After a decade working as fashion and creative director for Viva, the New Zealand Herald’s fashion and lifestyle brand, Dan Ahwa surveys the landscape of lifestyle media today.

Last month I left my job as a ‘premium lifestyle journalist’ at the New Zealand Herald. Over the years, I specialised in stories on the business of fashion, culture and luxury, extending my remit well beyond that of a traditional fashion editor; acting as a brand champion and working across marketing, partnerships and more.

My decision to leave was compounded by another round of restructures announced in January, the third in five years (this time, I chose to take voluntary redundancy, alongside a number of other colleagues). But mostly, it was a desire to wrap up 10 years in a tidy bow.

If I stayed any longer, I feared I’d become too institutionalised, that my passion for promoting a genuinely diverse and progressive space would slowly dull into complacency and indifference.

The decision was made easier when it was announced billionaire Jim Grenon had taken a 9.3% stake in the Herald’s parent company NZME for just over $9 million, with plans to overhaul the board that left some in the newsroom pondering what kind of editorial control the board might eventually have. (Editor's note: on Friday, ex-National minister Steven Joyce was backed by Grenon and the board to be the new chair of NZME).

I’d also grown disillusioned with mainstream news media and its constant navel-gazing. But, like many other journalists weary after endless restructures and management driven pivots, I still felt passionate about the kind of quality journalism now being cannibalised in the chase for cheap clicks.

The recent announcement of Australia’s InStyle print magazine closing in its current format, after returning in 2022 under the editorship of Justine Cullen, has parallels, especially within mass lifestyle media. Stories, shoots and covers that intelligently explore the cultural barometer of the times and lead the conversation both online and in real life now feel like a secondary consideration, replaced by the growing demand for mainstream magazines’ digital platforms to serve as empty vessels for advertisers.

So after years of working to relentless deadlines – and more recently trying to deliver content based on data – I removed myself from that hustle culture and returned to a way of working, creating and supporting that feels more sustainable, and true to who I am.

Working life has become a lot more unpredictable. Dream jobs don’t exist, and even if they did, does any of that matter anymore? A younger generation coming through seems non-plussed about traditional markers of career and ambition, and I don’t blame them.

We’ve segued from WFH life of 2020 to a fast-paced digital marketing and AI-driven society that has redefined how we consume media and process and gather information. At times I don’t know if what I am looking at or reading is even real.

What is real are the life lessons I’ve learnt over those 10+ years as a fashion editor in the most traditional sense – human experiences that go beyond technology, like basic empathy and discernment.

Be kind to everyone on set.

Reply to emails promptly.

Do your research.

Always say hello to the host at the event.

Have interests outside of fashion, but find the people who you can nerd out with in DMs or IRL. 

Be concise and clear when writing about clothes – don’t waft or fall into fashion writing that is either vague or pretentious (or both).

If you don’t like something, don’t feature it. 

Be aware of what the competition is doing, but don’t obsess about it.

Be tactful when including an advertiser, but don’t obsess about it.

Collect data and supermarket scans (magazine speak for actual number of sales), but don’t obsess about it.

If the numbers don’t add up in a media kit, they probably made it up – that’s not your problem.

People that earn more money than you in the building still can’t afford a sense of style – that’s not your problem.

Many journalists just like to say the word ‘yarn’ unironically – that’s not your problem.

Some people are actually just racist and don’t realise it – that’s not your problem.

Let it go. Say no more than you say yes. If you don’t have a point of view, don’t bother. 

There is never any budget and there never will be.

Share the gifts you get sent with other people in your life who aren’t as lucky.

You don’t have to mine your personal life all the time for ‘yarns’.

The most important people in the building are (if they haven't been replaced by robots by this point) the receptionists, security guards and the mailroom team.

Take the sick days. Have some self-respect. Protect your mana.

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On my last day, I cleared my desk and said farewell to the small team of people I genuinely cared about in the building. The other thing on my to-do list was to say goodbye to what was likely one of the last fashion cupboards, or ‘lock-ups’, in New Zealand. I’d emailed the office manager about borrowing her vacuum, to hoover up the last vestiges of the glory days from the floor, if only to have one last ceremonial act of goodbye.

For years our team had fought to keep the lock-up on level 1 of NZME as a working space to manage the flow of samples and product for shoots, and generate ideas about the magazine’s visual identity – essential for a brand like Viva, and the visual age we live in.

Closing that door for the final time also felt like closing the door on an era when the magazine nearly matched the size of the main paper it sat within, stewarded by a specialised team who brought both editorial care and commercial impact to every page, story and social post.

Its new format will see separate print teams filling those thinner pages with digital content, standardised fonts, automated design templates and supplied imagery. Despite the dramatic shift, I have faith in many of the talented people still there to do the best they can with it. But now is the time for me to also close the door on those memories and not get too nostalgic.

That is another lesson I’d offer to the next generation of writers and stylists looking to work within the local industry, whether it’s for a publication or their own platforms: respect the past and what has come before, but it's best to keep things moving. The day I handed in my notice, I quickly made plans to focus on what I wanted to do next.

I wasn’t prepared for the scale of messages of support I received on my last day and in the weeks that followed; reminders that there is life beyond a job that had shaped so much of my identity.

One stylist DM’d me: “Congratulations on lasting the longest of all the old school fashion editors! Best wishes for your future endeavours!” It brought into stark focus how much the industry had changed over the past decade.

I put my longevity down to never thinking that I was the most important person in the room. I don’t claim to know everything, and the best editors I know are those who surround themselves with people who challenge them constructively.

The relationship between mentor and mentee means a great deal to me too, and has allowed me to learn from emerging creatives as much I have from seasoned stalwarts. That is something I’ll continue to champion in this period of change.

Being part of the advisory board of New Zealand Fashion Week Kahuria this year was one opportunity for me to not become the jaded hack in the corner of the room, pining after the ‘good old days’. I came up in the industry with those people, and they taught me to never end up like that. The only way to evolve is to constantly embrace what’s next, and not be bitter about change.

Catching up with designers and others in the local fashion industry recently has helped me take stock of just how much has shifted. A recent conversation with designer Kiri Nathan has stayed with me too: when discussing the work of the emerging creatives behind the brilliant underground fashion week Te Wiki Āhua o Aotearoa in March, we both agreed that what made it special was its pure honesty.

In a time when we’re inundated with so much content that feels disingenuous, a parade of sponsored style and stories and creativity based on what digital marketing teams or data analysts deem worthy, being true to yourself and your taste is more essential than ever. The focus on supporting independent media – and brands and events – is a much more sustainable way of protecting the creativity and perspectives that allow our industries to flourish.

I haven’t left fashion, but I have left a job that for 10+ years, gave me the freedom to shape it on my own terms. For that, I’ll always be grateful. Ultimately, the most valuable lesson from that chapter is that no matter what you’re creating, honesty will always cut through the noise.