The cover of this issue couldn’t have more explicitly announced the theme of this issue: drugs! If the overwhelming hype behind the mysterious Boba Ket’s drug review last year was anything to go by, it’s been one of Critic’s most popular themed issues. They printed double the number in 2018. But first, the all-important disclaimer: let’s not glamourise this shit.
It wasn’t until university that I was exposed to drugs. I grew up in a bubble of privilege where the height of scandal at my straight-laced, all-girls-catholic-high-school was our above the knee length skirts compared to Whanganui Collegiate’s ankle-covering gowns. Aged seventeen, I shocked my parents when I recognised the smell of marijuana at an Ed Sheeran concert but didn’t know what it was. I just thought it smelled like the local park from home.
But at uni, that changed, and I quickly began to act like I was “in the know”. In O-Week, I tagged along with a friend from halls (the only other person from my hometown) as she snorted some MDMA, dressed me in white, informed me I was a “second-year living on Dundas St” and dragged me to the Thirsty ‘White Out’ host. I later found her climbing trees and growling at people. I pretended like it was normal that another new friend shelved a cap of gear (put a portion of MDMA up her butt, the Google search translated) before a Six60 concert – and then FaceTimed her dad to brag about it.
I joined a group who would park up on the fringes of our hall every night and smoke weed out of a homemade E2 bong, suppressing my coughs the best I could. I later adopted a weed habit, and the group hangouts evolved into solo trips wearing the same hippie pants and oversized shirt I’d dubbed as my “stoner ‘fit”. I lost all motivation to study, as well as the fitness to make it up the hill (charitable word for “slope”) to my hall, and fashion sense, apparently.
My personal drugs philosophy boils down to three rules: 1) everything in moderation, 2) don’t be a dumbass (this includes testing drugs and checking your drug mixing cocktail won’t kill you), and 3) it should always be social. You know it’s not when the party dies as everyone squirrels away into one room and sits around waiting for their turn to snort a line off a desk; when the thing you’re most excited about in the lead-up to a festival is the bitter-gumming of MDMA; or if you find yourself snorting coke in a mate’s kitchen on a random Wednesday. Suddenly it’s not so funny when your friend’s nose is bleeding all the time or they can’t pay the rent because they fronted the cost of that gram.
Talk to anyone who’s dabbled in drugs and they’ll probably tell you some of their best and worst experiences have happened on drugs – whether it’s an illegal recreational drug like acid or MDMA, or a prescription drug like ritalin or antidepressants. You’ll bond with your flatmate like never before high as a kite on acid; you’ll think you’ve never felt your heart burst to the seams more than forming a geared up group hug in the middle of the Mardi mosh, holding each other tight, singing to the music and being a nuisance to everyone around you. You’ll read a review from a dude named Boba Ket saying, “Yo, I looooovvvvvvvveeeee shrooms,” and how the world adopted the quality of a Van Gogh painting. But then you’ll hear about a friend who took it too far and might not come back from a permanent state of psychosis.
Much like the ‘Faux Poverty’ of Castle St that allows students from affluent backgrounds to live in brief character-building squalor before jetting back to Auckland for a cushy corporate job, many students enjoy a very privileged position in being able to think of drugs as a fun world to dip your toes into for a weekend trip. We host Euphoria themed parties, overlooking the scenes of Rue’s withdrawals in favour of the glittery costumes, moody lighting and sexily keying ket. When you hear “drug harm reduction” you probably think of the yellow smiley face of KnowYourStuffNZ spotted at festivals rather than needle exchanges.
Critic Te Ārohi treads a fine line of what’s acceptable to print and the content can feel like whiplash – a bit like reading this editorial, I’m guessing. In this issue, you’ll find a mix of drug-related content straddling the line of how normal drugs can be – like your dealer being some dude with kids who asks after your health or experimenting with different weird substances you can put in your bong – and the serious side of antidepressant withdrawal and pinching your mate’s ADHD medication that (shocker) they actually need. Okay, disclaimer over. Go read about the piss bong.