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Illustration: Toby Morris
Illustration: Toby Morris

SocietyJanuary 7, 2021

A short history of the New Zealand jersey

Illustration: Toby Morris
Illustration: Toby Morris

Summer reissue: From the highs (Ralph Hotere’s turtleneck), to the lows (Bain), the jersey is as much a part of this place as the jandal or the Swanndri, but it resists such easy nostalgia, writes John Summers. 

First published May 31, 2020.

Whenever it comes time to lure tourists back to our shores again, we really must work on our slogan. Forget hobbits or 100% pure, it should be something honest, simple, practical. It should be “bring a jersey”.

Not only does this embody those qualities but it is also about jerseys, an item of clothing that is inescapable in most regions of this country. I don’t believe it’s by chance that New Zealand is home to the world’s largest jersey, which was displayed for a time at a knitwear store in Geraldine (I have no explanation for why the same store also had on show an exact replica of the Bayeux Tapestry made from knitting machine parts). After all, our climate punishes complacency. For at least six months of the year, only a fool leaves the house without a warm layer. Our economy, that other great, uncontrollable force, is to blame, too, with its reliance for so long on sheep. 

Even the word jersey itself has a meaning particular to this place. Elsewhere they talk of sweaters, of jumpers. Jersey in other countries tends to be used exclusively for the top you wear to play basketball or ice hockey, not something you pull on when it’s getting nippy out. I think we could go one further too, and argue that jersey isn’t an exact translation for sweater or jumper, but tends to mean some plain and rumpled thing, best stored balled up and stuffed into a bag or flung onto the backseat of the car. It should fit at the elbows and at the chest maybe but only there – it is essential that parts sag, the neck gaps, the belly is stretched. Maybe there is a hole, the result of a cigarette or of walking carelessly past chicken wire. Maybe it’s not like this at all, but in some way it is, too: a garment that gets worn. 

There is a small industry in histories of things in this country. Over the years, we have produced a history of New Zealand cafes, of sheep, of skateboarding. I have to say that I was a little sneering of these books a while back. It blew my mind that someone wrote a history of New Zealand kitchens. I imagined a chapter: “The Formica Years”. But I have since come around, and now realise these topics provide the lens or the angle, an insight only, and the real story is us, who we are played out through hot drinks or countertops.

And so I have come to hope and expect a history of New Zealand jerseys will be produced some time soon, a book that would chart progress from the heavy, dull-coloured things of the colonial era through to the garish batwing creations of the 80s and the thin, merino sheaths that became part of the business casual uniform in more recent years. Already this history exists if you train your eyes. Most attempts at documenting our lives wind up documenting our jerseys too. The works of those two masters of photography, Ans Westra and Marti Friedlander, include many wool-clad New Zealanders. 

Edmund Hillary sporting a lovely jersey on the Everest expedition in 1953. (Photo: George Lowe/Royal Geographical Society via Getty Images)

If there is then a history of jerseys (the usual milestones represented: Hillary and Tenzing relaxing, post Everest, Tenzing impossibly dapper in a silk cravat, Hillary submerged in wool), there is also an art history of jerseys. One of the most frequently used photographs of Colin McCahon is of a sombre man, staring with dark eyes into the camera while wearing a jersey composed of perfect squares of black and white: a contrast of light and dark, day and night, life and death, nothingness and creation. They say his painting is good too. On this theme, see also the images of a young Ralph Hotere emanating a sort of Miles Davis cool: slim, feline almost, in a fine black turtleneck. His work, his jersey concerned with the colour black, a subsuming black, subsuming, in this case, the neck. 

Ralph Hotere in the 1974 Sam Pillsbury-directed National Film Unit documentary ‘Ralph Hotere’

These are high points. The jersey belongs with our low moments too. Inevitably I must turn to Bain. That story has had its hold on us for 30 years now with its mystery and its sudden and gruesome unveiling of a particular vein of New Zealand life: the family turned disastrously inward, bookishness and god-bothering giving way to resentment and violence. An aberration in the way we like to see ourselves, symbolised then by the aberrant jersey, David’s strangely patterned jerseys (his own design, it was revealed during the retrial) becoming a kind of shorthand for the whole sad saga. 

And yet, as much as it is a part of this place, the jersey is never found in the usual catalogue of Kiwiana. A good thing too. It is more important than that, cannot be reduced to a simple, cheery symbol – there is no single type of jersey as instantly recognisable as the buzzy bee or the checkered print of a Swanndri (I insist the latter is a separate entity, related, yes, but different still). It resists such easy nostalgia. We’re wearing them too often, and not, as is the case with jandals, during the happy days of summer.

The jersey is everywhere and it is varied, it changes with the seasons and the fashions, it is adapted and altered, and all the while something essential remains: a need, a part of life, a way of life. Thinking of my own 37 years, I think of jerseys worn inside cold flats. I think of jerseys worn outside, while tramping, in the shade of the bush. I think of itchy jerseys worn as a child to church. I think of school days and uniform jerseys. I think of late summer parties in backyards, the warmth of the day disappearing. I think of jerseys. 

Independent journalism depends on you. Help us stay curious in 2021. The Spinoff’s journalism is funded by its members – click here to learn more about how you can support us from as little as $1.

 

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a rack of multicoloured clothing
Huge amounts of clothing come fromsomewhere (Photo: Getty Images)

MoneyJanuary 6, 2021

How to op shop – the beginner’s guide to finding a bargain gem

a rack of multicoloured clothing
Huge amounts of clothing come fromsomewhere (Photo: Getty Images)

Summer reissue: Buying secondhand clothing is one of the best ways to refresh a wardrobe without spending wads of money or contributing to the wasteful fast fashion industry. But there’s a fine art to finding pieces that are worth your time.

First published August 2, 2020

I’ve never been hunting but I imagine, in a lot of ways, it’s similar to shopping for secondhand clothing. Preparation is key because it can get wild out there. Sometimes you leave with nothing to show for a whole day’s worth of shopping, while other days you get lucky, snagging beauties wherever you look. 

Unfortunately, just the mention of a pair of pants that have already been worn-in is enough to freak some people out. The musty smell of a warehouse filled with clothing that may or may not have been washed before being thrown in the clothing bin takes some getting used to. And if you’re impatient and looking for a specific thing, chances are you’re not going to find it on your first visit.

But there’s a particular sense of pride and accomplishment that comes with finding something you’ve been looking for without resorting to buying new.

Two years ago, I almost bought a brand new pair of brown flare corduroy pants because I saw Lily McManus wearing them. I added them to my cart on about four separate occasions and then exited from the website every time, convincing myself that I didn’t need my 70s dream pants. But about a year and a half later – an hour into scouring the racks at Save Mart, New Lynn – I laid my eyes on a pair of forest green flared cord pants in my size, and knew they were mine. 

So for anyone wanting to reduce their carbon footprint, save a bit of money or simply find some unique pieces of clothing, here are some tips to make the journey into the depths of used clothing easier.

Start small

It might be tempting to dive right into one of the large warehouse op shops like Save Mart, but if you’re new to the game, it’s a lot easier to take on a smaller one. Try your local Salvation Army or Red Cross store: these stores are often much better curated without having the price tags that some of the high-end and designer op shops charge.

Take your time

If you really want to find some gems for your wardrobe, the best thing to do is to take your time. Remember: no section is off-limits. Quite often, things get put in the wrong places in an op shop – I once found a pair of unworn women’s gym leggings with tags still attached in the children’s section. So if you can be bothered, don’t be afraid to veer into unknown territory.

Stains aren’t always forever

Often clothing with stains will be heavily discounted because neither the shop workers nor the person who donated in the first place can be bothered sudsing it up with a bit of Sard. So if you find something you like but there’s something smudged on the collar, there’s a good chance you’ll be able to clean it off. 

Be open-minded

If you’re looking for a specific pair of jeans in a specific wash and cut and you need to have them right away, op shopping probably isn’t for you. But if you’re willing to compromise, chances are you’ll be able to find something to fit your needs. Sometimes it just takes a bit of looking around.

Try online

If spending hours in a musty store isn’t really your vibe, there are plenty of websites now specialising in secondhand clothing, from Trade Me to Designer Wardrobe and even Facebook Marketplace. Before you buy new, check these places first – you might find exactly what you’re after for a lot less, and in most cases, you’ll be doing a favour for the planet by not buying new.

One man’s old rugby jersey is another’s vintage staple (Photo: Getty Images)

Fashion is one of the most polluting industries in the world, and with fast fashion brands selling products for cheaper than ever before, there’s less motive than ever for people to take care of their clothing. If a $5 tee lasts more than one wear, it’s seen as a bargain despite the horrible conditions suffered by the workers who made it and the environmental toll it has on this planet It’s estimated only 12% of the textiles produced each year are given a second life through donation and secondhand clothing stores, and clothing waste accounts for 4% of all waste in New Zealand landfills.

While finding a secondhand pair of pants that sits exactly where you like on the waist for $5 is truly unique, it’s important to keep in mind that for some, thrifting isn’t a choice but a necessity. Currently, “upcycling” and “thrift-flipping” is all the rage, and it is a good way to re-use old clothing, but there are also some issues with the trend. Buying up a bunch of oversized clothes in good condition just so you can crop, hem and tailor them to fit could be taking away from someone who relies on secondhand clothes. So be mindful of those who may need a new jumper for their size 14 body before you buy all the size 14 jumpers for your size 6 frame.

And if you’re donating clothing, be mindful of the people who have to go through the bins to sort it all out. Wash everything, clean off the dirt that’s caked onto your old work boots and don’t donate things that aren’t usable – that’s not a donation, that’s just extra work for the people on the other end. 

There’s no shame in buying secondhand clothing. Trends are cyclical and many of the ones coming around in fast fashion stores now are still styles that have been sitting unloved on op shop shelves years. 

Op shopping is one of my favourite ways to spend a day and refresh my closet without spending too much money. It also makes me feel better that I’m giving old clothing another go at life and using my money to send a message to companies that supporting fast fashion is a thing of my past.

Independent journalism depends on you. Help us stay curious in 2021.  The Spinoff’s journalism is funded by its members – click here to learn more about how you can support us from as little as $1.