Happy 100th, y’all. The official birthday of Critic Te Ārohi is this week, April 2nd, the date of the debut issue’s publication – the very same you now hold in your hands. This relic was dug up from the Hocken Library archives. Don’t worry, the spray paint is Photoshopped, the original is safe and sound in a glass display case in the Special Collections Critic 100th exhibition that opened last Friday.
Given its age, I combed through the twelve pages prior to print, pen poised to circle anything problematic and a product of its time. I was pleasantly surprised to find this editorial wouldn’t need to serve as a disclaimer for offensive content, and wound up circling fun vocabulary that painted a picture of students of the ‘20s: Sporting chaps and chums dressed in suits who stroked their labial encumbrances (moustaches) in contemplation of what the “proper” student should be (not an “impoverished bookworm” or “athlete who worships the cult of athleticism”, apparently).
What I find to be most interesting is identifying the trends. In a narrative of the return of students to campus, there’s an interaction between Bill and Bert where they bond over their shared distaste for Dunedin’s “rottenness”, exaggerate their summers, and realise they’ll both be “freshers” for another year after failing papers. Swap the consolatory cigarette for vapes, suits for jorts and a Butter hoodie, nickname them Ben and Sam, and the scene could have happened just last month.
The difference is that it's written in the prose of someone who understood Macbeth without the help of an English teacher, and with an air of prestige that’s not yet met the self-effacing humbleness of the South or seen students wear slippers to campus. Enjoy flicking through the origin of Critic Te Ārohi, which, without getting too uppity about ourselves, is a key piece of your history as an Otago student. It’s a bit different to what we print today, but still worthwhile. And I promise that the birthday issue crossword next week will be worth the wait.