My makeup is my mood-ring, and this morning my brushes were drawn to more lurid colours. Reminiscent of a poisonous frog, lime green and purplish blacks. Stay away, it says, or maybe to the more exciting, talk to me.

My warning didn’t ward off strange interactions – today, a young person looked at me glittery-eyed.

“You look like a little piece of Wellington,” they said. And to finish, “there’s nothing like it here in Auckland, except for you!” I smile because I feel I must, a thank you passes my lips. 

Is there a lack of interesting in Auckland? TikTok’s been warning of an anti-alternative, anti-fun city. Bullying and ostracisation for wearing something not from Glassons. A strange wasteland of individuality, rinse and repeat.

Story after story of feeling like Tāmaki Makaurau stifles the strange, that you lose all sense of self and become part of the machine. Does this sound familiar to you? My social media, my acquaintances and friends. Now a customer tells me, in a roundabout way, that I just don’t fit in here. I keep being told this as fact, yet I don’t feel it. 

Admittedly I live in a cool person bubble, working on one of the most individualistic streets in Auckland Central and lived in Ponsonby/Grey Lynn for most of my adult life. I see unique people daily, at my cafes, at my gigs. On the street in a drive by ‘love your outfit!’ I now live in West Auckland and am more aware of the fact that I am not part of the norm, yet I don’t feel like I am alone.

I did get bullied for a short but memorable time at the age of 15, my ungainly undercut with too little hair to cover the stubble and bitchy teen attitude; character building and the like. As an adult I do get snide and well-meaning but no less hurtful remarks, an accusation of emo from a uniform clad preteen (being told I look like Wednesday is the newest hot-take, thanks Jenna Ortega). “I don’t know how you have the confidence to wear that”, roll eyes, smile.

After I graduated, I kept being asked if I’d move to Wellington, to be with people more like me. That there is a drought of individuals, that Aucklanders live en-masse, puffer jackets and flat whites. That surely my artistic career would flounder, and I’d feel isolated. That Auckland is just not for people like me, not like Pōneke.

I like Wellington. Visiting family, settled high on its steep streets. A bird’s eye view at the colourful dots below. Are these my people? The smiley faces on Cuba Street, my mistake in packing an umbrella and not a raincoat. Wellington benefits from its size and university in the city creating an influx of younger people who often have more visually different aesthetics, before the crush of a career that stifles (not always, but it’s sadly still the standard) and a seemingly more liberal population. Which I would pin to the heightened political affiliation visually and conversationally; I saw more Tino rangatiratanga flags and political emblems during the three days I spent in Poneke than my walks through Auckland CBD in the 24 years I’ve lived here.   

Sure, I do see more people like me on my walk. But we need to remember Wellington is just so much more condensed. With 444 km² compared to Auckland’s 1,086 km², of course I'm going to see more people in this little area; I’m in Wellington's beating heart. 

Compared to Auckland and its sprawling suburbs and a city that is becoming quieter and quieter, I’m finding my people not on Queen Street but on Karangahape and in the Academy Cinema for $5 Wednesdays. Burnt Butter in New Lynn and Blue on Franklin, and the areas that orbit it. Strange places with strange people, people like me. 

I wonder sometimes if the people complaining are people that don’t experience life. I fell into this trap in my pre-Covid socialisation, awkward and too sick to be outside for long. The post-Covid cancellation of anything and everything, the fact that it’s still holding many back. You need to push yourself to find your people, my mum used to tell me Prince Charming isn’t going to crawl through my window. A statement that reflects on more than just romantic connection: community is found through trial and error. 

Don’t think you’ve sussed it out because everyone looks interesting – they might be losers in disguise, because someone looking like you doesn’t mean they share your values, a lesson learnt harshly by many. Cool is a title that often forgets the moral fibre.   

Community is forged through trial and error, not easy access. Subculture gets the sub title for a reason. Cool people are everywhere. The dark coffee shop that intimidates you. The clothing store with the yellow front, broken teeth on the side of the street, wrinkled hands with opalescent polish. Places you don’t expect, people you don’t either. If you diminish cool to visuals, you lose out on the truly cool people.