Get Intimate with Yourself at Āhua

ARTS | REVIEW | ĀHUA | MAHIMAHI / SEX

Written by Stella Roper (they/she) | @stellyvision | Arts Editor

It was 7:20pm on a Friday, three days before the opening show of Te Wiki Āhua o Aotearoa. After reaching out to one of the organisers prior, I snuck in to scope out their rehearsal at their HQ, Raynham Park. Today’s agenda was going through the show Tell Me I’m Pretty.

While people continued to dart in and out, feeling as if ten jobs were occurring in tandem, the schedule pushed ahead.

Above: Dance choreography rehearsal

Time moves faster in this space, with flashes of light-catching beads, the striking fabrics of dancers practicing choreography, and microphone-headpiece-armed organiser Fifi moving faster than I could photograph. Another of the organisers, Nina, sits down for the first time during the whole rehearsal. She says she’s “been here every day this week.” When I ask her how long she’s been here today, she simply covers her bowed head with her hands, then takes her leave, getting back to work. The models are next up in the schedule. With every walk providing its own flair, models individually make their way down the duct-tape-marked runway. At the end, a drink bottle awaits them, a mark in place of where they’re directed to pose for the press section. Cheers, claps, and clicks are given to the particularly energetic walks – an impressive feat for such a late rehearsal. Once everyone has had a go, the group listens to feedback from the organisers. It’s a constant ebb and flow of hectic and calm, with everyone making the most of the small window before showtime.

Once rehearsal finishes up, I have a kōrero with two of the featured designers; Sherbet Lemon (Laylah Hannaford) and Banshee. After some reflection, I realised how both designers' work connects to the theme of this particular Debate issue, with a particular focus on feminine and queer bodies.

Distracted mid-sentence by her clothing racks – bursting with ruffles and dangling life-size fairy wings – I attempt to conduct an interview at 9pm. Despite my short circuit, Laylah puts a tiara to the side and takes time to chat with me about herself and the inspirations behind her practice. After graduating with a fashion degree, Hannaford began to work within the fashion industry, but found it unfulfilling and ultimately left to prioritise creating as a fashion designer. “While I’m making less money, I’m much happier.” Scheduled as the 10th show in Āhua, Tell Me I’m Pretty will be her first time showcasing work on the runway, an opportunity she is incredibly grateful for. “Āhua inspired me to bring my work out – to officially launch my brand!” Despite meeting her models only a month or so ago, provided through the Āhua-run casting, they have become very close and she cares for them dearly. “I want them to feel like a fairy princess.”

Above: Featured designer, Sherbet Lemon (Laylah Hannaford)

With a collection consisting of lingerie and corsets, thoughtfully paired with ribbon-hemmed skirts reminiscent of childhood princess dresses, the concept of revisiting and reclaiming childhood nostalgia during adulthood is conveyed seamlessly. Hannaford explains that the fantasy offered by dress-up shouldn’t be limited to childhood, and that society’s narrow standards for what women should wear contradict the very independence we were promised growing up. The unfortunate truth being, once developed into a woman, the terms “sexiness” and “maturity” forcibly replace the fun of tutus and wings, now labelled childish. The fantasy land of Easter bunnies and fairies visited in childhood begins to sound significantly freer than the façade they currently experience adulthood in. Once grown, the whimsy and adventure of childhood dress-up is ripped from grasp, labelled unprofessional or immature for her age. Attractiveness is prioritised over whimsy and imagination – or worse, infantilised. Sexualised either way, fighting for agency of her own.

To continue promising the great freedom and independence of adulthood is a guise for future generations. Agency of the body, particularly that of the outwardly feminine expression, will never be given willingly by modern-day patriarchal society. These unrealistic and confining standards must be taken, ripped apart and stitched back together. Reclaimed.

Above: Model fitted out in Sherbet Lemon garment at Tell Me I’m Pretty, 28th March

The Sherbet Lemon collection journeys you along this not-so-imaginary tale, encouraging a rebellion toward what patriarchal systems deem feminine and acceptable.

Sat next to a suitcase that was almost the same height as them, I had a moment to chat with Titirangi-based designer Kayla Rouselle, AKA Banshee.

Questioned on their favourite piece, they promptly zipped open their suitcase, unleashing a bundle of textural fabrics free like a worms-in-a-can prank. As they pulled out a furry grey skirt with a detailed “butt-corset” at the back, I inquired about the pattern of fur usage in the collection. From my perspective, it felt like a statement regarding discourse of body and pubic hair. To this, they responded, “It’s less on the concept or material, more about process.” As I was told how garment materials are sourced through donations and otherwise discarded textile waste, I began to understand how Rouselle’s relationship between maker and material is alternative compared to most fashion designers. “Once people know you take fabric donations for your work, you never run out.” According to the source themself, deconstructing donations into uniform fabric pieces for a new life of Banshee attire is the most time-consuming part. “No one knows how long it takes to unpick everything!”

While designing the collection, there isn’t a key inspiration or concept kept in mind when creating pieces. Instead, Rouselle looks to their life experience and identity, with mentioned connections within the intersections of the queer and sex worker communities. This interested me deeply. To think that a designer’s past and present—their history and being—serves as concept and context to a practice. I think in some way, all creatives put a bit of themselves in their work – even subconsciously. In the case of Banshee, personal connections with the sex worker and queer communities are reflected in garments. They note that, when selecting models, they had a stronger connection to those also present within the queer community. As members of the local queer ballroom scene, Venus and Ego, stride proud in Banshee down the runway, an electric presence ruminates.

Above: Banshee garments modelled by Venus and Ego, members of the ballroom house; The House of Dawn

When the 28th arrived, and I saw Banshee and Sherbet Lemon displayed in full swing, I understood that prior context of each designer’s inspirations was unnecessary. Both collections possessed a euphoric power, their presence itself a symbolic act of rebellion to patriarchal (and in turn, heteronormative) assimilation.

As I walked back out to Karangahape road post-runway, only seven days after seeing the designs for the first time, I realised the same energy pulsing through the rehearsal space had spilled onto the runway: urgent, intimate and completely self-assured. Tonight, dress-up wasn’t pretend. It was a weapon and shield, a nostalgic love letter – known all to well – to the body you claim for yourself.

You could tell her she’s pretty, but she already knew that.