Monday, February 1, 2010
I have never seen so many black t-shirts in Wellington in my six years here. And we’re notorious for wearing black down in the capital. There was an interesting crossover in Wellies this weekend with two nights of bogan-flavoured mayhem brought on by AC/DC fans mixed in with the fashionistas that exited the city for the Wellington Cup.
Upper Hutt is not usually synonymous with fashion, but we all flocked out there on Saturday for some style and racing action. And I’m not saying that all the bogans that flooded the city came from the Hutt/Wainui way, but I’m surprised that there wasn’t more conflict at the train station as the two groups passed eachother.
What I especially enjoyed over the Black Ice weekend was the bogan combo deal. Not just groups of friends bonding in black, but the father-son combo was common (and hilarious), but an even greater find were the black-clad, bleach-blonded and be-mulleted families roaming the streets in search of a bourbon and coke (so I stereotypically assume). It was great!
I particularly enjoyed one comment made by a visiting bogan to a contributor, which was: “Wellington is stink. I said hello to these people on the street and they didn’t say hello back.” Well, my bogan friend, I hate to say it, but even here in the big city (probably even more so, in fact) people generally don’t talk to random mullets on the street just because you say hello to them. They’re more likely to think you’re a) drunk, b) ignorant out-of-towner who doesn’t deserve a fleeting moment’s attention, c) about to ask them for something or d) mentally impaired.
Don’t be offended, we just know an outsider when we see one. Chur.