NZ’s not unsexy, we just like to play hard to get
‘I’m glad to be home,’’ my friend insisted, ‘‘and I’m super grateful, it’s just that NZ is kinda, you know . . .’’ She paused apologetically searching for the right word: ‘‘Underwhelming.’’ Until Covid, she was living the millennial dream of New York in her 20s. And everything is underwhelming after that. Coming home is like swapping a Lambo for a Volvo: a practical, sensible choice, but undeniably less sexy.
She’s hardly the first to say it. Since April last year, ex-expats have been shuffling off planes and into managed isolation in equal parts relief and dejection. They’ve been on OEs in Paris, working in Shanghai, or married to a Brit and expecting another five years living in crappy, overpriced housing in London – not Auckland.
So they arrive home in a muddle. They’re absurdly grateful. But also resentfully, guiltily mournful that they had their overseas lives cut short. Now part of this is just the inevitable, colourless lethargy of post-adventure blues. After chasing excitement somewhere new, the first few weeks back home always have the restless, empty nothingness of a Tuesday afternoon.
But there’s something deeper going on here too. Many of us, from migrants to yuppies to expats, see NZ as nice but boring. Not somewhere to be in your 20s or 30s, but somewhere to return to when your main interests in life are barbecues and Bunnings.
That’s changing. It’s an exciting time for NZ, the world is watching etc, etc. But I know you won’t care.
If you’re a returning expat, or the migrating spouse of one, you know why you’re coming back. It’s not because NZ improved, it’s because the rest of the world is on fire. Just because we’re functioning sorta normally doesn’t mean we’re not still underwhelming.
And I know you feel this way because I used to be you. I’ve been both the foreigner transplanted semi-unwillingly to NZ for family reasons (my family moved here when I was a teenager). And I’ve been the young thing on the OE who came home abruptly (I moved back from Melbourne with two weeks’ notice when I was unexpectedly offered a TV job here). So I know the slump you’re in.
I also know how you break out of it. And it starts by accepting the truth that New Zealand isn’t boring. It just plays hard to get. Unlike the lascivious Paris, flamboyant London or brash New York, we don’t give up our goodies that easily.
It used to be that any expat, when asked if they’d return home, could sweep their hands majestically and sigh, ‘‘Ugh, but NZ doesn’t have anything cool.’’
They were often sniffily referring to the dining, shopping, and clubbing scenes that people love to airily reference (but never actually go to).
And they were right. Until recently, we were the wallflower in our mum’s debs dress at the low-rise jeans-ridden noughties disco.
However, in the past 10 years, NZ has got its hipster chic together. Now we boast the same quality of all-things-fabulous that you can find worldwide.
The problem is we have far fewer of them, simply because we have fewer people. For instance, in Auckland there’s one drag club, one burlesque club, one comedy club.
AMany of us see NZ as nice but boring. Not somewhere to be in your 20s or 30s.
lso we have a pervasive national attitude of determined understatedness, so you’ll never find our real diamonds unless you tread on them accidentally. They’re happy to dazzle you as you rub your foot in shock. But they’re far too relaxed to flaunt themselves openly. So you have to go digging for them.
The same goes for our people. New Zealand boasts some of the smartest, funniest, most hilarious intellectuals, artists, and movers and shakers around. Taika Waiti, Eleanor Catton, Peter Beck . . . But again, we’re so relaxed (and have an under-appreciated public intellectual space) that you have to actively hunt out these people to witness their brilliance.
But that dig-for-gold pioneering spirit is perhaps the best way to approach returning here.
Ambitiousness, drive and relentless optimism go far here. The advantage of being smaller is you can achieve more far faster than you can overseas. And you can be the first to do so. Want to start a vegan dodgeball team? London will have 20. We’ll have none.
And people are generally more willing to help if you ask (we’re relaxed, remember?) And because we’re so tiny it’s easier to know someone who knows someone.
We know we can’t give you the rush of the crush of ancient cities, where every corner is a wink from Gaudi or a flourish from Haussmann. But we do have the magic of the new world. We are what you make of us.