The Great Party Round Up

Words by Bridget Scott (she/her)

Parties are tricky beasts. Everyone has a different dynamic, success criteria, and challenges. Chill flat drinks? Focus on the playlist! All night rager? Avoid getting noise-controlled at 10:30 p.m.! Luckily, c*vid restrictions have lifted, the memory of “attending classes” has almost been banished, and it’s time for a drink. 

Despite a strong respect for the culture, I’m no breather. I did, however, spend 2014 listening to Pure Heroine, envisioning a future where I joined the ranks of mysterious hot girls, and sagely observed parties at a distance. A mere eight years later, September bought a list of 22nd birthday invites from my Libra mates (classic Aquarius) and a long-repressed desire to hit the town in search of a great party. 

Karaoke Party 

The host prepared a bucket of sangria (perfect party drink) and invited approximately 20 people over for Spotify karaoke. The space in question was small, but allowed the audience to bond over some truly stunning performances. I’ll never listen to Cher’s ‘Believe’ the same way again. Snacks were passed around, the mood was high, and crowd participation was off the charts. Wellington's pretentious music sensibility meant everything from Bowie deep cuts to the H20: Just Add Water theme song resonated strongly.

Be warned that replicating this event could be a challenge for the novice party thrower. Encouraging friends to sing requires a high trust environment and copious amounts of alcohol. The intimate gathering meant no one was able to hide and the long weekend allowed a relaxed approach to day drinking (thank u queen Lizzy xx). 

Karaoke also requires leadership. Without someone to grab the mike, sing that first song, and break the ice, the afternoon could easily have deteriorated into a stilted hangout with awkwardly-loud background music. God bless the characters among us. The gays, the choir bros, and the kapa haka performers came ready to play. With powerful voices and charisma in spades, the rest of us were stoked just to be tagging along. 

If your mates are game and willing, this is an outstanding party option for the intimate but extroverted friend group. 

Cottagecore Potluck Picnic

Sometimes the cure to all that ails you is an outdoor picnic with a couple dozen of your flatmate’s closest friends. Every flat needs a cottagecore bisexual, and ours was ready for her big moment. Blankets were gathered from each corner of the house, flowers in vases were borrowed from the Botanic gardens, and jugs of mimosa were prepared. 

Potlucks live and die on the buy-in of the collective. If people fail to make a contribution or default to bags of chips, the vibe never recovers. A strong theme combined with birthday celebration guilt combatted this effectively, and quality food was abundant. Highlights included pink buns, homemade hummus, and spring rolls. Special shout out to Sally’s Baking Addiction for the no-fail lemon cake recipe, complete with homemade lemon curd, cream cheese, and cream icing. Light, citrussy, and summery.

Summer was its own guest on the day. With glorious blue skies, the rare absence of wind, and sunshine warm enough to give my paper-white back its first sunburn of the season, better conditions couldn’t have been manufactured. The gorgeous, gorgeous girlies were dressed accordingly, and sundresses were out in force. My trend report from the front lines is that your grandma’s bucket hat matched with florals is the perfect look this spring. 

While not the most raucous event, lying in the sun and being slightly tipsy is an ideal party for finding your zen among friends. May Wellington’s weather be ever in your favour. 

Neighbourhood Drinks x Local Govt Campaign Event 

The only thing better than parties with your closest mates is an event with people you’ve literally never spoken to before in your life. When an invitation to a neighbourhood wine and cheese featuring special guest Andy Foster arrived in the mailbox, it was an offer too good to refuse. 

Living in Kelburn is incredible because my shitty, uninsulated flat is surrounded by multimillion dollar properties. They are occupied by those with long, storied careers and proper art collections, whilst our flat prefers to rely on concert posters we stole off the street for decoration. 

Crossing the threshold of an adult house was like entering a boujee, old-money Narnia. We were greeted at the front door by an elephant statue and our host's husband shaking the hand of each individual. The room was packed with upwards of 100 people, so we headed straight to the table where the host's grandchild was being forced to pour drinks for strangers. Red wine and orange juice so good it could only be from Moore Wilson’s in hand, we gamely began a practice that can only be described as mingling. 

This immediately took a rough turn when a random old man forcefully grabbed my arm and hissed at me for having my hands in my pockets. What the fuck dude! Attempts to chat to another about tramping experiences fell flat after it was revealed his Routeburn-branded jacket was from 20 years ago. 

Eventually, we hit the jackpot. We found the besties behind the whole event: Barbara and Suzanne. They ran a similar event for Tamatha Paul in 2019, so for them, the event was more about community than politics. I believed them until Barbara dropped a bombshell. She had only distributed her allocation of invitations to a select group on her street: homeowners. 

When asked why, she talked about the need for consistency and knowing people, before getting distracted with gossip. You didn’t hear this from me but James Cameron, Avatar director,  lived on Barbara’s street until his family decided they were plebs and, in Barbara’s words, “went and built a big fuck-off bunker on Oriental Bay.”

At this point, we were interrupted by the inevitable speech from Andy Foster. He was shorter than I expected, and while the crowd of boomers absolutely frothed him, this signalled the end of our foray into neighbourhood bonding. 

Live Music 

When talking to people does nothing but reveal horrors of the human condition, the best party is among a faceless crowd. The Beths’ show at the Opera House really delivered. Hot off releasing their new album Expert in a Dying Field and playing their first New Zealand gig in a while, this was the perfect chance to simply be part of the vibes. 

After two songs, it became evident that remaining seated was not going to work. The crowd took to their feet at lead singer Liz Stokes’ invitation. My sincere apologies to everyone who remained seated and lost their view. Upon reaching the front, I was somehow even closer to the action than at other venues like San Fran. The band was clearly stoked with the evening. The overall energy was electric, with lead guitarist Jonathan Pearce giving a special shout out to those in the dress circle risking life and limb for a good show. 

Pouring out onto Courtenay Place afterwards, we needed more. After refuelling at Midnight Espresso, we headed to Rogue and Vagabond. Rumour has it that funk is returning in a big way, and the band of the evening, The Phresh Moves, might have made it so. Highlights included the trumpet player who periodically emerged from the bar, wandered onto the stage, slayed, and then sank back into the shadows to enjoy his beer. 

It was a high-energy evening, soothing my soul with live music while setting my step tracker alight with the boogie. Unfortunately every rose has its thorn, and my 4 a.m. tinnitus soon informed me it was time to start wearing earplugs out on the town. Nevertheless, we persist. 

Parties are an integral part of the student experience. Embracing our silly, goofy moods and seeing where the night goes is what makes all the other early-20s bullshit worth it. Upon escaping the repetitive flat scenes and the same three tolerable clubs (Circus, Ivy, Dakota), there’s a whole range of adventures to be had. It is possible to learn too much about your neighbours’ political reckons, but there’s never enough quality time spent with friends.