Archive for February 2010
in case you are not a wellingtonian or a new zealander (or, i guess, a rugby fan, tho i’m guessing not many of you who visit here will be) you might not know that once a year wellington hosts the irb rugby sevens tour. the rugby almost seems like an afterthought, though. it’s the party that matters. people dress up in fancy dress, and *boy* do they dress up. a lot of care, imagination and thought goes into the costumes, which are then often trashed by two days and nights of drinking and debauchery. this year norman jay played in courtenay place and he said it was the best street party he’d played since the notting hill carnival.
anyway. i decided it was better to leave my fancy cameras at home this year. but i did manage to snap a few pix of the revellers:
(these guys were dressed like giant crabs. or maybe crayfish. the iphone’s weeny lens couldn’t cope, so it turned out this rather abstract shot instead .. but i still like it.)
(it also didn’t much like the strobe lights at norman jay. but, happy accidents, etc.)
so, fashion report.
the most popular costume: angels/fairies. male and female. actually, probably more male than female. take from that (and new zealand’s oft-quoted maxim of where-men-are-men-and-sheep-are-nervous) what you will.
the best costume: well, my personal favourite were the video-game-inspired groups. people dressed up as tetris shapes. as pac-man plus ghosts. as the mario brothers (there were many, but i never get sick of them).
what i would have gone as, had i been so inclined: a pox on these costumes for women that seem to involve the word “sexy” automatically; sexy nurse, sexy policewoman, sexy traffic warden, sexy rugby ref, etc. i’d personally love to be part of a phalanx of anna wintours. or karl lagerfelds. that would rule.
what i felt was sorely lacking: where were the pregnant schoolgirls? or the local order of the sisters of perpetual indulgence? personally i don’t think any party’s complete without them.
the sevens party is clearly not about fashion in the strict sense. but for two days a year, wellingtonians get to let it all hang out. wear whatever they want, no matter how ridiculous. act however they want, no matter how outrageous. grown men get to embrace each other and grab each other’s bums etc in shows of affection which border on the homoerotic. it’s fantastic. and then, monday morning .. it was as if nothing had happened. the streets were clean, the sunlight was bright, the crowds lurching off to work dressed in black and grey and navy. because, after all, wellington may host a great party .. but at the end, it’s still wellington. and we love her for it.