When I turned up to Walk on Earth, I must admit I had certain preconceptions. Certain questions, if you like, that I wanted answered. For example, who has been in charge of naming the event? Walk on Earth—were they serious? Maybe literalism is the new metaphor.
One of the opening sentiments was that it was a show themed on, well, the ‘earth’. This included, they said, an environmental approach as well as a design one. However, after dealing to the goody bag once the show was over, my recycling bin was almost full, and rubbish night was only last night.
I had been given front row seats, and being shown to my seat, the usher embarrassingly explained there had been a mistake, and I was now offered a seat at the back. No matter. It gave the rising volcano that looked like it might have come straight out of a school production a little more distance, although the draft from outside was almost as unbearable.
The event is a fund-raiser, this year for the Wellington City Mission Youth Programme. A worthy cause, and all the clothes are currently in store. It has a context within fashion shows that is separate to your Fashion Week garden variety. However, I still wasn’t expecting a few of the more curious aspects of the show.
Desire brought out, to my surprise, a range of plastic tiki in a rainbow of unconventional colours. It occurred to me that it must be our last indigenous icon that may be bastardized by fashion. But I was more appalled when a cap with Gandhi in diamantes made an appearance. I am sure he would have looked unfondly on the cultural appropriation. In the light of the intermission, I found that Desire actually stocks Gaudi, and while I was immensely relieved, it suddenly become even less newsworthy.
Mandatory continues to push the metrosexual on to the streets of Wellington. But their show only left me very confused at what they were trying to say. A very slick graphic of a pill with the Mandatory label and then a men’s toilet sign on the other side left them look like they were grasping for a grungy feel. They went on to use what sounded like pornographic music, with birds overlaid over the top. But most baf?ing were the ?owers and cacti surrounding the video projection feed of the models walking down the catwalk. However, they were beaten to the Worst Use of Powerpoint Award, which goes to de Nada.
I thoroughly enjoyed the homosexual undertones of Bucks’ brief foray, and the prints and colour palette were fantastic. The glasses used in Miriam Gibson’s show are definitely worth a mention, and they set the scene better than most, although when you use a Beatles song, it is just polite to use the original, not a remake.
By the end of the ?rst half, I became glad my front-row media seat had been relegated to the back row, because as soon as intermission rolled around, I was right next to the door, even if I had been cursing the Wellington wind a whole hour. As if the designs weren’t enough to remind you where you were. I left hoping there might be a bottle of wine in my goody bag, perhaps even something stronger. But no, only the chocolate, coffee and masses of paper that would go straight to its recycling fate.
The con?icting thing was that it was for an excellent cause. But when you take money off people the idea, I always thought, was to entertain them. The most entertaining point for me was the entrance of the volcano. I only found myself thinking that the event represented nothing that I think encapsulates what is so enigmatic about the Wellington fashion scene, even for the strong labels within the show, such as Laurie Foon. And admittedly, I never saw the second half. We may have been reminded that it was Wellington’s premier fashion event, but I struggled to think of any other fashion event at all. And, quite frankly, that is just the way I like it.
New York should be a humdinger
Quick clip from the next Lucire