This story is part of Ensemble's fashion week coverage, supported by Viaduct Harbour
Zoe Walker Ahwa is Ensemble’s editor and co-founder. She reflects on the return of NZ Fashion Week: Kahuria, the 15th she has attended.
Anyone could watch Zambesi’s NZ Fashion Week: Kahuria show. There were plenty of invited guests who entered via the very fancy Park Hyatt Hotel, but the public passing by stopped to watch as black, beige and pink clad models walked by then stood on the tidal steps by Karanga Plaza. With the golden sunset light, city backdrop and lapping waves (the seagulls even felt like they were part of the show), it was one of those fashion week moments to remember – that everyone could experience.
There have been public facing NZFW shows before, but this, from one of our most high-profile and longest standing fashion brands, felt somehow symbolic of the walls coming down and everyone being welcomed into what has, even in recent years, traditionally been looked at as an exclusive industry and event. It would have been cooler if the safety barricades had literally come down, but I guess there is such a thing as health and safety.
Maybe it was the blue supermoon or the four year break, but everyone – designers, guests, media etc. – seemed to be in a sincere and sentimental mood.
After the powhiri at Ngāti Whātua Ōrākei marae on Monday morning, I said to a colleague that it was the first time that I’d felt any sort of emotion at a NZFW opening (except, perhaps, when Kate Sylvester implored the then National government to fund the country’s creative industries and look “up from over the farm fence” and see “that there is more to NZ than milk and mutton”; the emotion back then was pride, and rage).
The powhiri felt like a discernible change to the usual small talk heavy, Champagne drinking evening party. And when Ngāti Whātua Ōrākei chair Marama Royal adorned general manager Yasmin Farry with the kākahu ‘Kahuria’ made for NZFW, there were a few teary eyes in the room. The industry gathered, all as guests of mana whenua, to look forward, celebrate, acknowledge; a coming together again after a challenging few years of cancellations, uncertainty, turmoil, restructures, closures, recession.
“This industry is fucking tough,” said Kate Sylvester while thanking family, friends and supporters at her after-party on Thursday night, something I think we all knew as we walked into the Viaduct Events Centre for the first show on Tuesday morning, all a little unsure after four years ‘away’, and probably all a little burnt out.
It felt different to 2019, with the high-profile event finding its identity under new ownership and management and post pandemic restrictions being lifted. It was a low-key but heartfelt fashion week – one that reflected the challenges and shifts in our local industry.
Most shows lacked stylists, a sign of cost cutting, and some would have been stronger with the outside perspective. There seemed to be an issue with ticketing, and the empty seats at some shows were an issue. I think GAs are actually more important than the front row, essential to building excitement and a vibe and filling empty seats at the last minute; NZFW needed more of them (some shows sold public tickets). I also think that was a symptom of our reduced fashion media landscape, which is much changed (fewer titles, fewer editors, smaller teams but a demand for more content but little analysis) since that last NZFW.
The clothes on the runway – and off it, for all the street style outside – were very commercial rather than transportive. Many designers, like Juliette Hogan, Nom*D, Kathryn Wilson and Kate Sylvester, showed in-season collections that were available to shop the next day. It was all beautiful and pleasant, but there were few wow moments for me when it came to clothing (one such moment was a tailored silk red/orange jacket from J.Bush, that looked expensive and well-made).
Rory Docherty’s quietly elegant salon show was resolute in its confidence, with artful pieces made to last forever. Juliette Hogan is another with total self-assurance in who she is, with a collection made for her loyal customer base and the dream of summer; sensual fabrics, bold colours and prints and easy dresses also reminded me of the summer that Aotearoa (and Tāmaki Makaurau) did not have. I’m sure it wasn't meant to be a comment on climate change, but my brain did go there.
I spotted some real talent (Lydia Paine, Taylor Pumphrey, Dawei Zhang of Dollie Vardin, Jonty Blakely of Vadar, Ayano Hara-Alderson were just some) in the graduate and next gen shows, though they were very different – read, marketable and saleable – presentations compared to the gritty, DIY spirit at the Rogue show the Friday before (both are valid, I was just intrigued by the contrast).
Sincerity and sentimentality were also in on the runway. I stupidly missed Campbell Luke’s incredible NZFW show in 2019 so was excited to see what they’d present this time around. I loved the presentation itself – a runway ‘decorated’ by blankets by very cool brand Noa and a hauntingly beautiful performance by kapa haka group Hātea – but the actual clothes, using upcycled textiles like duvets, tablecloths, crochet, stood powerfully on their own (I’m partial to a collar and a bit of lace, so would wear a lot of it). It was an elegant comment on craftsmanship, sustainability and indigenous practices that have existed for years, and the importance of embracing these as fashion moves forward.
I was expecting way more nostalgia at Kate Sylvester’s 30th birthday show – maybe even some literal archive pieces on the runway? – but was pleased that she kept it moving forward while looking to the past. The striking backdrop of patterns from her archives was a sweet touch (also a nice acknowledgement of the importance of our industry’s patternmakers), and the references to past collections a wink to the people who’ve been with her since the beginning. But even if you weren’t to know anything about the brand, there was a lot to love (and wear).
I was moved by Kiri Nathan’s opening show. Much has been written about her making history as the first solo Māori designer to open the event, and she grabbed the opportunity and threw everything she had at it, with a production that explored and presented a history of Māori dress from the 1600s to today and into the future.
The concept was clever, and important; the clothes were beautiful and varied (I was glad to see some really good tailoring). Everything was a visible example of tikanga: from the ‘welcoming crew’ to greet manuhiri [guests] outside the venue to the video intro paying tribute to the Māori and Pasifika led brands that came before her, and the next generation of Māori designers that are coming up after sitting in the front row.
When Te Pāti Māori co-leader Rawiri Waititi walked out onto the runway, wearing those Nike Jordans and a huge smile on his face, it was another of those NZFW moments for (my) history books.
But it was a note left on my seat from Nathan (she wrote personal messages for each front row guest) that stayed with me for the rest of NZFW. “Thank you for having the hard conversations,” it partly read. I have to be honest, I went in looking to have some of those last week.
What is fashion week? Who is it for? How can it be more accessible, in terms of costs, to young designers? How are our models being treated backstage and are they being paid? How can our decimated but slowly rebuilding local fashion media support the industry – and be supported in return? How do we build a bridge between emerging talent and established brands, and see the next generation have the same ‘buzz’ as the old guard? How do we extend this year’s recognition of Māori designers beyond the runway (it was disappointing to see so few of the media who accoladed Kiri's involvement at the Miromoda show, which has been a big part of NZFW for years)? How do we get the wider New Zealand public to care more about NZ fashion? What does NZ fashion want to be and what does it want to stand for in 2023?
There were a few panel discussions throughout the week that touched on some of these points (and mihi to designer Bobby Campbell Luke for giving guests a copy of the book Imagining Decolonisation).
But this was not the moment for those hard conversations.
