Features

After begging the previous two editors for a ticket to iD to no avail, I wasn’t letting go of my seat. Finally, I was in a dream scenario. I was Anna Wintour without the entourage or expensive clothes, armed only with a notebook.
I had expected the crowd to be comprised primarily of antipodean fashion elite - people dressed head to toe in designer labels, their faces slathered thickly with make-up, their hair straightened into submission. But instead, the audience was filled with Maori Hill housewives in furs and puffer jackets, drunkenly giggling with their “girl friends” or having a bonding night with their daughters. They could barely contain themselves. “We’re so fashionable!” they wanted to scream. “We’re at a fashion event! Wearing fashions!” Perhaps because of this, the audience really added to the show. Designers may have commented that iD is world class fashion-wise, but evidently Dunedin isn’t quite ready.
 

Initially, I was disappointed that John Campbell wouldn’t be the M.C., but while Carol Hirshfeld wasn’t as “marvelous”, she certainly didn’t lack entertainment value. At one particularly memorably moment, we could have sworn we heard her inadvertently call the catwalk a “crapwalk”.
 

The show opened with Dunedin brand Carlson. Carlson’s range consisted of silky shifts in blue, pinks and occasionally prints. It was strange to see so many young and beautiful creatures dressed like middle-aged women. I was worryingly bored and the show had barely started. Most concerningly, the models seemed bored as well. Proving once again that Dunedin has no idea how to handle a fashion show, some audience members hazarded an attempt to awkwardly clap.

 
Luckily, things looked up with Nom*D. I was lucky enough to be seated in front of some perceptive fashionistas with very strong Kiwi accents. “Oooh, this is going to be angry”, exclaimed one of the bunch. As she anticipated, Nom*D’s collection was angry, but also beautiful and strong. As well as Nom*D’s typical danse macabre aesthetic, the clothes seemed to channel some sort of basketball superstar grunge. The models’ hair was styled in tiny spikes and they wore heeled Docs that almost looked like some sort of fisherman’s boot-cum-doc-cum-sports shoe. Needless to say, they were amazing.
 

Next was Kathryn Wilson. My previous experience with her work had consisted of me looking wistfully at her shoes on the internet. Brogues, platforms, boots; whatever she did, it seemed she could do no wrong. I’m not going to lie, I had high hopes. Wilson brought a lot of colour and accessories to the collection, but one thing she left behind was taste. Chains, tassels, prints and orange- it was all too Ibiza for my liking. The chains were too sparkly, the colours too bright and, all in all, the shoes were more trailer trash than grunge cool. That’s not to say, however, that there weren’t some winners. One pair of yellow heeled boat shoes really caught my eye.
 

Vaughn Geeson was everything Carlson had hoped to be; where Carlson failed, Vaughn succeeded. It was a collection of beautifully cut Fifties inspired dresses- still a little on the dull side, but less aging. “It’s funny, they’re all wearing socks”, commented the woman behind me, who seemed to think that their socks and high heels combo was for practical reasons. I, meanwhile, gave them a metaphorical thumbs up.

 
Mild Red chanelled Nom*D vibez, as the women behind me quickly pointed out, by which I mean that it captured the same moody street wear aesthetic. The clothes seemed to embody a Celtic warrior, with various straps across the chest, tight knits resembling chainmail, and flowing hair interrupted only by small ponytails. It was stunning.
 

Next was the far less impressive collection from Charmaine Reveley. The positive: the collection was set to Kate Bush’s “Wuthering Heights”. The negative: there had been a few unfortunate outfits by this point, but none quite so bad as Charmaine Reveley’s. Lace, sheer, Nineties shifts, weird drapey sheer scarfs- it was all terrifyingly reminiscent of what a woman in her fifties might wear for a “special occasion”. Most disappointing of all was how Teri, the first plus size model ever to grace the iD runway, was dressed so unflatteringly. What was supposed to be a celebration of how beauty need not equal skeletal merely emphasised how poorly designers respond to different sized models.
 

Next were the collections of a lucky few Otago Polytechnic graduates. I’d already seen their collections at their fashion show last year, but up close (second row bay-bee) their collections were far more impressive. Sarah Dooley created a beautiful collection of men’s loose knitwear with a strong Dunedin feel. Rachel Webb used sheer nudes and intricate macramé to show beautiful contrast between soft and structural. My favourite, though, was Amelia Boland’s soft babydoll nightgowns that managed to capture both childhood innocence and womanly appeal.
 

The much-anticipated Twenty-Seven Names followed. It’s hard to pick favourites when you’ve been inundated with beautiful clothing, but Twenty-Seven Names’ most recent collection was a stunnah. Beautiful sheer white dresses and shirts, striped blazers complete with badges, a deep velvet dress. All in all, the collection felt like a cool-kids twist on a school uniform, without being too literal and while remaining incredibly wearable. Apparently, however, my neighbours didn’t share my positive sentiment. “She looks like she’s gonna beat someone up”, noted one particularly security conscious girl.
 

Someone had to follow this, and it was Liz Mitchel. There was so much right yet so much wrong with this collection. Mitchel had created a collection of romantic gowns, luscious and almost baroque in their detailing. However, she went completely mental with mixed media, including in her collection the downfall of every craft project: feathers.

 
I was relieved to find it was the interval- not due to the show itself, but due to the pain of sitting down so long. Ahh, third world problems. The break also provided a nice opportunity for Hirshfeld to give out spot prizes. Unfortunately, the recipients had worn fur trimmed puffer jackets- a big no no for the runway. One of the recipients was presumably shaking from excitement, causing Hirshfeld to exclaim; “are you excited? You feel excited!”

 
The second half began impressively with Akira. Perhaps the most talked about designer at this year’s iD fashion show, Australian based Akira presented a beautiful, exotic, ethereal collection. Deep colours, subtle prints, turbans- it was a collection that seemed to simultaneously embrace and modernise 19th Century orientalism. Although platform wedges featured throughout the collections, Akira’s method of covering the wedges with tights gave his outfits a sleek, minimalist look. Akira was worth all the fuss.

 
As too was Company of Strangers. Sharing its moody street styles with Nom*D and Mild Red, Company of Strangers used dark layers and jersey, harnesses, denim and leather leggings to create amazing, detailed looks. There was something more modern about Company of Strangers, something more street than its earlier counterparts. Lela Jacobs followed with a collection that juxtaposed floaty fabrics with gumboots, utilitarian pieces such as androgynous army jackets with beautiful details. My favourite was a men’s jacket that appeared more like an artistic swath of blanket than a jacket in the traditional sense.

 
iD saved their best until last; the Darnell collection. Curated by Charlotte Smith and comprised of vintage pieces including 1960’s pieces by Chanel and Dior. The clothes were styled as they would have been in the past, save for the odd modern shoe here and there. Polyester gowns, flamboyant hats, prim dresses, silk scarves and even a lace pantsuit; everything was beautiful and, what’s more, audience and models alike seemed to love the collection. My favourite of all was a stunning sequined minidress featuring two jeweled sunflowers carefully covering the model’s chest.
 

Then suddenly it was over and the models paraded the designers off the runway. Somehow we managed to get back stage afterwards, where we stood around awkwardly, trying and failing to not look out of place. For some reason, I struck up a conversation with Carol Hirshfelt, and spent the next five minutes stumbling clumsily through a discussion of journalism. Eventually, she claimed she had to leave and practically ran from me.
 

All in all, iD was amazing. The setting was stunning, the designers were (for the most part) fantastic, and the models were professional. I may not be Anna Wintour, but I sure had fun playing the part.