There are moments in life, when you realise you are old. Too old, at least, to be carrying on in whatever circumstances you are carrying on in.As a young man proffered a steel teapot, full of an unidentifiable pink liquid, I realised this could well be that moment. A young girl followed the man, carrying a tray of china tea cups, in which they served up the toxic pink substance, giggling with impish glee as they made their way through the sea of partygoers.In the interests of research, one friend bravely downed the concoction, to discover a residue of half-dissolved jam lining the bottom of his cup. In some ways, the bizarre tea party was a fitting celebration for the start of Queen's Birthday Weekend. Though one suspects old Liz might prefer her jam with scones, rather than in the tea itself.The party was, in fact, the launch of a hip new magazine which drew a prerequisite crowd of hip young scenesters. (A growing demographic in Auckland these days, cultivated in large part by the North Shore, comprised of under-21 models, musicians and their hangers-on.)
And what a crowd it was. Hundreds of people jammed into the timewarp of a pub, where bands and DJs took it in turns to entertain the raucous echelons. A secret world of youthful exuberance, indecipherable to the outside eye.Merely a handful of years may separate you from these youngsters, yet they are worlds apart; living in a parallel universe where no one bats an eyelid at jam-infused cocktails poured from antique teapots.If the teapot incident was not enough to convince me I was out of my depth, the assortment of young girls in short tunics, leggings and Doc Martens certainly were. I was never old enough to sport the trend when it first emerged in the early 90s but I certainly remember it. Not like these fashion-forward hipsters, who were young enough to believe they were donning a fresh, new look, unaware of its Beverly Hills 90210 origins.Of course, the 90s were but one of many eras in which Docs were the footwear of choice - the most notorious being the late 70s, where Docs were a symbol of the punk rock and ska movements - think of mad Uncle Bob's prized Clash, the Damned and Sex Pistols records. Young louts rallying against the establishment and the conventions of traditional music. Perhaps it was that iconography that brought out the crowd's hooligan attitude - their inner-punks jostling for a fight, for throughout the night, there were a series of bust-ups. A fracas on the dancefloor saw several partygoers enter the fray, while downstairs, more fisticuffs ensued (the results of which have been forever captured for one local band, who recorded their new music video on Sunday afternoon, their bass player sporting a vicious black eye).Indeed, the night might have conjured memories of Auckland's old social scene, once dominated by street brawls and biffo, if anyone there had been old enough to know about it.Perhaps, like so many other trends, this one has finally come full circle. Or as a wise, old friend suggested, perhaps fighting is simply a young man's game.Which means I really am too old to be hanging with Auckland's indie scenesters.
