This story is part of Ensemble's fashion week coverage, supported by Viaduct Harbour
Model and writer Kaarina Parker (Ngāpuhi) reflects on two shows from two perspectives: as a model on the runway, and a guest watching on.
The cancellation of NZ Fashion Week: Kahuria in 2021 felt personal (disclaimer, I’m a libra). It was to be my first NZFW, and the bookings were rolling in. I had just had a call with my agent confirming me for another show when there was an ominous ding in the family group chat.
DAD: press conference at 3pm. Looking like a lockdown.
BROTHER: rip your runway career @kaarina
Two years later and the Aotearoa fashion industry is ready to try again. For me, there is one big difference between 2021 and 2023 (apart from the lockdown weight gain) – now, I’m being invited to attend shows.
My NZFW schedule looks like Through the Looking-Glass – half the time spent in the real world (audience), and the rest in Wonderland (backstage).
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Thursday August 31
First show of the day for me is Bantu. The call time is 9am, which is blessedly civilised. This show has an incredible cast – easily one of the most diverse on offer at Kahuria this year.
We curve models gravitate towards each other to swap stories and shower compliments. It is a sadly rare thing that more than one of us is on the same job. Getting to be together is a joy.
Backstage is a flurry of activity with occasional moments of stillness. There is a lot of waiting. Waiting for hair, waiting for makeup.
Some of the models (see: myself) are still half asleep, while the team of hair and makeup artists are hard at work creating magic. There is a blanket of hairspray over the room that could rival the great London smog of 1952. The makeup brief is bright bold pink lips with matching blush all over the face (can you still call it blush when it’s in your eyebrows?).
We models move around the room like Edward Scissorhands, trying to not to touch anything with our freshly painted pink nails. Anticipation builds steadily as we near show time.
We are all trotted out onto the runway for a rehearsal – you can feel the energy in the room as the designer Harriet describes her vision. “Have fun, smile, move with the music. Be yourselves.” As someone with a resting bitch face to rival Medusa, I have to remind myself of this throughout. But once the music starts, it’s hard not to.
The music is bouncy and vibrant, a perfect match to the beautiful clothes we are wearing down the runway. The dress I’m wearing is stunning – it’s made of a beautiful patterned fabric from Zambia, threaded with gold. It fits like a glove. When you’re a model, you don’t get to choose the clothes you wear, and sometimes the reality is you don’t feel great in them. But this dress is perfect.
The moment before stepping out onto the catwalk is surreal. There is a team of people poking and prodding at you, making sure your outfit is sitting right, your hair is perfect, your makeup is good. Then someone tells you to go, and you go.
It’s a strange sensation, walking a runway. You can feel that everyone in the room is looking at you, but you are staring at a point straight ahead and not acknowledging any of them. It’s empowering. Terrifying. Thrilling.
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By 4.45pm I’m back at the Viaduct Events Centre, fresh hair, fresh skin, fresh outfit, to see Zambesi. And it really does feel like the other side of the Looking-Glass. The lights are flashing, the music is pumping, and a sartorial smorgasbord is parading before us.
I’m scanning the faces in the front row, watching as they scan the clothes that stomp past them. When I try to do the same, I find myself looking at and thinking about the models. I know most of them. Did they get a rehearsal? How long were they in hair and makeup? Are their shoes the right size? What are they thinking about?
The clothes really are stunning, but I find myself appreciating the models – their perfectly calm but sharp expressions, the fluidity of their walks that looks effortless but takes hours of practice.
Sitting in the audience for a fashion show (especially one as beautiful as Zambesi) is a privilege. It is also very relaxing. You can get comfortable and watch the magic happen. But being a part of the magic, stomping down the catwalk, now that is everything.
