A fashionphobe gets a front row seat at iD Dunedin Fashion Show

Tara Ward has the sartorial night of her life at the south’s most prestigious fashion event.  

I know nothing about fashion. I work from home, which means my office attire usually involves a dressing gown and track pants. When I dare to leave the house, I am a confused butterfly emerging from her fleecy cocoon. What does a human even wear in public? My fashion idiocy is also shaped by far too many years spent obeying Trinny and Susannah’s rules about what not to wear, which mostly involved deciding if my body shape was an apple, pear or oboe. I’m still not sure. “Potato” was never an option.  

Despite this, last Friday night I chucked on my best going-out top and plastered on a lipstick bought online during the first Covid-19 lockdown to attend the iD Dunedin Fashion Show, held at the beautiful Dunedin railway station. For the past 25 years, the show has been the highlight of the annual iD Dunedin Fashion Week, and Friday was the first of two-sold out events which combined ready-to-wear New Zealand fashion and the iD International Emerging Designers Awards. 

It’s a chance for young and emerging designers to showcase their work alongside established labels like Zambesi, Juliette Hogan and NOM*d, but it’s also a rare opportunity for style numpties like me to get up close to some cool clothes. I may not know fashion, but as I took my seat in the front row, it felt like all my years of watching celebrities on TV shows like Project Runway and Top Model cry “work it!” as runway models strut past were about to pay off. 

Spoiler: I did not cry “work it!”, not even when show MC Matty McLean marched along the catwalk like he was born to wear a silky brown blouse and tan culottes. But from the moment I joined the long line of ticket-holders outside Dunedin’s railway station, I felt a buzz that I’ve never experienced while wearing a dressing gown at home. Friends greeted each other inside the station with warm hugs, people complimented strangers on their outfits (Flower crowns! Yellow tartan! Sequins galore!), and I overheard a woman admit with great sadness that she hadn’t been to the railway station Cobb & Co for a long time. 

But we weren’t here for stuffed schnitzel and traffic light cocktails. The usually empty train platform had been transformed into a dramatic, moody theatre, with dark canopies hiding the train tracks and a 120-metre runway (one of the longest in the Southern Hemisphere) stretching through the centre. It was impossible to see the end from where I was sitting; for all I know, there are still models making their return journey along it now. 

Show co-host McLean began the night by announcing to the crowd that he was “shitting himself” about his upcoming runway debut, and from there, the fun began. I loved locals NOM*d with their rich, layered collection born from dark southern winters, and the delicate floral dresses from local designer Charmaine Revelry. The audience cheered as McLean’s radio co-host Matilda Green took to the runway in a Carlson dress. Each model’s hair was stylishly dishevelled, a look I have since decided to embrace in my own life, purely in the name of fashion. 

I quickly realised there are no rules at Fashion Week. A red wedding gown was accessorised with hunting arrows, Zambesi paired a blazer with tracksuit pants (inspirational), and bras were worn over T-shirts. Gumboots matched with short, floaty dresses and oversized puffer jackets worked with sandals. It was a vibrant parade of colour and creativity, and I was hoovering it up. By the time I got to Otago Polytechnic graduate designer Ciaran Naylor – whose collection included a pair of pants made from an old paint drop cloth – my heart was singing. People are so clever. (Naylor went on to win the top prize of $10,000). 

After a short break (which included a train rumbling past, because even fashion is no match for the relentless freight demands of the nation) it was time for the iD International Emerging Designer Awards. While the first half of the show was about commercial fashion, these collections were an unpredictable showcase of imagination and individuality. Fever dreams were brought to life in dynamic, spectacular form, as suitcases became clothing and faces were shrouded in scarlet veils. I also tipped my upcycled lampshade hat to the audience member in the chartreuse suit who darted across the catwalk several times to get more booze, and the woman behind me who began critiquing the designs with the emboldened eye of someone who just paid $20 for a glass of wine.

After nearly three hours, I didn’t just love fashion, I was fashion. What a treat to be part of a celebration like this, in a venue so uniquely Dunedin, and what a way to make design accessible to dressing gown clowns like me. With the award winners announced and tears shed on the runway, I left the railway station and headed into the cool, dark Ōtepoti night. I passed one of the show’s models on the way, leaning against a wall and looking impossibly cool. She was wearing a navy blue dressing gown. I guess that’s fashion, baby. 

Learn more about iD Dunedin Fashion Week here.