My Sun­day

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Be­ing home on a Sun­day is quite unique. If we do make it home, we’re tired from the night be­fore. We’ll say hi to our fam­ily, then go to sleep. Be­cause we work on week­ends, our life and our timetable is dif­fer­ent from most other en­trepreneurs or self-em­ployed peo­ple.

This last Sun­day I had just fin­ished a gig with my bro Che Fu, as Hed­lok, up on Coronet Peak. I’m an am­bas­sador for Coronet Peak, so we played with the mighty Sal­monella Dub up on the top of the hill while peo­ple were snow­board­ing down the hill, giv­ing them the time of their life.

What I keep re­mem­ber­ing is how priv­i­leged and how blessed we are to have a job like this, where we’re able to give en­joy­ment to the crowd. One of the best things about be­ing a per­former is see­ing peo­ple hav­ing fun.

Come Sun­day, we’re nor­mally trav­el­ling back from a gig. We fin­ish work about 4am, try and wind down from the mu­sic, and get to sleep around 5am. We’ll get a late check­out, then fly back home from wher­ever we are in the world. That’s been our life­style for a long time.

If I could, I would put a bas­ket­ball into ev­ery boy and girl’s hand around the world. Bas­ket­ball has given me fo­cus in some of my hard­est times. If you get bored or you’re down, you go shoot some hoops. You have the ca­ma­raderie of other play­ers, too. When I go back to Welling­ton, I still call my mates and we meet at 8am for a game. These are guys I’ve known for more than 30 years. Dur­ing the week, I’ve been putting more than 20 hours into my Lyn­field bas­ket­ball teams. I’m a coach for the Lyn­field Col­lege U19

A and A19 B teams. We prac­tice at 7am Mon­day, Tues­day, Thurs­day and Fri­day, and then we play on Wed­nes­day nights.

When I moved to Auck­land, you couldn’t make the moves to be suc­cess­ful in mu­sic from Welling­ton.

Af­ter I left, the boys – Fat Freddy’s Drop, The Black Seeds – they broke out of that mould.

We have so much time away that our fam­i­lies miss out. That’s one of the pit­falls of be­ing a muso,

you’re al­ways away. It is tough. Be­tween my wife and I we share more than 20 roles – clothes de­signer, video direc­tor and ed­i­tor, manag­ing your­self, be­ing a coach, be­ing a dad, be­ing a grand­dad.

I talk to youth in schools up and down the coun­try all the time. We don’t have enough peo­ple to in­spire our kids around the coun­try. We need more peo­ple to start do­ing that, be­cause the All Blacks and the Sil­ver Ferns can’t go and see ev­ery­one. We need more peo­ple to go out and be in­spi­ra­tional to our kids.

I’m al­ways a big ad­vo­cate for go­ing out to see the kids who are so far away no one ever vis­its. I went to one school, then didn’t go back for 18 months. When I re­turned they said: “Why did you take so long to come back?” They were ac­tu­ally wait­ing for me to come back. They hadn’t had some­one come out and ask how they were do­ing in a year and a half. If I grew up in a state house, or I’ve lived ru­rally and know what that per­son ex­pe­ri­ences, I can go: “Hey, there’s no dif­fer­ence be­tween you and me. If I can take on the world, you can do it too.” I want to be that “Ah­hhh cool” per­son.

Grow­ing up with Mum and Dad, on Sun­days we would share a meal. My dad would get up in the morn­ing and cook, and that would be our to’ona’i, our Sun­day meal that we’d share to­gether. That would be with my mum, my el­der sis­ter and my other sib­lings when they were home. That was our rit­ual. Most Samoan or Poly­ne­sian fam­i­lies will have a meal to­gether on a Sun­day.

My mum’s an artist and she’s in­cred­i­ble. She’s 80, and has made it into some in­cred­i­ble things. She’s made it into the Wal­lace Art Awards, and now she’s get­ting into it again. All my brothers and sis­ters are in the arts, as well. When you break it down, we’re some pretty out-there Samoans.

I’ve been watch­ing the in­cred­i­bly in­spir­ing Be­ing Ser­ena on TVNZ

On De­mand, which fol­lows ten­nis cham­pion Ser­ena Wil­liams through preg­nancy, mar­riage and her re­turn to ten­nis. Be­ing in­ter­ested in clothes, this has led me down a path of ten­niswear his­tory.

Ten­nis be­came pop­u­lar in Vic­to­rian Eng­land, so the kit echoed what was fash­ion­able in clothes at the time. Women wore long dresses over the stan­dard corsets, pet­ti­coats and stock­ings, and this all pre­vented mo­tion in the name of mod­esty.

From the 1920s on­wards, the clothes started to be­come tres chic.

In 1919, French ten­nis player Suzanne Len­glen wore a kind of sleeve­less shirt vest and pleated skirt com­bi­na­tion (all white), but her bare arms and knees caused a furore at Wim­ble­don. I’d gladly wear the same out­fit on a sum­mer’s day in 2018, paired with a big hat.

To­day, the male gaze still casts a con­trol­ling in­flu­ence over what fe­male ten­nis play­ers can and can’t wear, as the ban­ning of Wil­liams’ black uni­tard showed. But, who knows? Per­haps the crowd will be wear­ing some­thing sim­i­lar in a hun­dred years, when women can fi­nally wear what­ever they want on court.

This com­pi­la­tion of cloth­ing owes more to his­tor­i­cal ten­niswear than pieces that are court-ready. Some of the pieces could cer­tainly go a few rounds, but I’d call these more court­side-ready.

1/ Nom*D polo top, $395 2/ Sala­sai linen top, $345 3/ Witch­ery pleated shorts, $110 4/ C&M Penny ten­nis skirt, $360 5/ Marle Nyla sweater, $220 6/ Sta­ple + Cloth Mar­got skirt, $299 7/ Liam Aro polo top, $149 8/ Karen Walker Sweet Cat eye­wear, $349 9/ Postie shorts, $25 10/ Kate Sylvester Quilla jacket, $649 11/ Sta­ple + Cloth Mel­low T-shirt, $159 12/ Work­shop Denim Bella sweater, $249 13/ Puma Bas­ket Os­trich sneak­ers, $150

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