It’s been a while (over two years approx) since I wrote a blog post.
I know, I know…it’s been a boring two years for you right?
Look, there just aren’t enough crazy people in Auckland to write about. Two years ago when this blog was in its prime, I was commuting to the BBC TV Centre in London amongst whole trains of perverts, drunks, celebrities, terrorists…you name it. Today, life is slow. I’ve swapped rooftop bars for sandbars and everyone I cross paths with is sane and somewhat normal. But I’ve still got a little black book of untold stories that I was keeping for a rainy day. Or, in this case, a worldwide pandemic.
If you are reading this and your current address is not in New Zealand; congrats. You won’t have faced the dilemma of swiping Tinder and every second person is…
“Oh it’s my cousin.”
“Shit, it’s my Ex”
“Fuck, uncle Joe?!”
“Nooo not another Ex”
“Wait, is that the weird kid from school who shoved pencils up his…” you get it.
The dating pool is more of a dating bath. Or a dating sink. Tiny, not big enough to swim in. You know how people say there’s plenty of fish in the sea? Well imagine the sea is full of everyone you already know. Let’s throw some stats at you.
4,000,000 population in New Zealand
2,000,000 of these are in Auckland
1,000,000 are Male
500,000 are of similar age
200,000 are on meth
10,000 are attractive
5,000 are actually single
2,000 have good chat
500 are emotionally available
1 messages you back.
That one, has probably ghosted you by now….
(Fiction, these are not real statistics, duh.) Anyway, as I sip my homemade coconut cappuccino and write this, I think about all the men I’ve had the pleasure of coming across on this little island. Some I’ve loved, some I’ve left, some I’ve loathed, but regardless I’ve discovered there is a fun way to categorise our Auckland men…and that’s by career choice. Remember, this is written for entertainment value and based on personal experience. If you’re easily offended, I suggest you stop reading, go pour a Pinot Gris, and figure out how to loosen up. If you didn’t make the list…well…congrats, you’ve escaped the roasting for another week.
Types of New Zealand Men
- Recruiters and Salespeople
Topics of conversation revolve around the gram they polished off on the weekend. Spend all their weeks commission at Dr Rudi’s Rooftop, buying drinks for girls who will scull it back and disappear.
- Bankers and Financial Consultants
Whoops….sorry. Dozed off to sleep before I could finish writing this one.
Don’t speak English. Fluent in ‘honking’, ‘wolf whistles’ and memes.
- Rugby Players
Are considered hot property in New Zealand, the land of Rugby. Yes, we worship their emotionally stunted, concussed, pea sized brains.
- Artists and Graphic Designers
Could write you an entire book on this one. Distinctive tattoos, drinks AllPRESS espresso, smokes cigarettes because is too cool for vaping, and probably too cool for you, too cool for anyone actually except other self-labelled cool people.
- The DJ
Always high, always smiling, always escaping the world to play in Neverland with the other DJs.
- Personal Trainers
Seem to multiply in numbers by the minute. Who is breeding these guys?? Go on…own up. Can someone please tell them we have exceeded the limit of PT’s in New Zealand?
- Surfers and Skaters
Not really a career choice. But, that is because they don’t have a career. They live and breathe the board, dude.
Right. In New Zealand, meeting new people can prove difficult. We like to bunch together because after all, we are born half human/half sheep. I want to make it easier for us. Also, I’ve been in isolation, wine drunk and in the same Calvin Klein underwear set for four weeks, so it’s time to spice things up around here. I’m going to provide you with the “How to Guide” on picking up our New Zealand men. If you are sitting at home and thinking “I’ve been without dick for FOUR WEEKS, where can I find some” then read ahead my girl, I’ve got you…
1. Recruiters and Salespeople
Don’t go anywhere. They will find you.
Seriously, they will. Girls night out? They approach you. Shopping at Westfield? They approach you. Jogging? They approach you. Taking the bin out? They. Will. APPROACH YOU. When god was creating salespeople, he added this bounce back effect where no matter how often you kick them down, they bounce back up. Like a rubber band.
One glorious evening, I was running Hurstmere Road in Takapuna when I met such a creature. I had sweat dripping down my sports bra and rap music pounding so loud, I almost missed the grinning maniac waving me down.
I stop and pull the earbud from my ear.
“Yeah?” I say.
“Hey, how are you?”
I pause, confused.
“Listen…I don’t usually do this (sure you don’t) but every day I see you running and you are very fit. What’s your name?”
Immediately my internal organs squish together in annoyance.
“Chelsea.” Fuck, why didn’t I used a fake name.
“Well Chelsea.” He responds in a slick voice.
“My names Daniel I’m a recruiter. I’d love to get your number, and take you on a date?”
Lets just pause for a sec, to instruct the males reading this. If you have done this, I am impressed. It takes courage. It’s very flattering, and I am a huge advocate of the ‘approach females in person rather than with your keyboard’ method. BUT (this is an important but) engage in some flirtation or eye contact beforehand, so you can read your audience. This will help poor sweaty runners like me from becoming professional actors, and learning to lie on the spot.
Back to slick ol’ Daniel. I rattle off a fake number. I’m not being intentionally cruel, I just can’t bear to reject him in person.
So he takes my fake number and that’s the last I’ll see of Daniel, The Recruiter.
Of course it fucking isn’t.
The week after, I’m in line at Coffix waiting for my morning caffeine fix. I’m staring into the distance when my daydream is interrupted and I’m startled by a flash of dark greasy hair bobbing in front of my face.
“Well, good morning gorgeous! Hey I tried to call you, what happened?”
“Shit, sorry, I must have given you the wrong number.” I shrug.
Dan doesn’t miss a beat, immediately smiles and pulls out his phone.
“Well, here, put the right one in and I’ll call it.”.
This, is a new tactic used by men around the world. It involves calling your phone on the spot to ensure you haven’t given a fake number, and then you are required to awkwardly stand there while he realises that in fact, you have.
Again, I stutter and stammer on the spot, struggling with being straightforward and far too nervous to reject him. I’m weak, and I give him my real phone number.
I then proceed to tactfully ignore the plentiful “hey gorgeous” and “hey there…” and “Hey, hi there…” messages that pop into my inbox over the next few days.
That’s the last I’ll ever see of Daniel.
Of course it FUCKING ISN’T. He’s built with an internal bounce button.
I bump into him a week later, on Hurstmere Road again. This kid is like a jack-in-the-box springing up everywhere. Either the universe is shouting at me “Date Daniel” or Auckland, New Zealand, is simply too small.
“Hey! I tried to text you, it didn’t work?”
I take a deep breath, put my big girl pants on, and look him in the eye.
“I’m sorry, I actually….
He leans forward eagerly, like he doesn’t know what’s coming.
“I have just started seeing someone.” I lie, and my big girl pants fall off.
“Ah, I’m guttered.” He looks downtrodden.
“Well, shall we go for coffee instead?”
Salespeople, I tell you.
2. The Artist/Graphic Designer
Go to K Road. Find a gig. Go to gig. Wear Doc Martens. Be mysterious. Don’t laugh too much. In fact, don’t smile. Don’t be basic. Don’t wear lulu lemon or athletic wear. Smoke weed. Or smoke cigarettes. In fact, do anything that’s bad for your body. Drink a V. Live on coffee. Don’t play Post Malone, or anything mainstream. In fact… maybe take up poetry. Must be cool. I repeat, must be cool, at all times. They won’t feel cool without a ‘cool girl’ and their life depends on feeling cool. Maybe grow dreadlocks. Get a tattoo of a leopard smoking a joint. Whatever you do, don’t be yourself.
3. Bankers and Financial Consultants
Look numbers are not my thing. I have an ex-boyfriend who is a financial analyst. I can tell you the exact moment in life that I realised I would never again, date a financial analyst.
We were booked for Ibiza, Spain. Ibiza is one of those ‘if you know, you know’ places. It’s basically an island for degenerates, people who have Jack Daniels for breakfast. I had envisioned how the trip would play out. We would spend all day in a romantic embrace across the sunny beaches. We would then spend all night in a drunken trance on the dancefloor listening to DJ’s.
My boyfriend sits me down, the day before we fly out to party island. This, is a true story, as all my stories are, but even I find it hard to believe he could do this…
He sits me down, a day before Ibiza and says…
“I’ve decided to stop drinking. Today.”
All I have to say is, if you want a man in finance, or banking… well I’ve got no clue because wherever you find them, I haven’t been there.
Hun, you’re good. Tradies are the easiest men to find in NZ, you can collect them like Pokemon cards if you want. All you have to do is,
a) Be a female
b) Walk a couple metres down the road
Pros of tradies are that the work finishes every day like clockwork, no late nights in the office for your man. Cons, you’re going to have to withstand a lot of toilet humour. Like, a lot. Recently (my girls will remember this one…) I went on the ‘perfect date’ with a man from Auckland, a tradie of some sort. I think he works in refrigerator installation. He took me on a wine and dine tour, that started at Long Bay Surf Club. He then drove me to the Viaduct where we enjoyed cocktails at sunset, sitting at Headquarters. From there, dinner at the little Mexican place next to Portafino. What’s it called, can’t remember, I was three or four drinks deep at this point. The whole day was a dream. I almost started to like him….almost.
We get back to my apartment and we are sitting in his car. He’s stifling a laugh, I can tell and I can’t figure out why. Until I open my handbag.
There is a fake poo toy in there.
Yeah, you fucking read it right. I have a degree in Sociology and Marketing, a career with the BBC under my belt, a group of intelligent powerful girlfriends, and my life is pulling a fake poo out of my handbag.
I never spoke to him again.
5. The DJ
How to find a DJ, and get a date with him in Auckland?
Step one: Make your way to the club, any of them work; 1885, AV, Saturdays, Roxy, Impala, Studio. Get as close to the DJ booth as possible. Check the time. Wait until 4am. Your DJ has now downed so much tequila and sniffed such extravagant amounts of MDMA they would go home with you if you were Joe Exotic.
Ifyou are going after a DJ expect to receive sporadic texts, and only see them once a month. The other 29 days are reserved for benders.
6. Rugby Players
Where you find them depends on how professional we are talking.
If you are wanting to pick up an All Black, don’t. Haven’t we all learned from Aaron Smith’s airport rendezvous?
If however, you just want to pick up your local rugby nut who plays for fun, I approve. Download Duo Lingo, and start learning how to speak “Grunt”.
But perks are their excessively oversized thigh muscles, that can crush the heads of your enemies if you need them too.
7. Personal Trainers
To catch the attention of a Personal Trainer, you can impress them by mimicking their instagram posts. All you have to do is cook plain brown rice, unseasoned chicken with NO seasoning, not even salt, so it looks like roadkill on your plate, and broccoli. Once your meal is cooked and looks so boring you might actually cry, post it on your instagram story. Then wait patiently as they arrive in your DM’s with comments such as;
“Nice, looks good!”
“Getting those gains!”
Of course, this method can also be done alternatively. Post a video of yourself doing pushups, or bicep curls, or running. Every single PT in New Zealand will make their way to your DMs, like cheerleaders.
Besides DM’s, there is only one place on earth this creature can be found, and that’s the gym. I repeat, you will not find them anywhere else on earth.
8. Skaters and Surfers
Ah, the elusive skaters and surfers. When Lords of Dogtown was released in 2005, a cult following began for long haired skater dudes. Free Spirited, tan with a carefree attitude they captured the hearts of girls across the globe. Most New Zealand men can surf or skate. But I’m talking about a specific breed of surfer/skater. You feature in this category if you can tick off the following;
1. Wear Vans or Adidas Superstars
2. Listen to all the lil’s (lil xan, lil peep, lil baby…)
3. Smoke weed out of a bong
4. Buy from opshops, probably wearing Vintage Dickies right now
5. Spend weekends driving around to Birkenhead skate park or Te Arai in a beat up van
If you want to pick up one of these bad boys, be prepared to pick up the whole crowd because they travel in packs. You don’t have to worry about being picky, they virtually all dress and look the same so once you find the bunch, it doesn’t matter which one you end up with.
There’s no easy way to target them, as they’re always on the move. They follow the good surf or the most popular skate parks. There are only two ways to find one, and corner him on his own.
1. Be a drug dealer, specifically weed
2. Slide into their DM’s
I can’t guarantee you will get a response using option two. Most of them are too high to remember they own a cellphone. But at least you will know you tried. Sending you luck.
There are no real influencers in New Zealand. The end. Goodbye.