Image: The Spinoff
Image: The Spinoff

SocietyJanuary 1, 2025

All 85 of The Spinoff’s rankings, ranked from worst to best

Image: The Spinoff
Image: The Spinoff

Summer reissue: The rankers become the ranked: Hera Lindsay Bird tackles the most meta ranking of them all.

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There’s nothing like a savagely judgemental list, pitting things against one another in descending order of quality. While some may say that the humble ranking is a neoliberal concept that valorises hierarchies over mutual interdependence and collaboration, if there’s anything the Olympics has taught us, it’s that sometimes there can only be one winner. 

When I pitched this idea, over a calendar year ago, it seemed like a good idea at the time. How hard could a ranking of rankings be? And yet there have been many times over the last fortnight when I’ve wanted to grab a carton of the 3rd best New Zealand canned wine and crawl into the 6th best New Zealand tunnel to die. 

Included in this ranking is every ranking written by a current or former staff writer for The Spinoff. 

Not included are the television-based “power rankings.” Although the power rankings look and behave like rankings, it’s my contention these rankings aren’t true rankings at all, in the same way that the electric eel isn’t really an eel, but a species of Knifefish pretending. While they’re a great format for unpacking the week in television, including them in the rankings proper would only clutter and diminish the integrity of the format. 

Canned wine, ranked.

The second big decision I had to make was whether to include rankings by guest writers. Although many of the guest rankings are extremely strong and worthy of note, it seemed too brutal to consign some of the feebler attempts to the bottom of the cultural slag pile. And besides, there are only so many hours in the day. Another great concept for a ranking. 

My last note on selection criteria is that I haven’t included any of my own rankings in this list, partly because it would destroy the ironclad reputation for journalistic integrity I’ve worked a lifetime to cultivate. And partly because reading so many rankings has taught me the error of my ways. I learned a great many things during this process. Rankings are at their best when they clearly explain their selection criteria. They are, if possible, definitive and complete. You have to showcase the worst, to let the best shine. The rankings need to have a strong internal logic and discuss the relationality of the items. And the very best rankings have, at minimum, 15 entries, although my personal preference is for rankings that cross the 80+ blood-brain barrier. 

While it was mostly a joy to read back over these pieces, I worry reading so many rankings in under a fortnight has done permanent damage to my brain and I’m only going to be able to think in descending hierarchical order for the rest of my life. Anyway, here they are: all 85 Spinoff rankings, ranked from worst to best.

85. Beans

A ranking so controversial and full of ersatz beans it spawned an independent inquiry and a follow-up ranking. While this list has a Dada-esque charm, ultimately it failed as a ranking, because it refused to reward the narrative expectations of its reader, like a crime novel in which nobody did it. Sean Bean is not a bean. Mr Bean is not a bean. Jelly bean tomatoes and bean bags are emphatically not beans. And yet, we should all be grateful to this list, because the follow-up guest ranking by a panel of bean connoisseurs is one of the best rankings The Spinoff has ever published and would have easily made the top ten if it wasn’t automatically disqualified by our strict pre-selection criteria. 

84. Tim Tams

No shade to the humble Tim Tam. But there just aren’t enough Tim Tams flavours to support this premise. The only worthy six-digit ranking I can think of is The Mitford Sisters (Nancy > Jessica > Pam > Unity > Diana > Deb). But unlike the Mitford Sisters, the varieties here are undeniably dull. White chocolate. Dark chocolate. Double chocolate. Regular chocolate. You might as well be ranking the most absorbent paper napkins or maternity support stockings. 

Admittedly I have fallen into this very trap myself when ranking the meagre selection of vegetarian bacons. But the scales have fallen from my eyes, and I would never rank something with fewer than ten items again. The format is just too powerful for the subject matter, like using a firehose to water your peonies. If you’re a hardcore biscuit enthusiast, I would lovingly redirect you to the very bottom of the list, where Tim Tams can be seen in their natural habitat, amongst the gingernuts and coconut Krispies. 

83. Dogs wearing dog costumes

It’s abundantly clear that this ranking is a cynical attempt to shoehorn as many dog pictures as possible into an ideologically unforgiving format. Yes, the costumes are adorable, but the subject is too vast and unwieldy to support any pretence of objectivity. Just as we must embrace the reality of death to appreciate the miracle of life, a good ranking must have finitude. 

The idea of ranking costumes isn’t a bad one, and I would argue that if anyone wanted to go hard, ranking every Anne Geddes baby would be a great alternative concept. But when it comes to the infinite variety of canine sartorial self-expression, save it for the family Whatsapp.

82. Discontinued sweets

While this list is a fitting eulogy to Pods (gone but not forgotten), it is neither long nor complete enough to give satisfaction. The sweets are discontinued and therefore can only be ranked against that cracked mirror we call memory. Although there’s a kind of wistful “Chevy to the Levy” nostalgia at play, the author is clearly cognitively bamboozled, as he’s mistakenly ranked the obviously superior Cadbury Peppermint and Strawberry Roses as culinary duds. I miss Snifters as much as the next cinema-goer, but it’s time to bid farewell to childish things and learn to appreciate the candy around us. 

81. Every pedestrian who ignored Wellington Phoenix FC’s new logo launch, ranked

Not everything deserves a numerical order. A good rule of thumb (#1 digit of the human hand) is that if the title of your ranking has more than ten words, your subject is probably too specific. 

80, 79 & 78. Abysses to gaze into; Bubbles nearly as good as the trans-Tasman bubble; Lockdown sale items

Emily Dickinson’s success was largely posthumous. Vermeer was considered average by his peers. And Bach was more revered in death than he was in life. Perhaps the author of these three pieces will one day come to be recognized as a deconstructionist genius, whose contribution to the world of rankings was unappreciated in her own lifetime. 

While the writing is excellent, the ranking criteria here is utter chaos. These three rankings have a Rorschachian, free-jazz charm, which confounds expectations and challenges preconceived notions of hierarchy and taxonomy. As far as rankings go, these are fun, but definitely for the more avant-garde palette. 

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Gabi Lardies
— Staff writer

77 & 76. Tear-jerking ads and TV pets

There is no such thing as a heartwarming or “tear-jerking” commercial. Not even if it has a dog in it. No advertisement will ever make me cry unless the brand manager for Panadol Rapid Fast Pain Relief decides to kill my mother live on air. 

75. Recipe bases and meal companions

Although this list was published many years before the deli section packet sauce renaissance, this ranking deserves our respect, because it paved the way for rankings to come. While the handheld stone tools of prehistory wouldn’t stand up to modern drone warfare, without said tools, we would have missed out on many iconic and memorable wars, such as the First World and Second World Wars, not to mention all eight of the Crusades. 

While this list evoked a strong wave of nostalgia for the meals of yesteryear, the concept as a whole just doesn’t hang together. You can’t compare canned soup to taco seasoning kits. It just doesn’t make sense. 

74 & 73. Celebrity cake portraits and Celebrity baking skills

If it came to a pistols-at-dawn situation, celebrity cakes would get the draw on baking skills. But while celebrity cakes is a great ranking concept, there just aren’t enough entries to satisfy, like opening a bag of mini grain waves, only to encounter three measly chips. 

Not as satisfying as it could be. (Photo: TVNZ)

72. Celebrity beards

Perhaps this is rank misandry, but I struggle to tell the difference here. 

71. Real estate agent ads

A brilliant concept, flawed by a lack of ambition. Like only painting half of the Sistine Chapel. Go big or go home. 

70. Mediaworks personalities

While I admire the concept behind this extremely shambolic and provocative ranking, any list with Duncan Garner in the top spot has somehow gone terribly wrong. 

69. Workplace robots of New Zealand

Didn’t we learn anything from Battlestar Galactica? 

68. Haka world record attempts

This one’s on me. But unless you’re making Olympic history, I have an intense dislike for world record attempts, especially those involving large crowds of people. Ohhhhh my god u baked the world’s largest calzone? Should we tell everyone? Should we throw a party? Should we invite Yotam Ottolenghi? 

67. Chasers

While I believe that most things can and should be ranked, The Chasers are a notable exception. To me, the purpose of the Chasers is that they represent different but equal Jungian archetypes. Trying to pit them against each other defeats the purpose. It’s like trying to rank the Spice Girls (impossible.) 

66 & 65. Road Tunnels and Tunnel-boring machines 

I anticipate that this will be one of the more controversial ranking placements on the list. But after the fifth tunnel, my eyes started to glaze over. Perhaps I’m the wrong target demographic, but I was glad to see the light at the end of this ranking. Similarly, I found the tunnel-boring machines a little (tunnel) boring. Sorry to all the Motat stans.

64. Every Mike Pero finger point in The Apprentice Aotearoa

Kudos to the author for making something beautiful out of the grim subject matter, like one of those World of Wearable Art corsets constructed from rusty bottlecaps. A hideous concept, executed well. 

63. Ikea foods

This would have been a great ranking if anyone had actually tasted any of the food, but as far as I can tell, this list was purely hypothetical. At the date of publication, IKEA has still not made it to Auckland! 

62. Wayne Brown interviews

A beautiful snapshot in time, eloquently captured, but like phonebooks and fax machines, it has outlived its cultural relevance. It hasn’t outlived Wayne Brown’s mayoralty, but let’s give it a few more years. 

61. The maddest Insta-breakfasts of The Mad Butcher

I have to admit I have a soft spot for this ranking. I’m always happy to look at a candid snap of an aesthetically grotesque meal. On the other hand, like the Mad Butcher himself, this ranking doesn’t play by the rules. Some of these breakfasts are NOT breakfasts, they are explicitly lunches. And the picture of the Mad Butcher wearing a hot dog outfit is in brazen contravention of the ranking’s own parameters. 

60. Politicians holding things 

A likely thing for them to do. 

59. Place names

This is an excellent list. It’s a fascinating list. In a ranking of lists, it would be up there with the Forbes Billionaires Index, and Santa’s Naughty or Nice. What it isn’t, is a ranking. While the place names on this list are technically in descending order, there is no real sense of hierarchy here, or any clues as to why one place name is superior to another. Perhaps this is simply too divisive and controversial a subject to be explicitly hierarchical, but I can’t rank it any higher, as there’s no actual ranking going on. 

58. Potatoes

Marge Simpson would think this ranking is “neat.”  

57. Political Xmas merch

Slightly better than a lump of coal. Nowhere near as good as a Terry’s chocolate orange. 

56 & 55. Steve Parr slides and Suzanne Paul cameos 

We’re getting into “pretty damn good” territory and we haven’t even broken the top 50. Like the Kazakhstan gymnastics team, these rankings only suffer in comparison to the all-time greats. I have a slightly nepotistic interest in the Steve Parr slides, as my dad once won Sale of the Century. But the archival footage is absolutely worth a watch. The Suzanne Paul cameos are equally niche, but essential watching for any diehard Paulhead. 

54, 53, 52 & 51. Low-alcohol beer, non-alcoholic spirits, hard seltzers and new-wave RTDs 

While these beverage-based rankings are all respectable attempts, there are a few fatal flaws. In the “new wave RTDs” the only ranked beverages were those which were NZ-made, and described themselves as “clean and/or natural.” In the hard seltzer ranking, despite testing up to 36 flavours of seltzer, the testing team only ranked the top ten. The non-alcoholic spirit tasting and low-alcohol beers were curtailed by time and local availability. While these are reasonable constraints, I felt that the savage pre-selection criteria dulled my enjoyment of the format. 

50. Schoolyard gossip

This one gave me flashbacks to the time I confidently told a playground bully that PO wasn’t the correct spelling of the word “poo.” In my defence, he was trying to set fire to the school. In his defence, he was trying to set fire to the school using pencil shavings and a magnifying glass.

49. Wellington second-hand bookshops

This series of rankings is one of the more practical contributions to the format. Perfect if you’re new to Wellington and trying to find a second-hand copy of The Vintner’s Luck.

48. Advent calendars

I loved the concept of the advent calendar ranking. I was rooting for the advent calendar ranking. But rankings that only feature the very best of something will never be truly great. A little judicious negativity is what separates a good ranking from an online gift guide.  

47. Vegetarian sausages

God this ranking depressed me. At my house, we love a dinner variation known as “Bunnings Sauage Sizzle.” Butter a few thick slabs of white bread, fry a few onions and vege sausages and donate a gold coin to the local netball team of your choice. When I went online, to confirm my suspicion that “The Craft Meat Co” vegetarian sausages ranked at #1 and #2 are now sold under the brand name “Pl*nt”, I was genuinely devastated to learn that as of last week, the parent company Sustainable Goods Ltd is going into voluntary administration, meaning this excellent ranking may soon be defunct, along with my Friday night dinner special. Gutted. 

46. The best trans-Tasman sporting rivalries 

My enjoyment of this ranking was only slightly marred by the author expecting his audience to have a solid grasp of the Antipodean sporting scene. Who is Greg Dowling? What sport do The Kangaroos play? Petanque? Ice hockey? I’m not saying that journalism needs to appeal to the lowest common denominator, but speaking as the lowest common denominator, my kingdom for a little extra context. Otherwise an excellent ranking. 

45. The best times and places to eat toast, ranked

This beautiful meditation by “birth adjacent” author Hayden Donnell, is something of a Trojan horse, attempting to smuggle a tribute to the post-partum joy of a free hospital breakfast into a more conventional format. As a ranking, it lacks intellectual credibility. But as a moving tribute to the power of two hot slices, it slaps. 

44. Politician’s zoom backgrounds

Love the concept, but could have been improved by a more definitive list. If that meant ranking 113 extra screenshots of featureless zoom backgrounds, comparing the pearlescent lustre of one wall against the jaundiced apricot afterglow of another, I would have been satisfied. 

43. Thin Lizzy jingle items 

This jingle is going straight to the top of the Saturday work playlist. 

42. All the songs in Kiri and Lou 

I was torn about this one. On the one hand, it’s an utterly magnificent and truly awe-inspiring feat of journalism, and I can only commend the author for the mammoth effort. On the other hand, what the fuck are Kiri and Lou??? Until reading this ranking I was happy in my ignorance, like Eve before the fall. As someone without kids, I know I’m the wrong target audience. But I find Kiri and Lou to be primally revolting, and I think the kindest thing to do would be to call the large animal vet and put these upsetting creatures out of their misery. 

41. Windows Screensavers

I was dubious going into this piece. How much content can you wring out a shared generational nostalgia? But as soon as I clicked the link and saw the screenshots, something deep and primal was activated in my neurological cortex. 

40. Election vehicles

Toot toot! Brilliant concept, flawless execution. No notes. 

39. Original pokemon

This is a conceptually brilliant piece. My main gripe is taxonomic. I strongly believe the Pokemon ought to have been ranked in their evolutionary groups. It makes no more sense to list Raichu and Pikachu as individual Pokemon than it does to list Winston Churchill (adult) and Winston Churchill (baby) separately in a list of great British statesmen. 

38. Oat milks

Full of creamy, full-fat goodness.

37. Mansfield short stories 

I’ve never been a Mansfield stan, preferring Janet Frame, the true literary powerhouse of Aotearoa. I blame my dislike on high school English and the guy in my creative writing workshop who penned an upsettingly horny short story about making sweet wartime love to this doyenne of New Zealand letters. But this gorgeous list has inspired me to give her work another go. 

36, 35 & 34. Non-alcoholic beers, 2020, 2022 & 2024

These three lists, read in tandem, provide a fascinating snapshot of The Spinoff across the years. Bonus points for Toby’s description of one beer as tasting “like the bottom of a plastic bucket” which, upon publication, led to the company in question isolating a bad batch of cans and potentially averting a food safety crisis. 

The only issue is that no alcoholic beers from previous rankings were repeated, save for three beers, included in both the 2022 and 2024 rankings, and the top beer in 2020 which was included in the 2022 rankings. For the inevitable 2026 ranking, I think a little consolidation is in order.

33. Nuts

Most rankings are best when they err on the side of public consensus. While nobody can maintain perfect objectivity, I think some effort to acknowledge collective values is important. You can’t just disqualify every barbecue-flavoured chip from a chip ranking because you don’t personally like the flavour. 

But there’s always an exception that proves the rule. I can only aspire to the level of controversy this ranking provoked in The Spinoff chat. This ranking goes boldly where meeker authors might fear to tread. It is a courageous, divisive, no-fucks-given approach that dares to elevate the humble walnut, at the expense of the almond, hazelnut and macadamia. Bold and audacious, just like the #1 nut, pistachio. 

32. Apples

To me, apples are the most disgusting fruit in the world. I’ve written about my visceral disgust for them elsewhere, so it’s a compliment to the writer that this ranking made it so high. If it were up to me, all apples would be tied for last place. 

31. Steve Arnott’s waistcoats in Line of Duty

Yes, this is extremely niche, and yes all the waistcoats look exactly the same. But as a Line of Duty fan, this ranking holds a special, pinstriped place in my heart. 

30. Koru Lounge scandals 

While I admit that trying to parse so many cascading political references depleted a good amount of my admittedly scant brain power, sometimes you don’t have to understand something to know when you’re in the presence of greatness, like a dog staring up at a Rembrandt. The perfect thing to read with a complimentary bliss ball and a packet of gluten-free cheesy pea puffs. 

29. Big Brother diary room chairs 

I have never watched a single episode of Big Brother, preferring the obviously superior reality television empire, Survivor. But if there’s one thing I can get behind, it’s an ostentatious chair. This ranking gave me an immense amount of joy, despite being totally unfamiliar with the source material. 

28. Celebrity animals 

A brilliant and iconic ranking, ruined only by the tragic fate of Rastus the cat. His wee red neckerchief! The ear holes in his helmet! Extremely upsetting stuff. 

27. The top 10 dairy names that have also been locations of interest

Not only does this ranking evoke a heady nostalgia for those early pandemic days, but the concept of ranking dairy names is nothing short of genius. I implore the author to roll up their sleeves and undertake a definitive and authoritative ranking of every dairy name in the entire country. You can have Dingle Dell Dairy and Bush Fairy Dairy for free. 

26. All the supermarket hot cross buns

If there’s anything I hate as much as an apple, it’s a hot cross bun. What is a sweet bun, but a disappointing cake, or a piece of bread with bad intentions? Nevertheless, I’m willing to set aside my prejudices long enough to acknowledge that this ranking is a necessary if somewhat distasteful public service. 

25. All the characters in the Hairy Maclary universe

This list might have cracked the top 20 if it weren’t for the totally unnecessary inclusion of human characters. Sure, humans are technically animals, but as the author admits “these books are about dogs and cats, not budgie-owning octogenarians and old ladies whose hats blow away.” Otherwise flawless. 

IMAGES: © Lynley Dodd

24. Jesus’s disciples 

From the iconic cover image to the description of Peter as “heaven’s bouncer” to the poignant meditation on the tribulations of having eight older siblings, there is simply nothing in this piece not to like. 

23. Email sign-offs 

This ranking has the distinction of being the only one to have permanently altered the trajectory of my life. Until I read this ranking, published earlier this year, I was a strict adherent to the email sign-off “best”, believing it to be a friendly, no-frills approach to concluding messages. After I read this ranking, I had a massive crisis of confidence, and have reverted to the letter H, which makes me feel like an aspiring M15 agent.

22. Canned coffee

This ranking gave me vicarious heart palpitations. Although it wasn’t perfectly definitive, due to regional product variability, I admired the strict ranking criteria and the vicious behind-the-scenes infighting. 

21. Stadia

Something about this list, and the corporate sponsorship naming rights, is incredibly funny to me. Orangetheory Stadium. Western Bay Finance Stadium. They all sound like settings in a George Saunders short story. 

20. Celebrity Treasure Island contestants

I have not and will never watch an episode of Celebrity Treasure Island. Usually, I’m dead against any sort of reality game show with celebrity contestants. A list ranking those contestants is another story entirely. Although I only recognized 5% of the ranked individuals, this piece is much funnier than it has any right to be.

19. Biggest stupid monuments 

Here we go. Now we’re cooking. I was sad not to see the sheep and dog from Tirau on this excellent list, but I accept that a building and a monument are not taxonomically interchangeable. I was also pleased to read that Waitomo’s Big Apple is expecting a good polish any day now, if only they can find a shirtsleeve large enough. 

18. Blackcaps cricket shirts 

While I have no love for the game of cricket, you don’t have to understand the intricacies of the Duckworth Lewis rule to appreciate a good uniform. I might have got into spectator sports a lot earlier if I’d known the outfits were such a big deal. My one complaint is that the list runs best to worst, instead of worst to best. But that can be easily remedied, by starting from the bottom and reading up. 

17. Canned wine

Canned, canned wine, stay close to me. Usually, I’d only buy a canned wine if I were making a quick and nasty risotto. But it’s the quality of the writing, rather than the subject matter that elevates this cheeky and insouciant piece of collaborative journalism. Bonus points for the description of one of the wines as “smelling like Warehouse Stationery.” 

16. Fish and chip sides

Not all corn fritters are created equal, and while the premise of this ranking is necessarily variable depending on the chip shop in question, this is a stunningly patriotic ranking, which ought to be laminated and given to all new immigrants, along with a Bunnings sausage sizzle and a pair complimentary jandals.

15. Fast food fries

Not only is this an extremely powerful and authoritative ranking, with clearly articulated criteria and a strong ambience, but like the perfect fry, the prose is crisp, fresh and a little bit salty. 

14. Mini easter eggs

This is the Toyota Corolla of rankings. It’s reliable, doesn’t draw unnecessary attention to itself, and gets you safely to the correct destination: Cadbury Mini Eggs Milk Chocolate Delights. 

13. 30 years of Shortland street

At the risk of having my citizenship revoked, I should probably admit I’ve never seen a single episode of Shortland Street. And yet, I contend that my ignorance only made my enjoyment of this ranking stronger. There’s something inherently funny about condensing a year’s worth of soap opera plot down to a series of taut, 100-word paragraphs, full of helicopter crashes, crystal meth addictions and volcanic eruptions. 

12. Vegan cheese

While I’m all for vegetarian alternatives to meat and dairy products, vegan cheese inspires a special kind of gustatory fear. I felt a special kind of schadenfreude while reading Spinoff staffers wade through 30 kinds of vegan camembert and blue cheese, not dissimilar to watching an episode of Fear Factor, or that film where a mountaineer has to saw his own arm off with a pocket knife. 

11. Winston Peters vs David Seymour: their 15 most venomous insults, ranked 

The S-tier of political rankings. This one has it all. Drama. Linguistic panache. A direct bearing on the future of the nation. We love to see it. 

10. NRL mascots

This is what rankings were invented for. 10/10. Now someone do the AFL. 

9. Taskmaster tasks

Dare I say that reading this comprehensive and definitive ranking of New Zealand Taskmaster tasks is a lot more fun than actually watching the show? 

8. Election slogans

This ranking satisfied on so many levels. It’s funny. It’s educational. It’s thorough. Like Labour’s 1984 campaign slogan, this ranking will surely Bring New Zealand Together. 

7 & 6. Every pudding in the Edmond’s cookbook and Every cold dessert in the Edmond’s cookbook

I can only shake my head in awe at the effort that went into producing these two unequivocally perfect rankings. Not even Mad Champan, eating “two to three” iceblocks a day for over a month, has gone so hard. This ranking has the energy of that one kid who turns up at the science fair, having invented a new source of renewable energy, while everyone else is busy pouring vinegar into their volcano craters. This is a ranking you could give to anyone and they would find some joy in it unless their heart was as dry and withered as a Harlequin pudding. 

5. All 54 classic Whittaker’s flavours ranked from worst to best

4. All 142 biscuit flavours in New Zealand ranked from worst to best

3. Every dairy lolly in New Zealand, reviewed and ranked

2. All 123 chip flavours in New Zealand ranked from worst to best

1. All 87 ice blocks in New Zealand ranked from worst to best

At long last, we have arrived at the top five Spinoff rankings of all time. 

At first, it seemed a little unfair to award the top five podium places to the same author. I briefly considered spacing them out, to create the illusion of journalistic neutrality. But the idea of removing any of these rankings from their rightful place at the top disgusted my innate sense of justice. Here in the libertarian marketplace of ideas, you have to give credit where credit is due. It would be outrageous to confiscate any of Katie Ledecky’s gold medals because she’s “too good at swimming.” And so the top five places go to the reigning queen of rankings, Mad Chapman, in the 1500m, 800m, 400m, 200m and 100m freestyle. 

These are god-tier rankings. They fulfil every need in Maslow’s hierarchy. They are staggeringly thorough. They are profoundly utilitarian (it’s never too late to discover a new favourite chip flavour.) They are democratic (anyone with a supermarket or dairy can snack along.) And most of all, they are funny. 

These rankings aren’t without flaws. Upon publication, the chip ranking caused widespread outrage, even attracting the ire of Paula Bennett. And Chapman has since issued a belated correction. But the ranking order isn’t the point here. The best thing about these rankings is their timeless literary appeal. Like the works of Jane Austen and Herman Melville, these rankings will endure in our cultural memory. They’re deliciously curt and have a world-weary prose style, like that of a beleaguered social worker nipping out for a quick fag break. I have ranked the top five in order of my personal preference, but they could easily be tied for first place, depending on the reader’s culinary tastes. 

In the words of the iconic format, Mad Chapman is the best ranker in New Zealand.

First published September 9, 2024.

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Image: Tina Tiller
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SocietyJanuary 1, 2025

The NZ ‘voice of the century’ who wound up in a psych hospital for 16 years

Image: Tina Tiller
Image: Tina Tiller

Summer reissue: Mina Foley was a formidable talent dogged by wild rumours about her mental breakdown. What is the truth?

The Spinoff needs to double the number of paying members we have to continue telling these kinds of stories. Please read our open letter and sign up to be a member today.

The first time I heard Mina Foley singing, I ended up in pieces. I’d found a clip of her on YouTube performing the aria Casta Diva from the Bellini opera Norma. It’s around 1950, and in the background picture for the video, Mina has rosy cheeks to match her pink gown and long black gloves to match her raven hair.   

If you’re unfamiliar with the opera’s story, the lovelorn Norma is a high priestess of druids in the Roman Empire who considers killing her own children but (spoiler alert) decides against it. The title role is so hard to sing that only the bravest prime donne of all time have even dared. Here Foley, a former student at Mary’s College in Ponsonby, absolutely crushes it.  

Because I was meant to be doing something else, I followed Foley down a rabbit hole. She’d been discovered by super-nun Sister Mary Leo, later the wind beneath the wings of Dame Kiri Te Kanawa and Dame Malvina Major. Mina had trained in London, then Rome, where the locals adopted her as their own, calling her “the Italian nightingale”. Others called her “the voice of the century”. 

As she barrelled towards Lorde-like world domination, Foley became the nation’s sweetheart. Reporters gushed about her tiny waist and dreamy frocks, and documented her journeys to Australia, Europe and the US. 

When asked by BBC Radio 3 in 2015 about her favourite singers, Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, born 14 years after Mina Foley, said Foley was her idol. “She was like the Pied Piper,” Te Kanawa said. “We were all following the Pied Piper to the top of the mountain.”

But then, just as suddenly as she’d shot to fame, Foley vanished, and for a long time no one spoke about her at all. When she died of a heart attack in 2007, obituaries referred vaguely to long spells of “ill health” that had nipped a glorious career in the bud. No one had written a book about Foley or made her life into a movie. It was as if she’d been forgotten on purpose.  

I contacted anyone who I thought might have known Foley to find out what had become of her. Which is when I started hearing some wild rumours. A Concert FM host told me she’d heard Foley had run naked through the streets of Rome. And several others told me that, back home in Auckland, when she didn’t get a part, Foley had run into Smith and Caughey’s department store and stabbed someone in a rage. 

Fantasy sometimes flowers where facts are missing, so had people just made this stuff up? Was it a coincidence that these tales sounded like the plots of the operas Foley sang? And how had someone so beloved been so thoroughly forgotten?

This all started nearly a decade ago, when my mate Jo Smith, then a screenwriting tutor at Unitec, mentioned Foley while we were researching a play we wanted to write (but never did). 

Jo’s office at Unitec’s Bachelor of Creative Arts was strangely narrow. A window at the back of the room would have had a pleasant view had it not been covered by bars. Outside her door, someone had painted over what used to be a peephole. 

Building Six, as it was known, had once been the women’s quarters of Whau Lunatic Asylum in Point Chevalier. The tutors’ offices had once been inmates’ cells, and the current theatre space for Unitec performance students was the inmates’ day room. At nearby Building 76, someone had counted out their days of incarceration by etching spindly lines into the brickwork. 

Everyone I met there seemed to have a ghost story. One room in Jo’s wing was only used for storage because anyone who’d tried to work in it ended up sick. One day, a nurse from the old days turned up and told Jo there was a woman inside the room who just kept spinning and spinning around. 

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Duncan Greive
— Founder

The original asylum, Building One, was built in 1865 and considered one of our finest examples of Victorian architecture. Paranormal New Zealand has a long and horrifying list on its website of “unusual activity” it claims people have experienced there, including keys clanging, radios changing station by themselves, weird scratching, a paintbrush flying across the room and people being pushed on the stairs. 

By the 20th century, the asylum had endured two fires, a typhoid outbreak and even murder by pitchfork. As attitudes changed, it became a mental hospital then a psychiatric facility, renaming itself an incredible six times. “Lunatics” became “inmates” then “patients” then “clients”. And throughout its history, it housed some of our most brilliant minds. 

The journalist and novelist Robin Hyde voluntarily committed herself in 1933, having survived an opiate addiction and a suicide attempt. But the only crazy thing about her seemed to be her work ethic. In four years she completed three novels, two volumes of poetry and a book on journalese, all while freelancing as a journalist. 

Janet Frame, misdiagnosed as schizophrenic and fresh from a stint at Seacliff Mental Hospital in Dunedin, turned up in 1951. In her novel Faces in the Water, she described her awful experiences with a new kind of treatment, electroconvulsive therapy.

Another celebrity patient arrived in 1961 at what was by then known as Oakley Psychiatric Hospital. The budding diva Mina Foley had suffered a mental breakdown. She checked in and didn’t walk out again for 16 years.

Foley was born Wilhelmina Maile Foley in 1930 and died 77 years later. She was the illegitimate child of James Rudling, a 22-year-old Tongan-English champion boxer and swimmer, and Ida Foley, an 18-year-old Aucklander descended from South Africans.  

Hers was a story of many Wilhelminas. It was not only her full first name, but that of both of her grandmothers, and on the South African side the name went back multiple generations. Her middle name, Maile, is Tongan for Myrtle and was also the middle name of James’s elder sister Gladys. 

James and Ida weren’t married but seem to have remained friends. Mina Foley’s family told me they have a photo of the young parents together at a function two years after Mina’s birth. The family members were unsure why James and Ida didn’t marry but speculated it could have been because of their different races, different religions (James’s father was staunchly Methodist while the Foleys were Roman Catholic), or simply the fact that they were so young. 

In any case, when Mina Foley was small, her father married another woman and her mother relocated to Australia where she married another man. Mina’s South African grandmother, also a singer, brought her up and paid for lessons in voice, cello and piano. 

In her book The Enigma of Sister Mary Leo: The Story of New Zealand’s Most Famous Singing Teacher, Margaret Lovell-Smith wrote that Mina Foley was always Leo’s favourite. But even as she “flashed like a meteor from comparative obscurity into a blaze of publicity,” per Lovell-Smith, Foley remained painfully awkward and shy.

After school, Foley worked as a physiotherapist’s nurse and would come to the convent in the evenings to train. She usually hadn’t eaten, so Sister Mary Leo would provide dinner too. Later, the nun recalled how Foley’s reticence had often made the lessons hard going. And she’d had to coach her into singing an emotional aria without bursting into tears. 

Coloratura singers like Foley were the Mariah Careys of their day, capable of hitting super high notes and performing tricky trills and runs. But it was the tone of her voice that won her so many hearts, possessing all the confidence and worldliness that she herself seemed to lack. And she was very good at making people cry. As the baritone Donald Munro put it, “It is the kind of singing that wrings one’s heart.”

By her teens, Foley was winning competitions, performing at concerts and playing pin-up to Australian soldiers bound for Korea. When she didn’t win the prestigious Melbourne Sun Aria competition, instead coming second, the Auckland Star called on her fans to stump up the funds for what would have been her prize: a passage to London for training. While there, Foley sang on the BBC, and an English family told her she shattered their best crystal. 

The Brits gave her a scholarship to study in Rome in 1951 with the retired opera star Toti Dal Monte. The first opera she taught Foley was Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, another Everest of a vocal feat. Like Norma, the Scottish aristocrat Lucia is lovelorn and homicidal, and eventually loses her grip on sanity. Foley’s teacher declared her ready for opera’s Holy Grail, La Scala. 

It all sounded impossibly glamorous. In reality, Foley was having to eke out her scholarship funds, and was hungry and exhausted. Later, she told reporters that some members of the family she’d stayed with resented her living with them and had starved her of meals. Foley collapsed and had to be treated for malnutrition. 

Then Foley found out her beloved grandmother was dying of cancer. Against everyone’s advice, she came home to Auckland. Her grandmother, who shared her name and love of music, died two weeks later at the age of 89. 



Mina Foley performed to sold-out crowds in a national tour. In Wellington, where she sang with the National Orchestra, she got a standing ovation that lasted nearly ten minutes. But poverty still followed her. She didn’t know how to say “no” to endless requests for charity concerts. Foley would walk from Herne Bay to Victoria Street for a 40 cent bowl of soup and stuff the holes in her shoes with newspaper. And she was never able to return to Europe.

In 1957, Foley won the role of Violetta in Verdi’s La Traviata, to be performed at His Majesty’s Theatre in Auckland. This time the main character, a Parisian courtesan, was lucky in love but thwarted by a family feud plus a fatal illness. While rehearsing, Foley passed out on stage, leaving her young co-star Mary O’Brien to take over. And in 1961, she had a breakdown so severe she stayed silent for nearly two decades. 

Because no one would let us, Jo and I were desperate to visit the basement underneath Building One, to which only a few staff members had access. To our surprise, one day in 2016, our wish was granted and we won an afternoon in the creepiest place imaginable.  

Lena Corlett was then Unitec’s timetabling scheduler, who’d performed blessings and tapu-lifting ceremonies on the site. She met us in the foyer then led us down a well-worn concrete stairwell towards a cramped, dungeon-like space containing a tiny, windowless cell. 

Corlett didn’t hold back on what she suspected had gone on down there in Victorian times, namely torture, rape and murder. “A lot of bad things happened in this room,” she told us. “A lot of bad feelings were felt here.” She felt Jo and I had been sent down there for a reason, which only freaked us out even more. 

But when we met the facilities manager Frank Webb, who’d worked there for three decades, we got an entirely different take on things. He’d heard all the ghost stories but put them down to old pipes and wind blowing through windows that hadn’t shut properly in years. Not that he wasn’t poetic about it. “Sometimes it’s like the building sings,” Webb said. 

By the 1960s, when Mina Foley arrived, the asylum was a long-ago memory. But as mental health inquiries uncovered later in the 20th century, mistreatment and cover-ups continued. Patients at Oakley alleged that in the 60s and 70s they’d been sexually assaulted and beaten, locked in solitary confinement for long periods and punished with electric-shock therapy and drug injections. 

Whether Foley experienced any of this cruelty, I couldn’t say. Glimpses of her during this period were frustratingly scarce. 

I did learn that my aunt Margaret, a Point Chevalier piano teacher, would see Foley at the shops at a time that certainly sounds like the 1960s, since Foley was allegedly sporting a massive beehive and bright red lipstick. 

And in Bertie Plaatsman’s documentary Building One, the artist Lauren Lysaght, a former patient at Oakley, recalls peeling potatoes with a woman who barely spoke but had a beautiful singing voice. Later she learned the woman had stabbed someone. 

In recent years, heritage lovers lost their fight to save Building One, a Category 1 heritage-protected building, and work has begun to demolish it to make way for hundreds of new homes. Lena Corlett considered it a happy ending. “From my perspective, the building being torn down, because I love the architecture, it will be sad,” she said. “But for the patients, it will be an absolute happy moment for them.”

When Mina Foley finally left Oakley, it was the late 1970s, and the coloratura style was falling out of fashion. But when she announced a comeback concert, Aucklanders rushed out to buy tickets. A large profile by Susan Maxwell in the NZ Herald that year gifted us a rare treasure: Foley speaking in her own words. 

By then, nearly 50 and living in a state flat, Foley was working for a government department. Maxwell noted that she seemed just as “unworldly and hesitant” as she had as a teenager, but could at least now accept a compliment, albeit with a blush. 

In the profile, Foley said her name for friends who’d stood by her during her illness was “golden leaves”.  The ones who’d vanished were “autumn leaves”. The year being 1979, there was of course no talk of Oakley and definitely none of mental illness. In its place were euphemistic hints at Foley’s “bad luck” and the time “before her world folded up”. 

Foley told Maxwell she’d sung recognisable tunes back when she was still in a cradle. “They told me if they hummed a tune I would sing it right back.” About the La Scala debut that never was, she said, “La Scala? I’ve always loved New Zealand.” And she put a positive spin on whatever it was that made her go away. “I have something now in my life I could never have achieved in years of singing. Sincerity. Love of God.” 

Foley’s comeback show was a wild success. She sang 16 songs and arias and brought a ballroom full of fans to their feet (and yes, my aunt can confirm they were all weeping). Reviewers wrote that her crystal-clear, bell-like top notes were still very much intact. But pretty soon, Foley became unwell and disappeared again. 

In the mid-1980s, the singer Michael Tarawhiti McGifford met Foley at a dinner party. After convincing her to sing, he was so impressed he asked her to join him on tour. And it was a pretty big tour. On the sly, McGifford sent tapes of her singing to his managers in the US, who secured gigs for them both at the Lincoln Centre in New York and the Kennedy Centre in Washington. 

In an article in Women’s Weekly, McGifford empathised with Foley’s struggles as a singer abroad, describing it as “a rough and lonely life”. “If you are not in the public eye,” he said, “no one wants to know you. When you’re down, no one cares who you are.” Now, there was “an exciting life ahead of her and it is well overdue”. But the pair never made it to their tour because, once again, Foley fell ill. And that was the last of the comebacks. 

After a lengthy obsession, I was still unsure exactly what “ill” meant when it came to Mina Foley. Had she been mentally unwell, or was she just too nervous or too sweet or too talented? Were any of the crazy rumours about her even halfway true? 

But I did find out why Foley was still such a powerful singer, despite being out of sight and earshot for so long. Above all others, Sister Mary Leo was Foley’s golden leaf. The patron saint of New Zealand opera singing, tiny musical genius and woman Foley called a “little mother” had never stopped training her, not even during her long spell at Oakley.  

Thanks to Jo Smith, genealogist Christine Liava’a and Mina Foley’s family member Hadley Bensen for helping me piece together (some of) her story. 

First published March 10, 2024.