It was my first year attending NZFW, and whenever someone asks me what it’s like, I find myself a little stumped. It wasn’t quite what I’d imagined growing up. I’d dreamt of runways, models, makeup, the spectacle of it all. But somehow, I’d given very little thought to everything happening beyond the runway itself. It wasn’t until I found myself standing against the walls, watching the hours before a show come together, that I fell in love with the prelude.
Organised chaos. There’s something lovely about watching an industry at work, particularly in the moments when nobody seems to be paying attention. The first photograph of the night is always my worst. I’ve developed a habit of making it deliberately bad, a little like the first frame of a Polaroid. A blank beginning, perhaps, but one that reminds me to start fresh.
At Christchurch Spring Fashion Festival, I was only told off once. I’d purposefully left my media pass in my bag because it clashed with my outfit. Which is an improvement on Tāmaki Makaurau, where I managed it three times.
My itinerary was largely dictated by two things: a coffee addiction and a growing pottery obsession. In between, I made room for a little shopping, searching out some of my favourite designers from across the motu.
Frances Nation feels like a portal to my whare. A place where I can surround myself with mahi by Nicola Shuttleworth, Zoe Isaacs, Misma Anaru, and Camille Paloma Walton (of course). There’s something reassuring about being able to find pieces of home in places you wouldn’t necessarily expect them.
It’s that exact reason that I found myself returning to Lyttelton rather disproportionately. Working alongside local artists in Pōneke has given me a particular appreciation for the people who continue to champion local work. So, when I heard about the GRIT pop-up (open from until October 25th at 24 London Street, Lyttelton), I cancelled my plans for the evening and went along. And then I went back again. And again.
“For us, GRIT was born from a desire to create a space where creativity can be seen, appreciated and supported here in Te Waipounamu,” said GRIT founders Rosette and Fiona. “We wanted to bring independent creatives together, celebrate the work being made around us, and create opportunities for people to connect, collaborate and support one another. The fit-out was inspired by the way people in Ōtautahi move between the city and the natural environment, drawn to urban life during the week and escaping to the outdoors on weekends. We wanted to reflect this connection through the space, bringing together raw, urban elements with softer, natural textures.”
I suppose that’s the thing about discovering somewhere that feels familiar. You find yourself wanting to return, even when there’s an entire city left to explore. The same could be said for the shows. I caught glimpses of collections I’d been dreaming about since Tāmaki, only to find myself standing in front of them again. The sheer azure of Zambesi, the drape of Daīna Hugh, the playful touches of Rhoda Nunn and the exquisite details of By KAI. Garments I’d admired from a distance, now moving in front of me. Some I admired a little too closely, embarrassingly asking models if I could touch them.
I’ve had the opportunity to attend fashion week before, but I never did. This year, something shifted. Perhaps it was the people I’d come to know, the work I’d grown closer to, or simply a better understanding of what it means to be part of an industry rather than an observer of it.
Every moment spent supporting and cherishing our local industry is a small investment in what it might become. This year, fashion week felt personal. And perhaps that’s what I’d been missing all along.
