Aug 6, 2025 Schools
It’s just gone 8am and Karangahape Rd is awash with gold light and girls. The school day starts in just under an hour, and a fleet of black leather Nike Air Force 1s is converging at the intersection as Auckland Girls’ Grammar students make their way to Howe St. There’s a smattering of Roman sandals for those braving the winter chill. Some feet head in the opposite direction first, to the bakeries and service stations, amid the morning commuters and Karangahape Rd locals. The people on the street form an eclectic milieu, and among it all, the girls are eclectic, too; the school’s catchment zone goes as far as Coxs Bay, Sandringham and Parnell, and all spokes lead to AGGS. Its urban location puts the students in the thick of things, exposed to more sides of Auckland than those who attend schools in other, quieter suburbs. An onlooker — that’s me — can sense the freedom.
The students navigate the landscape of the strip without batting an eyelid, engrossed instead in adolescent chatter and the intense friendships forged by high school. A murmuration of girlhood, made up of individual young people in the throes of finding out who they are and where they’re going. How do you express yourself within the boundaries of a uniform?
There’s an elastic boundary between authority and self-expression, as teenagers soon discover. Adolescence* is a time to brush up against it, seeing how much give and bend there is, before the powers that be say enough is enough. Gold hoop earrings glint on lobes in the sun. Framing them is clean, fresh morning hair, yet to show signs of bored hands or physical exertion. Some students wear theirs neat and trimmed with ribbons, the careful braids suggesting family effort over a cup of tea. For others, it hangs long and loose — hair looks especially free when it’s floating around a teenage girl — and I wonder if they’re allowed this style, or if this is a little pre-bell rebellion. Consulting the school rules, however, I note the dictates around hair are scant, only that it “must be tidy and natural in colour”. Hijabs may be black or blue.
Scarves of the knitted variety are common, wrapped around necks two, three times. Most girls favour the long uniform skirts — though a handful choose trousers, pairing them with school ties. Those are popular with everyone. The way to wear them is as loose as possible, and the effect is one of adolescent nonchalance and, in the case of one girl, subtle rebellion: her tie sits defiantly on top of her v-necked jumper.
Bags, intentionally or otherwise, are also prime real estate for identity markers. Rugby headgear dangles from bag straps, bouncing across the crossing as the pedestrian light flicks to green. Bags are a vehicle for novelties, too, and tchotchkes abound: key chains, fluffy toys and those cute plush elf/troll figures from Labubu. In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a craze for these collectibles sweeping the city, and they’ve got considerable cachet among those who care.
When you’re a teenager every detail matters. Grown-ups — especially those of us who write about this kind of thing professionally — talk ad nauseam about semiotics and style codes, but no one’s more fluent in the discipline than teenagers. When uniformity shrinks the parameters for self-expression, the nuances of dress become razor sharp. Even simple choices have great significance when there are rules to work around. The right school shoes, the coolest bag — these and other trends change at a speed that gives caregivers a headache and a reason to visit Sylvia Park.
Not at the mall but at the Central City Library (on a school trip) is a throng of students from Westlake Boys High School. How long is their leash? They swagger out the front, wearing festively striped blazers and the flush of youth; shirts are haphazardly tucked and ties are rakish. On their feet are Vans, Birkenstocks and loafers, while up top the group sprouts crops of broccoli hair. They’re teenage-y teenagers (the best kind) and I hope they don’t get in trouble from this story.
I try to look cool, too — nonchalant, and not like a narc. After lurking outside many high schools to report this piece, I feel confident saying that Auckland’s backpack du jour is by Nike, emblazoned with the brand name and that famous swoosh, large and diagonal, in white on black. There are plenty on Richmond Rd, as the boys of St Paul’s College mingle before the school day, tucking into steaming pies outside Busy Oven Bakery. It’s nine degrees and they’re rugged up for autumn, though the fashion here is for scarves to be folded in half and slung around the neck untied, quite literally detached, channelling exactly that attitude. Adding to the cool factor is how the young men wear their backpacks — we’re probably overdue for some panicky service journalism about the dangers school bags pose to developing bodies — and here they’re slung as low as possible, with both straps on the shoulders (single strapping appears to be out of favour with the young). The brands are Jansport, some Adidas and the requisite Nike, all adorned with carabiners and sports shoe bags. Socks are low, too, knee-highs shoved down to the ankles atop the compulsory lace-up dress shoes. Ties are also mandatory, worn tidy like the hair, with neat edges and short sides (but no shorter than a number two, mind you). The boys show flair with carefully trimmed micro-fringes, and the odd plait makes an appearance, though rat tails, horse tails and “burst fades” are deemed “extreme” by the school authorities and outlawed.
The styles are permitted at Western Springs College, however, where students enjoy heady levels of freedom when it comes to appearance. The school describes its no-uniform policy as “freedom from conformity”, and when presented like that, it sounds like a bohemian idyll. In practice, it means comfort and uniformity of a different kind. Hoodie after hoodie spills out on to Motions Rd once the afternoon bell goes. Pants are big across the board — loose jeans, jorts and trackpants. There are even loose pyjama bottoms cheerfully decorated with Hello Kitties and slices of pizza. Waistbands are low and you wouldn’t dream of tucking anything in. Feet are swallowed by jeans (shredded at the bottom as a point of pride), while sleeves hide hands, knitwear is baggy and bodies are covered up — unless they’re not. Less is less; singlets are snug, T-shirts are tiny and tops slip off the shoulders.
As they are in other schools and suburbs, scarves are wrapped around necks at Western Springs. Single loops (this appears to be of critical importance) sit above teenage clavicles while the ends hang long and trail behind, following you out the school gate. The students leave lugging bags by Jansport and Nike — though many girls carry handbags and tote bags instead, this campus style befitting the school’s ethos — and most shoes are Nike, too: colourful Air Force 1s and Dunks and some other model with a wavy sole that I can’t ID. Adidas Sambas get some love, and excluding a handful of slides and the occasional pair of Dr. Martens, this is firmly sneaker territory. Casual sportswear is the status quo and there’s an American flavour to it all, with NFL jerseys, basketball shorts and band T-shirts. Students slouch into their cars: Demios, Toyota hatchbacks and other sensible models considered safe for teenage drivers.
The vehicles outside Diocesan School for Girls at pick-up time are a different breed. Range Rovers, Porsches, Lexuses, BMWs and Mercedes quietly throttle the Epsom intersection outside those hallowed gates. They’re waiting for the daughters inside, girls with Frank Green drink bottles of every colour. These are tucked into the sides of their backpacks — Herschel, Jansport, Nike (of course) and myriad Macpacs, all black or navy — while canvas Country Road totes are lugged alongside. When your bag is so similar to everyone else’s, it becomes all the more important to flaunt your likes, loves and lifestyle from the straps. More than at any other school I’ve observed, the Dio girls’ bags are festooned with ribbons, toys, trinkets, charms and souvenir keychains from far-flung destinations. Those who do leave the school grounds on foot are wearing T-Bar sandals — all by McKinlays of Dunedin, as prescribed by the school rules — or, for seniors, loafers. There’s wiggle room here, as long as they’re black with a low heel, and the prevailing favourites are leather driving moccasins.
Diocesan’s rules around the $130 school cardigans are particularly strict: not only can they not be the outermost garment when the girls are outside school grounds (!), they can’t be worn with the summer uniform at all unless “directed by management” (!!). All these edicts of uniformity (which the school says instil “unity and belonging”) mean that very small choices have a disproportionately large effect in expressing personality and social status. Students can choose from red, white or navy ribbons for adorning ponytails, plaits and buns. Only one young woman dares to wear her hair loose, long and dark with streaks of platinum — at last, rebellion! — though, like everyone else, hers is parted down the centre. Also like everyone else, her tights are dense black opaques, and she’ll dress the exact same way tomorrow.
* I was a teenager once.
