Back to Blak

There are about 10 things that irritate me in this world, and 9 of them can be linked to my brother. Despite his varying talents, organisation has not been – and I imagine never will be – a strong point. We’ve been gearing for this day (the opening of NZFW 2016) for several weeks now: contacting back and forth between Auckland and Wellington, prepping gear, organising outfits, finalising collaborations, flights and schedules. For an instant, all seemed to be flawless. In fact, as far as my brother and I go as a combination, the way things were so effortlessly laying out was too good to be true.

Tony obviously got a wind of this, and decided to rid us of the abnormality we were experiencing. Stability and timeliness was not something we would bask in. No, this would just be too boring. It was time to shake things up. Of course, the precise time he chose to do so was at 4.10pm today – right before we planned to leave at 4.15pm.

“My vlogging camera’s not working,” he says with a sigh. We both have this method of dealing with issues whereby we voice something, so it becomes the group’s problem and not solely our own. It really does work too.“You’re kidding me – you only checked now? Do you know how stupid that is?”

“I know,” he sighs. It’s the same sigh I heard when he was 8, complaining that he didn’t have any money for lollies. That droop of his head – which sought nothing but pity – saw me at the corner of my parent’s bed leaning for Dad’s coin jar.

“Can I use yours?” is the next question I should have seen coming. It’s now 4.45pm. It’s day one, fashion week hasn’t even officially commenced, and we’re half an hour behind schedule. My younger, more fastidious self wants to have a break down. Nowadays, I say yes to avoid the stress; I learnt early on it’s not worth it.

We do leave eventually, and by this point, Tony’s harping on about how I ought to stress the pertinence of respecting the schedule in lessons of NZFW. Perhaps this makes him reconsider things, for a moment later he’s announcing he’s forgotten his wallet. We’re heading back to the house and edging on an hour late for our own shoot.

“Why are you walking? Don’t try to walk like you’re cool, you don’t have the time,” I say as he swaggers out the door in his blue blazer and faded jeans. Part of me loves the fact that we can jump between blogger-to-blogger and sister-to-brother so rapidly. No one can possibly get ahead of themselves; the other will drag you down to ground zero before you can even think to comment on your own look.

That aside though, if I do appear particularly dark or eery in these photos, it’s because I’ve learnt more than one lesson on Day 1 of NZFW: it’s that sometimes you have to die before you reach heaven. And Tony, with the amount of things he forgets, will see that this happens for you. You see, he’s really thinking about you, the gem.

Fortunately, whatever angst I may have held at his mishaps turned out fitting given my attire to tonight’s opening of NZFW. In Blak the label, angst became edge. All did but blend into a moody exterior – such that wouldn’t get criticised as much as it might be photographed. I couldn’t complain either: falling around my figure was 100% silk.In this gown, I felt Parisian: strong yet wonderfully elegant. For long time readers of the blog – and indeed, of my personality – you’ll know two of the most esteemed compliments I give relate to being Parisian or resembling Rihanna. You shan’t go higher than these. The Paris Gown reflects midnight in a city which is said to never see it. It’s rare, but when worn, it’s so blatantly obvious, unbelievably natural.

To pair it with a leather jacket felt equally right – though most outfits do after it’s addition. I’m a big fan of contrasting pretty and soft fabrics with those of a more harsh and definitive quality. Perhaps it’s a suggestion of my personality; it sings of yet another defence against vulnerability. Or otherwise, one could perceive it as a masking of my truly soft interior. But even I can’t fool myself of this: get to know me, and I’m just as sassy, if not more so than in ambiguity. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, after all. A girl’s got to be strong.Indeed, she’s got to have fun too. And that’s essentially what I’m here for. I’m absolutely in my element here at Fashion Week, and I’m so looking forward to yet another year of inspiring collections, and equally stimulating faces – on the catwalk and in the audience. Sure, it’ll be stressful – particularly with a certain Collins by my side – but it’s going to be a hell of a time for the same reason.