last.

They aren’t afraid of being “too ethnic” and don’t phase out best sellers - but rather embrace the timeless beauty of South Asian heritage garments. A lot of people accuse South Asians reclaiming their heritage of being “too ethnic” when they are simply being unashamed and proud of their cultural identities through clothing, food, dance and more. All of Masala Bazaar’s fashion pieces are not only ethically sourced, but made of high-quality fabric that will last buyers many years after they make the purchase.

How did you find the transition from law to ethical entrepreneurship?

Haya said that a lot of Kiwis are so accustomed to “tall-poppy syndrome”, rather than being proud of their achievements. Haya is someone steadfast in her goals and proud of her heritage and home. She said law is a degree that truly prepares you for everything and her involvement in the South Asian Law Society (SALSA) showed her how scared brown people were of simply “being desi.” It was not normalised in a predominantly Pakeha degree to see ethnic communities, it was also commonplace to apply to jobs with more Westernised names.

People would call Haya “too desi”, not realising she was paving a path for future desi people to feel less distanced from their own communities. “How are you too desi if the spaces haven’t even been created yet?” Haya says she wants to “create empowerment to add more voices to the narrative.” The concept of South Asians trying to be more westernised to fit in is an age-old tale, one that starts from early childhood when they are bullied for being different. Lawyers often deal with complex intersectional issues surrounding foreign affairs and politics. On this note, Haya says “How can you prepare them to talk about Kashmir, if they don’t even know what a jalebi is?”

How does Masala Bazaar bring a piece of South Asia to New Zealand? How has this community building journey been for you?

Masala Bazaar embraces bringing a piece of South Asia home to Aotearoa by embracing the concept of a “community-based initiative.” Haya says a lot of Westerners unfortunately do not understand this concept. In contrast, South Asian communities and countries have rich roots that have thrived off collective

h Masala Bazaar tive based energies and kaupapa for centuries.

Traditionally in the shops and markets (bazaars) back home there is no ideal of individual sales. “Our ancestors didn’t have KPIs” It is that decolonised mindset that the bazaar has by incorporating a collective business model, where each store boosts the others’ success. For Masala Bazaar, this looked like getting a foot (very successfully) through the door during NZ’s peak economic recession. Masala Bazaar supports many local artisans, creatives and designers by displaying and selling their products and clothing in store. True to the nature of the bazaar, you can find multifaceted creations such as candles, clothes and scents from various creators, all contributing to Masala Bazaar as a whole.

Any exciting things we can look forward to in the future of Masala Bazaar?

Masala Bazaar will soon introduce a trade-in system where people can bring used and worn clothes to put back up on the racks at more affordable prices for new buyers. The person returning the item will also get a discount on their next or new purchase.

This system not only creates affordability but there’s also no pressure that you HAVE to love a piece forever. Not vibing with an item? Simply trade it in! Haya says this not only allows people to be effortlessly sustainable by not contributing to waste but also lets people look forward to new items of clothing. Haya said it’s about the trust in Masala Bazaar’s products lasting in terms of quality. She mentions that desi people often wear individual handmade outfits multiple times but they are unique to everyone around them. In contrast, Westerners are more used to wearing trends as they come and go.

“Just because it is BOLD and ETHNIC, does not mean it is NOT desirable.” Haya is confident that Masala Bazaar is part of a much larger movement of decolonisation, helping South Asians feel beautiful and confident in their own skin. It is so important we shop from home and the bazaars rather than unsustainable easy access sites such as Shein.

What is your favourite South Asian clothing item?

“Salwar Kameez because they are THE COMFIEST!” All this being said, Haya and Masala Bazaar are a shining example of trailblazers in the South Asian sphere. Through fashion, heritage and community Masala Bazaar aspires to decolonise, reclaim lost roots and encourage people to feel comfortable in their own skin, the skin back from home.

Written By Sanskruti Banerjee (she/her) @san._.banerjee CONTRIBUTING WRITER Illustration By Sahana Vijayaraghavan (she/her) @_sahana.shavij_ CONTRIBUTING ILLUSTRATOR

Support Masala Bazaar! @masalabazaarco masalabazaar.co

Same(ish) Interview, One YearApart:Teenage Dads Written By Nabeelah Khan (she/her) @nabeelahkhann CONTRIBUTING WRITER

A year after my colleague interviewed Melbourne-based band Teenage Dads, they’ve rapidly climbed the ranks of the indie-pop scene, recently winning the prestigious ARIA Music Award for Breakthrough Artist with their EP “Midnight Driving”. I caught up with the band to chat about their journey, musical inspirations, the advice they’d give their younger selves, and even their weapon of choice in a zombie apocalypse.

Teenage Dads aren’t teenagers or dads, but they may just be your next favourite indie pop-rock discovery. The Melbourne-based band is made up of Jordan Finlay (vocals, guitar), Connor McLaughlin (guitar), Vincent Kinna (drums), and Angus Christie (bass).

I open my laptop in cloudy Auckland and transport to sunny Melbourne, courtesy of Zoom. Vinnie and Angus appear on my screen, representing half of the dynamic quartet that is Teenage Dads. Vinnie sweeps his sun-bleached locks back, channelling a Bondi surfer. Angus accessorizes with jewellery, wearing colourful bracelets, a dangling earring on one ear, and a small hoop on the other. They join the call from their homes, settling back into life in Melbourne after returning from the final leg of their whirlwind US tour.

With the band’s sound drawing influences from The Strokes and Phoenix, mixed with shades of 80s synth-pop hits, Teenage Dads are poised to be on your 2024 Spotify wrapped after reading this interview. Fresh off a successful tour across the US and Europe with Lime Cordiale, the band is now gearing up for their “Majordomo Tour” across Australia and Aotearoa.

Vinnie and Angus recall winning the ARIA award as a pleasant yet unexpected surprise. "Definitely did not think about winning an award like that or just being nominated. It was pretty special," Vinnie says. Angus mentions that the band doesn’t think about winning awards when doing their day-to-day work as musicians, so being nominated marked a significant milestone in their music career, establishing themselves within the industry. The unique shape and potential danger of the ARIA trophy also stood out. Angus recalls that another artist had accidentally pierced their laptop by dropping the award on it.

I ask for proof, and Angus crosses his lounge to lift the trophy from its shelf. Through my screen, he holds up a tall, sharp, triangular pyramid—an ironic match to their recent single titled “Weaponz.”

After their ARIA award win in November 2023, the band kicked off the new year with a tour across the US and Canada in March. While the tour was filled with excitement and success, it also came with its share of cold moments. The band wasn’t

swept up in the whirlwind of their tour—they were nearly swept away by a blizzard. "Usually, people get sick on tour most times. But this one was particularly hard, I feel, because we were in sub-zero temperatures for the first time in a long time, probably for two straight weeks or more," Vinnie says. En route to a show in Boulder, Utah, they faced a storm that almost derailed their plans. “We were about seven hours away from that town or city and got caught in a blizzard,” Vinnie recalls.

“The freeway was closed, and we had to stay the night in this tiny town.” Stranded with the freeway closed, the band anxiously waited, unsure if they’d make it to the show. By a stroke of luck, the road reopened just 20 minutes before they would have had to cancel, allowing them to make it to the performance just in time.

Amidst these challenges, Angus fondly recalls one of the highlights of their time in the States—a night out in New York that turned into a fun, absurd adventure with fellow musicians.

“We went out in New York and just experienced the city with a bunch of other musicians,” he shares. “It was one of the silliest nights I can remember—everyone was doing these ridiculously over-the-top New York accents right there in the city.”

Another standout memory from their tour was the unexpected turnout from fans in cities far from home, like performing to a sold-out crowd in Dublin. “We were pretty surprised by how many people showed up in places we’d never been before,” Angus reflects.

Angus and Vinnie point out that last year marked a significant milestone when they began earning from the band, giving them a sense that they were full-time musicians. “It's still just less than a year since we first, paid ourselves any sort of money from the band. Everything we've kind of ever earned has gone straight into the band again,” Vinnie explains. Although Teenage Dads first came together during their high school years, playing songs during their free period, they’ve only recently stepped into the role of full-time musicians. “But it’s been really interesting,” Angus shares. “It’s only recently that we’ve started to reach that full-time musician role. It’s at the point where there’s no other work on the side—that’s when it’ll fully set in.”

Vinnie reflects on the band's unexpected journey to full-time musicianship, describing it as a path they never saw coming.

“It’s just been a long journey and one that we never thought we’d get to,” he admits. “You always hope, or think, ‘That’d be cool,’ but you don’t dwell on it too much. You just focus on the moment and keep yourselves hungry for more.”

Teenage Dads’ songwriting process is collaborative and ever-evolving. It often begins with lead singer Jordy (Jordan)

bringing in nearly completed song ideas. “Jordy will show us a song—he’s our singer—and he’ll usually have a pretty finished piece, which builds a bank of music that way,” Vinnie explains.

From there, the whole band works together to develop and refine the tracks further. Sometimes, the songs remain almost unchanged from their initial demos. “We do a lot of push-pull between the four of us, where the rest of us might have some input on where the song should go, or maybe the song doesn’t even change at all,” Vinnie says.

At other times, their songs are more collaborative, built from a single idea that everyone contributes to. Lately, they’ve been working with Byron Bay producer Chris Collins—whom Vinnie calls a “legend”—to help shape their songwriting. “We’ve also had plenty of songs that start from just one idea, and then we’ve all kind of thrown in ideas and created it that way more collaboratively,” Vinnie adds.

Teenage Dads draw from a wide range of musical influences, with each band member bringing their unique tastes to their sonic mix.

Among their shared inspirations are iconic acts like Phoenix and Talking Heads. “I’ll say Phoenix, but they’re just constant. Yeah, they’re my favourite band. I’d also say maybe some Talking Heads,” Vinnie shares. Angus adds, “Talking Heads were kind of a reference when we went into the studio to do a lot of the recordings.”

The band’s influences aren’t limited to the classics; they also embrace more niche artists like Viagra Boys and Faye Webster. Angus finds himself captivated by the latest album from Viagra Boys.

“Recently, I’ve been listening to a whole lot of Viagra Boys; their most recent album is really fun. There’s one song, ‘The Cognitive Trade-Off Hypothesis,’ that’s awesome,” he says. Vinnie also mentions that The Killers have made an impact on the band’s sound: “The Killers were cool.” Angus states, “You want an array across the band because you’re kind of finding new inspirations and new things all the time.” This diverse mix of influences helps shape their evolving sound, making it a true reflection of their collective and individual tastes.

Teenage Dads' first single of 2024, "Weaponz," is a punchy track that fuses indie rock with a splash of retro flair reminiscent of The Strokes. It kicks off with driving guitar riffs and a pulsating bassline,

establishing an electrifying and fast-paced rhythm. The song exudes an almost chaotic energy, with dynamic shifts and catchy hooks that make it both unpredictable and unforgettable. The music video for the song is a playful whirlwind of chaos. Bathed in a fuzzy '80s glow, the video features surreal props and magical levitating instruments, creating an otherworldly atmosphere. The video captures the band performing in an empty auditorium, with an intensity that echoes The Killers' "Mr. Brightside" music video.

In a playful nod to the song title "Weaponz," I pose a hypothetical question to the band: What weapon would they choose to defend themselves in a zombie apocalypse? Angus responds with a surprising choice: "I would choose my heart." Vinnie took a more traditional approach, quipping, "Flamethrower, yeah, and a flamethrower?" before adding, "The Needler gun in Halo. Can I have a Kimbo? Can I have Needler and then gravity hammer?" The band members banter about who would survive the apocalypse given their chosen weapons. They even pull me into the debate to decide which team would come out on top.

Debate Magazine interviewed Teenage Dads a year ago, so in the spirit of Billie Eilish's "Vanity Fair One Year On" interview, I ask them two similar questions: when I asked what they would say to their future selves, Vinnie jokes about asking his future self if a Seinfeld movie had finally been made: "Yeah, maybe I’d ask something like, is there a Seinfeld movie?” Angus grapples a bit with this question.

He reflects on the oddity of asking for future advice: “I feel like it’s weird... in that all the useful information is when you go back in time.

Like, yeah, you want to know what’s going to happen, but you don’t.

When you think about it, it’s like, ‘Oh, if I had a time machine, I’d go tell my future self something.’ But no, they already know everything that’s going to happen.” He adds, “It has to be beneficial.”

When I ask what advice they would have given to themselves a year ago, Angus offers a humorous piece of advice to his past self. "So exactly, if it was exactly a year ago, we would be preparing to do our three-month tour, and I would tell myself, in Detroit, when the chef tells you that there aren’t peanuts in the food you’re about to eat, he’s lying. Don’t eat it.”

Don’t miss Teenage Dads playing their award-winning EP “Midnight Driving” in Tamaki Makaurau at Galatos on September 6th.

The Fashion World’s Much Needed Breath of Fresh Air ‘Te Wiki Āhua o Aotearoa’

Written by Paris Lloyd-Beere @parislloydbeere CONTRIBUTING WRITER

In May, the announcement came that economic pressures and a lack of artists meant that New Zealand Fashion Week would be a no-go this year. Whether you’re a designer, model, reporter, a makeup artist, a photographer, or just someone who takes an interest in the fashion world, the cancellation of NZFW was a blow to every member of Aotearoa’s fashion community.

But, in classic kiwi ingenuity style, three young creatives have come to save the day and prove the weak reasoning behind the cancellation as complete bullshit, with Te Wiki Āhua o Aotearoa. Āhua means form or shape in te reo and is synonymous with fashion, leaving us with the direct translation of New Zealand Fashion Week. With the current political state of our nation and the government blatantly gunning to erase te reo Māori, the Āhua team thought it “only fitting to call the week what it should have been from the beginning.”

Nina Bailey and Sophia (Fifi) Kwon were the original masterminds behind this entire idea, and Billy Blamires, who was a part of the ‘ROGUE’ show team last year, joined the project soon thereafter.

When speaking with the team about the kaupapa behind the week, it was clear this was no accidental feat, but rather a movement aiming to cause a positive shift within fashion - politically and socially. Sophia mentioned a great point, that “Throughout history, artists have always been at the forefront of change and resisting oppression. With the current social unrest, we as a community have never needed to show solidarity and resilience more.” A space where budding designers know they are welcome, and are made to feel wanted and important, has been a missing cog in the fashion machine for a long time. First and foremost for those trying to make it in an industry that has shunned them, yes, but also for audiences. Seeing the same names over and over grows tiresome quickly. Fresh names, faces, and ideas on a large-scale stage has been what Aotearoa has needed for longer than not. While there’s no question that everyone starts somewhere and a lot of those household names in fashion had to pay their dues to crack into the industry, it shouldn’t need to be so difficult. Plus, with a cost of living crisis and material costs at an all time high, that alone puts this generation of artists 10 steps behind where the OGs started. Āhua is providing an equal opportunity to get a foot in the door; no classist, cliquey undertones around here.

With the full five days of runways and exhibitions kicking off at Raynham Park, 145 Karangahape Road on September 9th until September 13th, any attendee is guaranteed to be absolutely spoiled for choice. Similarly to the smash hit anti-fashion-week show ROGUE last year, Āhua is a step in the direction of change and much needed renewal in the fashion industry. Fresh ideas and radical inclusivity seem like a no-brainer, but really this event with these ideas has been a long time coming. Early career designers are often overlooked, and the industry focuses more on who’s already a big name rather than who is making the most innovative, interesting, sustainable pieces. Being a third year fashion student and having situated themself into the young-designer scene, Billy is no stranger to the struggles faced in the starting stages of a fashion career. “Despite being a small and tight knit community,

there haven't been many opportunities for large-scale collaborations where creativity isn’t restricted,” says Blamires. Nina carried on, “[... We want to] focus on promoting and platforming emerging and early career artists from all areas of the New Zealand creative scene.” In a day-and-age where “large corporations are unwilling to take risks [on early career artists],” this not-for-profit 5 days of design and jewellery goodness is set to showcase an exciting array of emerging and independent creatives.

Though it’s easy to, and in a lot of ways important to, get caught up on the gravity of the social and political stances being taken with Āhua, it’s important to not forget about the sheer excitement for the pieces and collections themselves. After all, they are the centrepoint of fashion. We can undoubtedly anticipate a wide variety of designs, styles, and 3 themed runways. The first runway, ‘Life Cycle of a Butterfly’ is set to showcase the “knitters, crocheters, upcyclers and all of the slow fashion designers.” The second, ‘Evil and Parties’ focuses on more alternative designers and styles, with some of the featuring artists described as punk, grungy, and taking an anti-fashion approach. Last but not least, ‘Boys Cry’ is all of the streetwear-style collections. And, if that somehow wasn’t enough to capture your attention, there will also be a jewellery exhibition featuring five up-and-coming jewellers - Babyhead , Evangelixer, Twosix, Platform, and my personal favourite of the bunch, One Flat Ring. On the event’s instagram, @ahuaaotearoa, you can already find some introductions to a few of the designers that audiences can expect to see come showtime. Keep an eye on that same page for more info regarding ticket releases.

All money made from Āhua week will be sent directly to Gaza, to help in aid for the humanitarian crisis the Palestinian people are currently facing. If you are going to put your money anywhere, put it here. Young creatives are the biggest activist voices, and they deserve to be seen and heard. And, Palestine deserves to be free, so to have an event of this scale focusing their support on this issue is cause enough to show up for them. Support not only your local creatives, but also the people who need it most right now in Palestine, both at once.

If you want to get involved with Te Wiki Āhua o Aotearoa, they are currently recruiting a whole bunch of people for different positions.

Designers, photographers, videographers, models, musicians, dancers, graphic designers, writers, makeup artists, stylists. Whoever you are, chances are there’s a position for you to fill. The team says “Join us, in what we aim to make the biggest creative collaboration of New Zealand artists of this decade.” Contact them on their IG to see how you can help out.

This is something that can’t be missed. Whether you’re physically helping out in some capacity or just going to watch, make sure you’re there. Or sit at home and wish you were. But I know where I’ll be.

Support Āhua

@ahuaaotearoa @billyblamires @fifimademedoit @ninabaileyy

Who Wears the Pants in the Fashion World?

I was doom scrolling TikTok the other day when I stumbled across a video that lingered in the recesses of my brain. A young woman stared deadpan into the camera and declared: "The sexiest thing a man can wear is a shirt with a little crop. Everyone in the comments was all for it, but the comment felt off to me.

little, my perfect outfit went from colourful socks covered in silly animals, brown well, well-worn corduroy pants and a thick, baggy, deep green button-up to plain black hoodies, blue jeans, and simple white socks. An outfit right out of Hallensteins. For me, it quickly became easier to blend in than risk standing out,

Don't get me wrong—I agree with her. As a gay man, Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal come to mind with their short-shorts, moustaches, and those "shirts with a little crop". But I can't help but wonder—when did breaking gender stereotypes become the social norm?

The moment an influencer or celebrity draws fashion inspiration from other genders, it's instantly given a free pass to become the next hot trend. The same outfits that draw scorn and danger to the queer community are seen as the height of chic by those with large followings and social clout. It's disheartening to see the very clothes that once made me a target now being praised as the epitome of style.

Fashion trends are cyclical. They fade away and then come back in new forms, evolving with the times. We went from baggy jeans in the '90s to skinny low-rise in the '00s, and now, in the 2020s, we're back to baggy jeans. It seems as though that everytime someone debuts a look that was popular 20 years ago, everyone stares in awe.

To borrow from Miranda Priestly and The Devil Wears Prada: "It's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room."

As well as recycling, fashion is also about borrowing styles. Many current mainstream fashion trends debuted in the queer space. One that comes to mind is jorts. Once seen as a crime against fashion, queer people started rocking both baggy and tight jorts. Embracing the 00's style, jorts were made 'campy' and 'ironic'. Now you can't walk down the street without spotting someone in jorts. Often, what was once seen as 'ugly' was adopted by queer culture, before it became a part of mainstream fashion.

You've got to admit, there's an obvious double standard in fashion.

If a straight male celebrity wears pearl necklaces, linen shorts and dangly earrings, he's labelled a visionary for borrowing feminine fashion choices. But when a queer person tries the same—coming to university in makeup or feminine clothing— they're more often than not verbally abused, ostracised or even physically assaulted.

“Wearing a “shirt with a little bit of a crop” wasn’t me waiting to be talent-scouted for Vogue or Euphoria. It was a way for me to connect with my community and feel a sense of belonging.”

Wearing a "shirt with a little bit of a crop" wasn't me waiting to be talent-scouted for Vogue or Euphoria. It was a way for me to connect with my community and feel a sense of belonging.

I've had homophobic slurs and comments yelled at me on the street because of how I've dressed. My clothing choices aren't about following fashion trends but survival and self-expression in an often hostile world.

The constant harassment and fear of people laughing at me started to outweigh how good I felt wearing the clothes I wanted. Little by

I love seeing fashion evolve and people embracing styles that challenge social norms. However, It's hard to ignore the double standard.

When did a change in who wore the clothes decide whether they were socially acceptable? And how many people were hurt along the way before it became 'sexy'? We've made strides in equality, and I'm not here to gatekeep alternative fashion. But it's exhausting how easily people change their opinions just to stay on trend.

People forget how queerness has shaped fashion. Or they just Google "queer influence on fashion" and regurgitate the first name they find. Like that TikTokker, who credited his style of painted nails and pearl necklaces to Marsha P. Johnson. A queer activist who threw the first brick at Stonewall. Talk about a cop-out.

“People forget how queerness has shaped fashion.

Or they just Google “queer influence on fashion” and regurgitate the first name they find.”

Homophobic stigma still runs deep when it comes to freedom of expression and fashion. Between January 2022 and April 2023, there were 561 reported hate crimes in New Zealand alone, according to The Guardian. Here in Aotearoa, we're relatively progressive compared to places like Uganda, Nigeria and Sri Lanka, where LGBTQ+ people are still criminalised for queer behaviour. Yet, there are still 71 countries worldwide holding onto this archaic mindset.

What we need isn't just a fresh take on fashion trends but a change in how we value the people and history behind clothes. Fashion should be about self-expression and community. It shouldn't be centred around chasing the next big trend or a quick path to fame.

The next time you see someone pulling off clothing that is bold or unique, take a moment to appreciate the history and the people who paved the way for that style. Because behind every "shirt with a little bit of a crop" is a story of survival, courage and a desire to belong.

Fashion isn't just fabric—it's a statement, a protest, and sometimes, a lifeline.

Written By Carlos Norton (he/him) @carlosnorton_ CONTRIBUTING WRITER

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Hat Boy Wears Hat Written & Illustrated by Cameron Mason McCurdy (she/her) @leighapparently | SOCIAL MEDIA COORDINATOR Creating a brand is a difficult process. Some people spend years studying market trends, graphic design, and aesthetic cohesion, just to fail to portray a distinct identity. And then sometimes, by accident, you find yourself in costume as yourself and recognised for it. You find yourself tied to a look that you didn’t even realise you had made to be such an important part of your public perception that the moment you change it, you disappear. A ghost, unidentifiable in a crowd.

This is the story of a boy and a hat.

In 2013, I played Telltale’s The Walking Dead Game for the first time. The credits rolled, and I bawled my eyes out. I started reading the comics, started watching the show, and then, naturally, I started getting targeted ads on Facebook for a hat, Clementine’s hat – officially licensed game merchandise. I bought it instantly, and several weeks of international shipping later, it arrived. On my driveway in the dappled spring sunlight, I began my Sailor Moon transformation sequence. Neon lights shot from my body, the sound effects wooshed, and when the dust cleared, I was no longer Cameron - I was Hat Boy™.

I wore the Hat every day, to every gig I played, to every zinefest I tabled at, to every party I went to, in every music video I was in.

For five years I was Hat Boy or Hat Guy to anyone I was publicly perceived by. I even embraced the moniker as it happened to me, changing my Instagram to @hatboymakesart.

joke, but when I said no, my friends were surprised. I started to resent the Hat that day.

As the band I was in found more success, I began to get recognised whenever I was in town, but never as myself, always as Hat Boy from Blu Fish. I told my flatmate about this, and he scoffed at me in disbelief. Two days later, we sculled soju together in Myers Park before a gig, and the gang of youths next to us shouted, “Yo, it’s Hat Guy!” It felt great proving him wrong, but me and the Hat were beginning to drift apart. I hated to be its Garfunkel, and hats are incapable of making Graceland.

Then one day, the Hat reached its limit. It had come pre-frayed, and the frays were winning the battle against the threads holding the thing together. It was grey now, instead of pure white, and no matter what I did, it was always a little bit damp. There’s truly nothing as destructive as the forehead grease of daily use and, by this point, hundreds of heads. So I did something unthinkable. I went back to Skybound’s website, and I replaced the Hat in secret. This new hat was exactly the same, except for The Walking Dead’s logo embroidered on the back, and I continued to be Hat Boy. But it wasn’t the same, people noticed the logo for one thing, but mostly, it just felt different. My love for the Hat wasn’t tied to its design, it was tied to that first hat itself, the object, my constant companion, my dearest friend.

I took off the Hat. Now I was just Boy™.

Once when I was out of town, a friend went to a costume party wearing the Hat, and I was bombarded throughout the evening with angry messages from friends who kept thinking I was at the party and trying to talk to me, only to realise the Hat’s face was different.

Instantly, acquaintances couldn’t comprehend me, I would go to Whammy Bar and Real Groovy and no one would know who I was.

“Oh! I didn’t recognise you without the hat.”

“Where’s your hat?”

“Blu Fish? Nah that’s Hat Boy’s band, wait, what do you play?”

Passing the Hat around at parties and gigs started to become the norm. I would find it on a friend’s head, a stranger’s head, or on the bathroom bench. We had an open relationship, but it would always find its way back to me.

I heard that my friend's little sister was on the lookout for a good hat. So I gave both of the Walking Dead hats to my friend to pass on to her. She was honoured and a bit shocked.

“Are you sure?” she asked my friend. “But it’s like, the HAT though?”

I have no doubt that the Hat had become a comfort object.

The Hat was easing my fear of being perceived, and my anxiety around socialising. It was a barrier between myself and the world. I didn’t have to be an autistic, ADHD trans person, struggling to cosplay as both ‘normal’ and ‘boy’. My job was just ‘Hat’.

One weekend, during drinks at my flat, one of my closest friends asked me, “Do you wear the hat during sex?”. I thought it was a

Today I asked her about it. What had she thought about me and that hat, back when I was Hat Boy? “What hat?” she asked, “You’re just Cam to me, you’re not defined by your hat…you’re defined by what you do with it.”

What I did with it was let it rest. It’s in a box somewhere, finally at peace.

Written By Luke Fisher (he/him) @lukefish7__ CONTRIBUTING WRITER SAVE-E-MART

The Realisation My morning routine was simple yet effective. Like most days, I played dead for five “bed minutes”—or half an hour—before reluctantly easing myself onto the cold carpet below. Getting dressed was first on my agenda. Underpants first—the Star Wars briefs at the top of the pile did the trick.

On went my one pair of plain blue jeans. But then it got tricky: shirts. Did I go sporty with my 2015 Blackcaps polo? Or maybe classy, with my plain black, unwashed Hallensteins tee? I eventually settled on my Nike shirt which, in my delusions, made my chest and biceps bulge.

I was satisfied with my outfit, but later on in the day, my bubble was well and truly burst.

The first stop on our red carpet preparation tour was New Lynn’s Savemart. Savemart is a second-hand clothing outfit that operates 28 stores across the motu. Bargains were the top priority. The bougie came later.

I plodded behind my girlfriend as she strode confidently inside.

But suddenly, I was a deer in headlights, transfixed by the sheer scale of the place.

Rows upon rows of clothes, from chic to casual, as far as the eye could see. Infinite racks of hidden gems sat on bare concrete. The happy hum of enthusiastic bargain hunters did well to offset the harshness of the fluorescent lighting above.

An exasperated cry broke my daze.

“What is that? Boys’ size 16?”

“Oi! Come try these on.”

It hit me like a freight train. At that moment, I was Adam; Karangahape Road was my Garden of Eden, and that comment was my apple. I looked down at myself, horrified. What was that thing down there? What on earth was I wearing?

I immediately obeyed my queen’s instructions and headed towards the changing rooms, three pairs of pants in hand.

Savemart has an impressive number of changing rooms. Selecting one felt like choosing a room at the Infinite Hotel. I can’t pretend to understand Hilbert’s Paradox, but I do know that infinity is a lot.

I should introduce myself.

I’m Luke, a straight white male with ZERO fashion sense. My appearance is often so unnoteworthy that it becomes, in itself, noteworthy. I wish this piece were about self-awareness manifesting into self-improvement, but all credit must go to my girlfriend. You don’t know her, she goes to another school. Justifiably, she doesn’t want her name associated with someone who admits to owning Star Wars briefs with holes in them.

But she thinks I can be saved. I’m going through a set of reforms rivalling Rogernomics. We started with my wardrobe.

I wrestled one pair of jeans past my hips only to realise I had zero chance of moving the fly, let alone doing up the button.

“They’re too small,” I mumbled meekly from my stall.

“Let’s see,” said my girlfriend, sceptical of my judgement.

It’s important to note that from the waist down I looked like Darth Vader if he had Owen Wilson’s nose and wore a brown quarter-zip sweater. I came dangerously close to exposing her to that image. In the end, common sense prevailed and I gave a better explanation instead.

That failed size-up took some wind out of our sails, but the next pair restored it and then some. Well, for me at least. I tried these pants on and was instantly sold. The stretchy material.

The smart casual look. The freedom they gave me to bend and rotate. They were the perfect golf pants. My girlfriend rolled her eyes and sighed.

Savemart was a success, if only in my eyes. But it was time for some results. It was time to ‘Cotton On’ to modern-day trends.

completed fashion. A decade of austerity may be in order.

Cotton On

More complications. According to my girlfriend, I can’t just wear the clothes—I have to wear them in a certain way. She suggested I cuff the hems of my jeans, but this doesn’t sit right with me. The only times I’ve ever rolled up my pant legs were for Mum’s classic “you’ll grow into them” purchases. But, my girlfriend/style commissioner was elected on a clear mandate: to fix me at all costs.

She hasn’t been wrong yet.

While dwarfed by Savemart in size, Cotton On pulled through.

Weirdly enough, I thought we were at a Hallensteins the entire time. But I digress.

Both suckers for a bargain, we made a beeline for the discount rack. We struck gold. Baggy jeans. The perfect antithesis to the drainpipes that had been strangling my legs for aeons. A ‘Pablo’ short-sleeved button-up shirt that fit me much better than my high school era hand-me-downs.

I made my way to the changing rooms, surviving an awkward interaction with a staff member. Ideally, I need five business days to prepare for any social interaction.

But I made it, put on my new discoveries, and emerged looking like a SNACK. I had the tan cable-knit button-up tucked into the baggy blue jeans. I even had a belt on. This was the first time in a long time I’d felt genuine glee at my appearance. Not used to feeling anything more than indifference towards my reflection, I was sold.

Footlocker, Farmers & Feet Neither Footlocker nor Farmers were originally in our plans, but the spending floodgates were open. She told me I needed a pair of stylish sneakers to go with my outfits. I was so inspired by my transformation that I would’ve said yes to anything, even an assless pants, goggles and studded collar combo.

While trying on a pair of Vans my big toe peeked out of my sock. She looked at the sock with disdain. The way this coalition government looks at public sector jobs.

This sock explains the trip to Farmers.

A Look in the Mirror So after golf pants, two shirts, two pairs of jeans, a pair of shoes, some socks, and a balance alert notification from my bank, we were done. Think of the following collection of thoughts as a window into my head. It’s a place of discombobulation, where the only certainty is uncertainty.

I imagined clothes shopping as a simple, straightforward, enjoyable experience. It wasn’t. While I benefitted, I also experienced somewhat of an identity crisis. I can’t recall any time I’d ever raw-dogged clothes shopping like that before. Perusing racks without looking online first? It's like I got to live someone else’s life for a few hours.

Looking good felt great, but it also felt wrong, like I’d disrupted my canon. Mediocrity is all I’ve ever known and I have a deep-seated fear of change.

But I think this change was vital. Now, I’m just trying to come to grips with the sorry state of my bank account. I hope buying a few new clothes means I’ve

On a similar note, I wonder when I should wear my new outfits. I could wear them to classes, but perhaps there’s a better approach. If there’s one thing I learnt from the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series, it’s always to set people’s expectations low so you end up surprising them by doing practically nothing at all. That’s my modelling motto.

I just can’t stop thinking about that Hallensteins-Cotton On mixup. Was it denial, because I couldn’t handle such a massive identity shift? I turned to my psychologist, Dr C. GPT, in search of answers. It suggested that the mistake symbolised a tug-of-war between my two conflicting selves. I’m “teetering between being the quintessential Kiwi bloke who’s unbothered by fashion trends and someone who’s perhaps more aware of, or even tempted by, the shifting currents of style.”

Or maybe I’m just a moron.

Illustration By Chloe Bettina (she/her) @lilclodoodles CONTRIBUTING ILLUSTRATOR

My girlfriend has decidedly strong opinions about backwards caps. This knowledge came as a surprising revelation to me when, during a casual conversation about fashion with said girlfriend and her flatmate, it was revealed that she almost didn’t swipe right on my dating profile due to the fact that I was wearing such headwear in one of my photos - a fashion choice that she regards as a gross abomination of sensible aesthetics. I am here today to present a robust defence of the apparently controversial wearing of a backwards cap in mainstream society, which until recently was totally unbeknownst to me.

First and foremost, I want to begin with the fact that I was infatuated with skateboarding culture during my formative years. As a youngster, I wanted to emulate the style and fashion of my favourite skaters, guys like Chad Muska and Christian Hosoi, who effortlessly performed complex skate tricks dressed in baggy jeans, oversized tees and backwards caps. These guys smoked weed, went to crazy parties, hooked up with beautiful women, and earned a living from skateboarding - all while wearing hats positioned at various non-traditional angles both backward and otherwise. To a 12-year-old suburbanite and wannabe stoner these fast-living skateboarders were the pinnacle of physical talent and social status attainment - more akin to gods than men.

Although I have never surfed (and am in fact suspicious of the ocean and its mysterious designs), there is a considerable overlap between skateboarding and surfing culture. This degree of crossover between the two subcultures allowed for a free-flowing exchange of fashion and aesthetics that meant I was also able to adopt elements of style from surfers without ever having to brave the ocean on a surfboard myself. The fashion of skateboarding and surfing culture in New

Zealand was heavily influenced by American trends. A style best described by a term borrowed from hip-hop that was floating around the cultural milieu at the time - that of ‘steez’ or ‘style with ease’. Although it is likely a dated term now, the historical function and meaning of ‘steez’ is the practice of demonstrating a fashionable style with the implication that it required little to no effort to achieve. The classic - “Oh this? I just threw it on” response as a cool and affable reply to someone complimenting your outfit. You are stylish without effort; fashionable with ease. This is the objective of dressing with steez, and it is with steez that the cap is placed in a backwards orientation upon the wearer’s head. This is headwear that does not serve the function of protecting the wearer’s eyes and face from sun damage and ultraviolet radiation. This is the headwear of the kings and queens of street and surf, the crown of the free-wheeling deities personifying the anti-establishment ethos I fell so in love with as a youth.

Another significant factor in my adoption of the backwards cap stemmed from a love of hip-hop. Many esteemed elder statesmen of the genre could be seen displaying unorthodox angles of hat-wearing over the years - individuals I loved and respected like Nas, Mos Def, DJ Premier, and the Alchemist. Style and fashion have gone hand in hand with hip-hop culture since its origin in The Bronx, New York City during the 1970s.

The term ‘steez’, the aforementioned and intangible concept that one personifies while wearing a backwards cap, is commonly thought to have been coined by hiphop heavyweight and Wu Tang Clan alumni Method Man on the GZA’s 1995 track “Shadowboxin’” where, amidst a verse of blistering rhymes, he declares to the listener - “you know my steez”.

For some time now hip-hop has been at the forefront of

popular music, with artists in recent years finally gaining the critical recognition that the genre deserves (such as Kendrick Lamar winning the Pulitzer Prize for music for his 2017 album DAMN.). Hip-hop and elements of its culture have been permeating the mainstream consciousness for decades, influencing everything from films, visual art, and other genres of music - to dance, poetry, slang, and fashion. Now, of course, it must be addressed that my girlfriend harbours absolutely no ill will towards hip-hop as a musical genre or cultural phenomenon. Nor does she have any particular hate for the skateboarding and surfing communities. As a very talented and creative artist and writer herself - with a great sense of style and fashion - I am firm in my belief that considering art and aesthetics she absolutely DOES know what she’s talking about. However, it is readily apparent in life that no one can be an expert on everything. On this particular subject - the aesthetic merits of the backwards cap (or a lack thereof, in her view) - I consider her opinion to hold very little weight, and I have resolved that this is the hill I will die on within our relationship. The only point that I am willing to concede to her is the fact that, although of course the backwards cap is inherently infused with steez, unfortunately not everybody who wears the cap backwards can harness and properly manage such a powerful and unpredictable force. It is not difficult for one to imagine an ageing jock dressed in a too-tight shirt and shorts combo, boat shoes and wraparound sunglasses, sporting a backwards cap with such a sad absence of steez that the poor sucker is muddying the good name and standing of the headwear without ever realising it.

In conclusion, the backwards cap has a long and storied history that I believe some of those with such strong opinions on the subject may be woefully unaware of. It is in the spirit of such lore that I endeavour to continue the aesthetic of my subcultural forefathers by attempting to educate the reader (and my other half) on the merits and historical importance of the backwards cap. Luckily for her, my choice of wearing it served a stylistic function as well as a practical one - to keep my previously long hair out of my face and eyes. To her probable delight, due to the fact that I now have a shorter haircut, I feel less of a desire to wear the backwards cap - and I like the look of it on myself less without the long flowing locks to accompany it. Although to be totally honest, I think that I will still wear it proudly when I eventually meet her mother and extended family.

Out of respect, of course.

Written By Stu Paul (he/him) CONTRIBUTING WRITER Illustration By Tashi Donnelly (she/her) @tashi_rd FEATURES EDITOR

The Four C’s

of Fashion Clothes, if you really think about it, are kind of a funny thing.

At the end of the day, they are just a couple of pieces of material stitched together that we put on our bodies to keep warm.

But they are a lot more than that. Clothes are a form of self-expression. They say a lot about us from our culture to hobbies and interests. Take traditional clothing such as kimonos in Japan to kilts in Scotland, but even something as simple as a band tee or a sports jersey can tell you about a person.

I am someone who defaulted to wearing band-tees and sports jerseys but have found my style moving away from those as I expanded my wardrobe. Don’t get me wrong I’ll still rock one, I just have more options now.

A big issue with changing styles is it can hit the wallet a bit hard, especially for students who don’t have a lot of money to begin with. My solution is to develop a capsule wardrobe, essentially a small selection of clothes that you can mix and match, giving you many options for a minimal cost.

1st C: Colour A pop of colour is an easy way to dress up an outfit and can be as simple as wearing a bright-coloured tee. I especially like adding a pop of colour to my everyday outfits to make it look more interesting. I tend to wear brighter colours in the summer while saving darker colours for winter. However, there is no real hard and fast rule for this.

2nd C: Collar I think some people see buttoning up a shirt as a chore, but it doesn’t have to be. Adding a collared shirt rather than a tee elevates your look from being purely casual to more formal. You can also lean towards something more casual by leaving the shirt unbuttoned and wearing a tee underneath. Personally, this is my go-to outfit when I want to dress up but still have a casual look.

3rd C: Co-Ord Accessorizing is an easy way to dress up an outfit. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t really do this one anymore, due to the

fact my watch’s batteries died but unlike my watch, this tip still works. Adding accessories to your outfit is a nice way to pull it all together. Accessories don’t even need to be anything too out there, a watch, necklace, rings or a belt will do the trick.

4th C: Confidence My last tip is honestly the most important one. It’s the thing you should always try to bring with every outfit and that’s confidence.

Now I know “Just be confident” is perhaps the worst advice because it is very much a case of “easier said than done” but if you have enough confidence, you can really pull off anything.

Confidence is something that I have personally struggled with.

It’s difficult to wear something risky out in public if you're scared of what people might think. As I’ve started wanting to express my gender identity through my fashion the thing that has always held me back is worrying about what strangers might say or do while I’m in public. So, I get it, but there are steps that we can take to make it less scary. The best way I think is to have a support group around you if you are going out and are worried about other people’s reactions. There’s a reason why the cliche “safety in numbers” exists.

At the end of the day, clothes are just pieces of cloth so wear what you want and have fun. Life is too short to worry about some snide-ass looking down their nose at you because you’ve broken some fashion rule.

P.S. Yes, I am aware of the irony of writing an entire piece about style tips only to say it doesn’t even matter, but hopefully, you found this somewhat entertaining.

Written By Matt Bullock (They/Them) @mbb_247 CONTRIBUTING WRITER

I can’t name one person who hasn’t been mesmerised by the colourful and plentiful delights on offer at the ethical concept store Crushes.

Even my dad thinks it’s cool. Home to over sixty local artists, artisans and lovingly selected second-hand apparel, Crushes has become a second home for vintage lovers. A unique community has formed around the store with the introduction of the ‘Crushes Social Club’ events. They have created a space where rangatahi can make meaningful connections and grow their community.

I was lucky enough to speak to co-owner Rose about the inspiration for her store, sustainability and all things stylish.

Do you mind telling me a little bit about the Crushes origin story?

In 2011, it was cool to go to craft markets on the weekend. Handmade goods and vintage clothing were paired up in markets all the time. So, when I met my business partner Sarah, who lived above a shop space, we wondered, ‘if we started a business, what would it be?’ And then we thought, ‘what if there was a craft market open all the time?’ Then, the makers wouldn’t have to manage their stalls all day. And it’s more common now to see people combine the two.

The people who buy locally made also want to buy vintage. They care about what they buy and where it’s made.

What advice would you have for anyone still finding their footing with personal style?

What I think is special about vintage clothing is that you have everything available to you from every era or every style. It’s not about micro trends. Style can be whatever you wish, just due to the existing scale or library of clothes. By simply introducing one preloved piece into your wardrobe that is unique in itself, just by how second-hand clothes collaborate with the rest of your wardrobe. You are creating your own personal style through that simple act. When you grab

something that piques your interest, you might have no idea how you could style it. That starts so many fun new moments as you explore different possibilities. I’m not super interested or motivated by brands. Getting something niche that gets you excited or scared is a good base place.

When selecting vintage, how do you know something will fit within the Crushes brand?

We have never been about fitting into any specific era. We are solely motivated by what would fit into a modern wardrobe. As lovers of fashion, when we see a piece, we often already know the reference and can say, ‘this is so Prada 2004.’ We see the customers who come to the store, who are our crushes, who are our muses, and we think, ‘this person is so going to love that.’ It’s this relationship that becomes an intimate knowledge of your own community.

Crushes has its own brand; what is the creative process for making a new offering?

Often, I or someone else will come up with an idea, and then Sarah will find all the parts that are ethical and suitable and bring all the tiny parts together. And then our team makes it. For a product like that [referring to the Barby Word x Crushes tees], we think about how we can work with local artists to create something new out of existing materials.

Due to our values and sustainability, we are often motivated by what we can find. For example, for the glass heart charm necklaces in the vending machine, we knew of a local glass maker and asked, ‘what could they make, and how could we take it to the next level?’ So, we added these vintage trims to the charms and included an in-store activation. And it’s a real collaboration with the team. There's a lot of communication, a lot of back-and-forths, and not a lot of planning; it's really off the cuff. We aren’t really like other brands because we are not trend forecasting; we are simply thinking, ‘Would I buy that? Would my friends buy that?’

You’ve done some styling for some iconic Tāmaki Makaurau locals; how do you go about creating a look?

flourished; how has this become such a hub of community, and how does it feel to have cultivated this environment?

We are lucky enough to know heaps of creatives.

When they need something special, they send us some references, and we start sourcing fabric.

We create an upcycled piece and/or a couture moment because, at the end of the day, it is a piece of art for one person for one purpose. It’s informed by what we can find. It’s mainly Mima (@Mimamadeit). In terms of our recent work, we styled Atarangi for Nympho!

Oh, I have no idea. I think every subculture has its spaces, right? So Karangahape is a place for students and people that like alternative living, similar to a third space. I do think there’s a little bit to be said about the brand that you put out there, and then people are willing to get involved, whether that’s a double tap engagement or turning up to an event. Ever since the beginning, we have just wanted to be unpretentious.

In high school, I could never walk into a store without feeling cool enough. And it's that anxious feeling when you're walking home, and you want to pop in and see what's cool but feeling unworthy. In our first space, we had a couch, cookies, and board games; our business model has always been that we want this to be somewhere people can stay and be.

At the core of crushes identity, there is this idea of sustainability. How do you balance this with being a store?

There’s huge tension with being a store owner. It made me question a lot as you learn about manufacturing, emissions and freight. But where I resolved it was that the world isn’t going to change. What the world needs is the people who are going to make the best possible choices. For all of our apparel, we never use anything new; we thrift vintage blanks, fabric or deadstock.

There’s never a time where we have not done that. It is the worst business model because you have to wait before you can source anything second-hand. So if you ask me, two thumbs up for that.

In terms of NZ-made and giftware, we have no industry; everything we had from the 80s, after opening up for globalisation, was underpriced and killed. So what I love is stocking NZ-made people. Yeah, they might need to source things from overseas, like glass sand for a tumbler and the gas for the kiln, but they are making it here, and if you want to support the manufacturing, you have to help the people making it. Even though we sell New Zealand made, there is no such thing as 100% NZ made, due to the lack of industry.

Though we don’t have the couch, we do have the events. And the person we put online is the same person you’ll see with me and my friends on a Friday night. It's always been about authenticity and community, and I want to say welcoming.

Someone used to say we’re ‘irreverent, silly and clearly not in it for the money.’ We just want to have a good time and not take life too seriously.

Follow Crushes on Instagram: @crushes_shop

What would you say to people who say shopping sustainably is not for those suffering economic hardship?

It's not consumers’ fault if you ask me. It should be the businesses putting in the mahi and making positive decisions. If you are struggling financially, have a bigger body, or have a huge family, you go and make whatever decision you need. But I bet you catch the bus, I bet you compost. Consumers should not deal with the guilt; businesses should simply do better. The only problem I would have is needless overconsumption. Our whole thing is changing hearts and minds about consumerism and providing an alternative.

A real community around crushes has

Written By Elle Daji (she/her) @ellemnopow CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Gore, horror, and a hell of a lot of blood. Three things I despise. Three things at the crimson, beating heart of Sasha Rainbow’s feature directorial debut, Grafted. Horror is simply not my thing. So, after a quick Google before a screening of the film, I was filled with a feeling of dread. I’m a cover your eyes, flinch at every noise, talk over the whole film kind of person. But, I survived Grafted without burying my head in my hands. In fact, I revelled in every second of it. I loved it.

When I sat down with Mia Maramara, one of the co-writers of the film, I told her exactly this. Maramara smirked as I sheepishly admitted my disdain for the genre. As the interview progressed it was revealed that our stances could not be more opposite.

It’s a dreary Wednesday afternoon in Tāmaki Makaurau. As we chat about Maramara’s screenwriting process, she reveals herself as a soft spoken, thoughtful writer. I’m sitting in a dingy box of a room on the AUT campus. A location that mirrors much of where Grafted is set.

Grafted is a cautionary tale of deep insecurity. Following the grizzly death of her father, the film’s protagonist, Wei, a young immigrant fresh to Tāmaki Makaurau from Malaysia, grapples with lifelong feelings of rejection. In an inordinate attempt to fit in with her peers and follow in the footsteps of her scientist father, Wei dedicates her time to completing her father’s scientific endeavours. The result? A whole lot of blood, carnage and bodies. Although gory and shocking at times (or most of the film), Rainbow’s creation explores deep and serious issues such

as Western beauty standards and underlying discrimination across cultures. All of this delivers a film packed with an overload of shock factor, modern comedy and a gruesome take on classic teen makeover scenes.

Maramara mentions Single White Female, the 1992 psychological thriller and cult classic Mean Girls (2004), when citing inspiration for Grafted. The film also brings The Fly, Frankenstein and American Psycho to mind. As a “girly girl” who simply loves “bloody, horrible, serial killer horrors”, it’s not hard to see and understand where the frenzied explosion of glitter and gore in Grafted emerged from.

Maramara’s description of herself sits parallel to the tagline of the film itself. As described on the NZIFF website Grafted is: “Mean Girls meets Face/Off”. A striking feminist take on body horror, the film is a bold mutation of horror, comedy and teen drama. Grafted is a fast-paced film that tickles and terrifies.

Maramara says that the task of fusing these genres wasn’t difficult. “I think those two genres kind of live inside of you as a person… So it wasn't really that big of a thing. Both marry really well into this weird movie… weird in a good way.”

As we talk, Maramara reveals to me she has yet to see the final cut of the film. But she knows the project inside out. It’s been over half a decade since Maramara took a week off work and sat down in her four person flat armed with just an idea. An 80page first draft of Grafted emerged 96 hours later from the grisly depths of a “binge” writing session.

Maramara recalls her writing process to me as she sits at home, where she lives with her three-year-old child. It’s clear that the journey to Grafted’s finished product was anything but swift.

Although developed by Maramara, the twisted but provocative idea was originally concocted by Malaysian-raised, Tāmaki Makaurau-based Hweiling Ow. Maramara fondly describes her collaboration with Ow as a seamless alliance.

“It was always sort of Hweiling's project. She had this idea, but she brought it to me because she doesn't normally write. She needed someone to help scaffold it.”

This revelation surprises me. I resonate with Ow after seeing her describe herself online as someone who “hates watching horror films.” But perhaps it’s Ow’s perturbation that has enabled the creation of a film that keeps any viewer engrossed (and a little grossed out), a careful consideration of what really makes a thought-provoking horror.

Maramara views this as paramount when writing horror, a genre she tends to lean towards in most of her work, such as Albularyo, a dramatic TV special that made her the first Filipino director to obtain a spot on New Zealand TV. “I like horror that says something about society... I don't find writing horror heavy. Part of the nice thing about screenwriting is that it can't be heavy for other people to really resonate with it, so you have to find a way to get it across.”

But that’s not to say Maramara isn’t an unabashed lover of all things icky, gory and gross. When asked what parts of the film she felt had her name written all over them, her answer is short and telling. “The horrible gory parts.” She cackles. Beyond this, she tells a more vulnerable tale of drawing inspiration from her and Ow’s own tumultuous teen years.

She alludes to her own youth and paints the picture of a slightly awkward teen. Minus a propensity for bloody murder, her own experiences are woven into Wei’s personal struggles.

“I always compared it to like Wei is your cousin who is fresh off the boat and you're really just struggling to connect with.

Everything about how she's weird and awkward came from me and Hweiling because we were always very weird and awkward girls growing up. It wasn't very hard to think of ways to not be able to fit in.”

same skin-crawling feelings I’ve suffered there after a late-night study session.

Although grand on first inspection, the house where Wei has been involuntarily put up with her obstinate cousin Angela is riddled with unfinished walls and windows. Despite its patchy finishings, the house brings the affluent streets of Remuera to mind. But the film isn’t so much an ode to Tāmaki Makaurau as it is to the complex and difficult situation of being an immigrant in a new city.

Through the film, Wei deals with the complex task of assimilating into a new culture. At one point, we see Wei sitting excitedly at a Yum Cha restaurant. She beams as she perches at a table so large it could host a moon-sized lazy Susan. She’s found a slice of home in a strange new city. Her merriment is quickly dismantled by the acidic judgement of Angela and her callous friends.

Wei’s situation echoes Maramara’s candid renditions of her own experiences as an immigrant.

“Hweiling and I are both migrants. Hweiling moved when she was younger, and me when I was grown up and that was very stark and something I knew first hand. Until this day I have little things where it's like, back home you bring food to the party.

Now I have to figure out which group of friends I'm going to and whether they'll find it either weird, or they'll be welcoming of the food I'm bringing, things like that. So it's actually something I'm still struggling with as an immigrant.”

Although I might not be converted to a full-time indulger of the grisly genre, Grafted is a poignant depiction of the female experience. In a festival where only a slither of the films on show come from Aotearoa, it’s also a starkly impressive representation of what we have to offer. In a gory, scary, sticky genre most often inundated with male directors and fans, Grafted is a chance for women to scream in both fear and anger.

“Women like horror films, we don't always talk about it, but I notice a lot of them are quietly like, ‘I really like the part where she was angry and stabbed her husband.’ And we don't talk about it a lot.”

Fresh off its world premiere at the Whānau Mārama: New Zealand International Film Festival, Grafted will be released in theatres nationwide on September 12

Beyond the blood, I found Grafted to be a tale of teenage angst and the intense desire to fit in. A feeling I and many other women have felt. “We didn't have to reach far for that stuff,” Maramara said. “It was very enshrined in what we were trying to do. We kinda knew who she [Wei] was right from the start.”

Shot on location right here in Tāmaki Makaurau, the film captures the student experience that I’m sure most of you are in the arduous midst of. Doleful late nights stuck in shabby labs and poky lecture halls that disappoint all expectations of the American college dream. It’s all there. Nods to the dingy streets surrounding Auckland University's campus prompted an embarrassing amount of over enthusiastic, “Oh my god, I know where that is!” moments. One moment where Wei stumbles through the eerie underpass that connects Symonds St brought up the

Written By Evie Richardson (she/her) @evi3m4y CONTRIBUTING WRITER

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