Debate | Issue 8 | Communities

DEBATE

EDITOR

Sam Clark

DESIGNER

Charlie Ratahi McFarland

ASSOCIATE EDITOR

Vivien Whyte

FEATURE WRITER

Liam Hansen

CULTURE & LIFESTYLE WRITER

Thomas Giblin

CHIEF REPORTER

Nic George

NEWS WRITER

Vanessa Elley

SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER

Frances Revita

CONTRIBUTORS

Haydn Nixon, Hannah Nott, Liam Watters, Chris Murphy, Phoebe Robertson, Emma Frapwell

COVER ART

Charlie Ratahi McFarland

ADVERTISING

Jesse Jones jesse.jones@autsa.org.nz

PRINTER

Nicholson Print Solutions

DISCLAIMER

Material contained in this publication does not necessarily represent the views or opinions of AUTSA, its advertisers, contributors, Nicholson Print Solutions or its subsidiaries.

This publication is entitled to the full protection given by the Copyright Act 1994 (“the Act”) to the holders of the copyright, being AUT STUDENT ASSOCIATION (“AUTSA”). Reproduction, storage or display of any part of this publication by any process, electronic or otherwise (except for the educational purposes specified in the Act) without express permission is a break of the copyright of the publisher and will be prosecuted accordingly. Inquiries seeking permission to reproduce should be addressed to AUTSA.

Debate is a member of the Aotearoa Student Press Association (ASPA).

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From the Editor

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[News] Enrolment confusion leaves student unable to graduate on time

[News] Off-shore sextortion scammers are targeting young Kiwis

Laugh Now, Cry Later: The Downfall of YouTube Pranksters

A Guide to The Good Life

Salomons, Dickies and boiler suits - stamping art onto plastic at Holiday Records

Good thing I'm "fluid" in Chinese

Papaiti Records: The Flying Nun of Aotearoa Emo

The Young and Informed: Debate’s Coverage of the 2023 General Election

Fairy Kisses from Shooless

‘Bating’, the online community finding connection through jerking off

A Walk Down Memory Lane: My Cinematic Misadventures

What's On

Gig Guide

Puzzles

Nau mai, haere mai, thanks for picking up the ‘Communities’ issue of Debate!

Uni is now in full swing! Settling back in after the mid-year break can be hard, as the rush from being reunited with your mates gets replaced by looming assignments. So, I hope we can provide a useful distraction on the way home on the bus, or maybe in the back of a particularly boring tute.

We made this issue to emphasise the importance of community, because we all need whanaungatanga and connection to feel happy and fulfilled. And it’s a big reason why we’re drawn to university. It’s so special to meet like-minded people, and many of you will be friends for life. We are a community here on campus, and we want to reflect that in this fortnightly mag. You may have seen our new stickers in the Debate stands. If you want one, be quick! Or, come by our office at WG704 and we’ll give you one if you’re extra-nice.

Tāmaki Makaurau is a great place to live and study, even though it’s expensive. At least the days are getting longer now and the weather is nice (sometimes). There’s so many great, low-stakes activities to do here, like the Avondale Markets and Central Flea. Also, some west coast beaches are open again, which are incredible during winter – just remember to wrap up! We’re also very lucky to have an amazing music scene here. There’s always something interesting happening on Karangahape Road, so be sure to check out our gig guide.

I recently read a really interesting piece in The Art Paper by Matthew Galloway about how phosphorus rocks, which are used as fertiliser on New Zealand farms, are taken from the Western Sahara. Morocco has occupied this region since 1975, meaning the indigenous Sahrawi have been forced out of their land and into refugee camps. Also, phosphorous dust from The Sahara Desert is meant to feed the Amazon Rainforest. These nutrients are carried 4,800km across the Atlantic Ocean by prevailing winds, which is essential for a stable climate. It’s no secret that the dairy industry is terrible for our awa and natural environment in Aotearoa. However, the article draws attention to the industry’s destruction in a desert region on the other side of the world. We are also part of a global community, and we need to consider the flowon effects of our actions.

In these weird times, we should do our best to stay informed, and make our vote count in this year’s election. National may have a whine about potholes, or not being able to read te reo Māori – but we need to address the real issues. So, I’m proud to announce Debate’s new segment, The Young and Informed, run by our Chief Reporter, Nic. Here, we will be interviewing local electoral candidates, and covering the issues that affect you. And, for any budding journalists: If this is something you’re interested in being a part of, please get in touch!

Coco

Enrolment confusion leaves student unable to graduate on time

By Vanessa Elley (she/her) News Writer

A third year student was left surprised after being told she will be unable to graduate at the end of the year as expected due to not having completed enough points.

Communication Studies student Sharnae Cunningham, who began her degree in Semester 2 of 2020, said that the situation with her enrolments was a “mess” from the start.

“[I was] doing half year-one papers, half year-two papers and then couldn’t do the other year-two papers because I needed to do my other year-one papers, so already I was like ‘this is chaos.’”

Due to starting halfway through the year in 2020, Cunningham was left with a messy mix of classes in 2021, finishing first-year courses at the same time as starting second-year ones with the rest of her cohort who were a semester ahead.

Over the course of her studies she was not enrolled in enough classes each semester, and was unable to earn the points she needed to graduate.

After hearing a friend mention that they needed to complete extra points, Cunningham said she realised she hadn’t received any communication from her faculty about whether she had enough to graduate.

“I went to the head of Communications admin… I sat down and was like ‘hey, I have just come across some information that has put me in a state of panic, what is going on?’”

“Their solution was, I pick up another three papers this sem, making me do five papers this sem, come back during summer school, not have my ceremony until August.”

Alternatively, she was told to come back in Semester 1 of 2024 to complete the necessary points.

According to Cunningham, the same thing has happened to one of her friends in the School of Science who also enrolled midway through 2020.

“The exact same thing has happened where there’s been no communication and they’ve just told her that yeah, actually now that you bring it up, we’ll see you next semester.”

The second student was approached for comment but declined.

A spokesperson for AUT said the university does what it can to support students, and is not aware of this being a widespread issue.

“Most degrees are intended to be completed over three years.

“We try to make sure the benefits and costs of starting in Semester 2 are explained clearly and these students do get extra attention in terms of pastoral care, course planning and academic advice.”

However, according to Cunningham this extra attention was not there to help her understand how many courses she needed to be enrolled in, and when, in order to complete her degree on time.

Off-shore sextortion scammers are targeting young Kiwis

By Nic George (he/him) Chief Reporter

Police are warning of increased off-shore sextortion scams targeting young people in Aotearoa.

Online scammers have been coercing young people, particularly men, into sharing sexually explicit photos of themselves before threatening to post them publicly if the victim fails to pay a ransom.

Detective Sergeant for the New Zealand Police Online Exploitation Across New Zealand (OCEANZ) team Dan Wright said they have noticed an increase in sextortion reports since late 2021.

"Numbers of reported incidents remain significant with an average of 53 reports a month made to Police between December 2022 and June 2023."

The Police conducted a review of reported sextortion incidents which found that between January 2020 and November 2022, they received 618 reports.

According to the review, 54 percent of victims were men under the age of 25.

It also found that 46 per cent of all victims were aged 18-24, and 24 per cent were under the age of 18.

A victim of this scam, who has agreed not to be named, told Debate he "felt like an idiot" when the person he had been messaging turned out to be a scammer demanding payment of $1,000 to prevent the nude images from being made public.

Wright said this is a common feeling among victims.

"Sextortion can have a range of impacts on a victim, from embarrassment to significant harm to their mental health. Many victims experience self-blame."

Wright said this issue is not isolated to Aotearoa and that there has been an international trend.

The victim told Debate he was messaged by what appeared to be a girl his age on Instagram a week before the threat.

At first, the conversation was "fairly mundane" as they got to know each other.

"We chatted for about a day or two. Nothing exciting, but a little bit flirty", he said.

After a few more days of regular conversation, the scammer asked whether they could switch to Snapchat, he told Debate

NetSafe, a partner with OCEANZ, have warned that switching platforms is a common practice by scammers in their guidelines for spotting sextortion scams.

The victim said it gradually became more explicit until the scammer asked if he "sends nudes".

The victim said he sent one sexually explicit photo and that same night he was added to a group chat with another person he had not spoken to before.

The unknown person sent screenshots of the photo, along with a list of all the accounts the victim followed on Instagram, and threatened to send the images to everyone on the list unless he paid the ransom.

He said he was unable to pay the $1,000 they were demanding, so he began to panic and had to turn to family for help.

“I was stressed out because I couldn’t afford to pay them, so I decided to suck it up and call my mum and tell her what happened.

“That was not a conversation I ever wanted to have with my mother, but she told me to contact the Police.”

His mother also suggested he get ahead of the scammers by reaching out to friends to warn them not to open any images they might receive, he said.

The victim considers himself fortunate as the perpetrators did not follow through on their threat, but he is still unsure whether that will still be the case in the future.

“The good news is I haven’t heard anything from anyone I know about this so I don’t think they have sent them out anywhere, but they still have that photo and could send it out whenever they want.”

He said his experience of reporting it to the Police was reassuring and positive.

"They were very understanding, told me I wasn't the only one, and said I did the right thing by reporting it to them."

While the process of reporting the incident was a positive one, he has not heard anything from the Police regarding the case since the initial call.

Wright said it can be "extremely challenging" to tackle this crime, as most cases involve off-shore offenders.

However, he said they do their best to work with international law enforcement where possible.

"We do make referrals to international law enforcement agencies when we are able.

At the end of the day, we want victims to come forward so we can work with them to ensure they get the advice and support they need."

Wright recommends victims should follow the below advice if they find themselves involved in this scam.

• Avoid sending any more images or videos - even if they are threatening you.

• Remember, once you have complied with their demands nothing is preventing them from targeting you again.

• Save all the online chat, and immediately take screenshots. This is important for making a report to the police, we need all the evidence that you can gather.

• Block the profile.

• Report the content to the platform (e.g. Facebook, Snapchat, PornHub) it is on and request the content is removed.

• Make a report to the Police (via 105) or Netsafe to find out what other options are available to you.

Laugh Now, Cry Later: The Downfall of YouTube Pranksters

By Phoebe Robertson (she/her) CONTRIBUTING WRITER

It's 2014 and you're watching YouTube on your parents' computer in the family's computer room. Perhaps a sibling is looking over your shoulder, or maybe you've locked them out. Your eyes keep flicking to the clock in the left-hand corner of your screen: 3:45. You still have an hour before your parents get home from work. As you surf your homepage, you're greeted by titles such as "I'm Dating Your Girlfriend PRANK", "Involving Strangers in Drug Deals PRANK", and "Flashing Children PRANK". And yes, that list was meant to worsen as it progressed.

Originating from a handful of YouTubers dating back to 2008, YouTube pranking channels rose to fame due to their unique ability to entertain and engage audiences through a perfect blend of humour, surprise, and social experimentation. It also didn’t hurt that YouTube was flooded with kids looking for quick entertainment. By 2012, prank communities were extremely popular on the site. During the early days of YouTube, creators like Vitaly Zdorovetskiy of ‘VitalyzdTv’ and Roman Atwood paved the way by embracing the platform's potential and pushing the boundaries of comedic content. Their viral videos, featuring outrageous pranks and public stunts, catapulted them into the limelight, amassing millions of views, shares and comments. Other notable pranksters like ‘PrankvsPrank’, led by Jesse Wellens and Jeana Smith, showcased mischievous antics in a series of lighthearted pranks among friends and partners. Collaborations with popular influencers like ‘FouseyTube’ and ‘The Royal Stampede’ further expanded their reach - introducing their content to wider audiences. Active engagement and audience participation became cornerstones of channels like 'JoeySalads', who encouraged viewer interaction and suggestions for pranks. As these channels grew, monetisation opportunities emerged, turning pranking into a serious business.

the money was never handed over before the unhoused man's untimely demise.

Back in their prime, it seemed like nothing could burst the growing prank channel bubble. However, a visit to YouTube today reveals a rarity of those nostalgic titles. So, what brought about this change? In 2014, YouTuber Josh Paler Lin posted a staged prank titled "How Does A Homeless Man Spend $100?" The original video garnered over 50 million views and sparked a fundraising campaign for the unhoused man, amassing over US$150,000. However, the situation took a tragic turn when the man was discovered dead shortly after the campaign. To make matters worse, it was revealed that Josh had presented the unhoused man with an unsigned contract stipulating that US$20,000 had to be returned to cover Josh's ‘expenses’. This contract was never signed, and the money was never handed over before the unhoused man's untimely demise.

The incident not only sheds light on the dark underbelly of the YouTube pranking scene, but also serves as an example of one of its pitfalls: fake pranks. By 2014, it seemed like everyone and their dog was trying their hand at pranking on YouTube, creating an oversupply that exceeded the demand. To gain more success, YouTubers resorted to staging pranks that allowed them to engage in otherwise illegal or indecent acts. Key players like FouseyTube, Vitaly, Joey Salads and Roman Atwood admitted to staging fake pranks. Once the general public discovered these deceptive practices, they turned on these prank channels. YouTube's viral obsession with overtly racist "In the Hood" pranks further contributed to the downfall of these pranksters, with the wider YouTube community eventually distancing themselves from these videos and the racist stereotypes portrayed by numerous pranksters. In essence, viewers lost interest in pranks on a widespread level when their fakeness and racism were exposed to the masses.

Despite the decline in popularity of pranking, YouTube pranksters still marked an iconic era. In 2015, over 100,000 people signed a petition demanding the removal of Sam Pepper from YouTube after he posted a video titled "Killing Best Friend Prank", which staged the murder of a fellow YouTuber in front of his best friend. And who could forget the 2016 "Killer Clown" sightings that led to New Zealand shops pulling clown costumes off their shelves? This era was filled with countless insane moments that would require an entire magazine to cover them all.

This contract was never signed, and

However, even after the sensation hit its peak, YouTube pranking culture continues to wreak havoc. In 2017, a woman shot her boyfriend during an ill-advised prank attempt, while the family vlogging and prank channel ‘DaddyOFive’ had their children taken away by child services due to harmful content involving their kids. The year 2017 also saw the shocking murder of Kim Jong-nam, the older brother of North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un, by two girls who believed they were participating in a prank TV show. In 2019, the Stokes Twins held up an Uber driver at gunpoint for another ill-conceived prank. In February 2021, a teenager was fatally shot in a parking lot after allegedly approaching a group with butcher knives as part of a misguided prank. And as recently as April 2023, a YouTube prankster was shot by a victim of one of their pranks.

In essence, the rise and fall of YouTube pranking channels have left an indelible mark on the platform's history. Initially, these channels gained fame because they entertained us. However, the revelation of staged pranks, exploitation, and racism caused a decline in public trust and interest. Viewers became disillusioned, leading to the inevitable decline of prank videos. Yet the negative impact of YouTube pranking culture lingers. Incidents involving harm, danger, and even death serve as reminders of the serious consequences that can arise from poorly thought-out pranks. As we reflect on this era, it is essential that we learn from history and advocate for responsible and ethical content creation on YouTube and other platforms moving forward.

As we reflect on this era, it is essential that we learn from history and advocate for responsible and ethical content creation on YouTube and other platforms moving forward.

A Guide to The Good Life

By Emma Frapwell (she/her) CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Emma Frapwell takes us through a few student-friendly ways you could volunteer your free time to do some good in the world.

Hedonism, the pursuit of pleasure, often comes with a bad reputation. When the philosopher Epicurus began teaching the value of this, it conjured images of sexy, bacchanalian nights spilling into days. But the reality of their philosophy was more Invercargill than Ibiza. The idea was simply that doing good things makes you feel good. It is pleasurable to help others, be part of a community and spend your efforts making things better. And they were very big on gardening…

As with many things the Greeks came up with, this idea has been proven correct. Many students report that volunteering has given them greater selfconfidence and life satisfaction, along with a host of other psychological benefits. Of course, while the pull of improving one's mental health is strong, most students don’t have a tonne of spare cash and time floating around. Luckily, there are a whole heap of ways you can give back. Some of these I’ve listed below.

Transport

Got a car? A lot of older Kiwis need help getting around and would love to have someone sign up on a regular basis to do a bit of driving. If you can’t commit to something weekly or fortnightly, companies like Good Bitches Baking could use some help, where you’d be delivering cakes to refuges or other places in need in your area. If a monthly commitment is still too tricky, organisations like Franklin Family Support Services and other small, local, familycentric organisations often need cover for the school holidays.

Baking

On that note – if you can bake (or are able to follow instructions) then baking for Good Bitches Baking can be a delicious way to do good, whether you do it well, or simply with enthusiasm. Good Bitches is an organisation that provides fresh homemade goods to places like women’s refuges, hospices, homeless shelters and other places where it helps.

Got blood?

Red blood cells only last 35 days. The NZ Blood Service is a crown entity responsible for managing the over 4,000 donations needed each week to ensure blood is available when it’s needed. You can check

your eligibility online and from there, book in when it’s convenient. A nurse will assess you when you get there, and there is daytime TV, loads of lollies, biscuits, tea and juice to make sure you feel good. They also regularly gift you little things to say thank you – like chocolates, reusable coffee cups and shopping bags to help you show off just how brave you are! They will even notify you when your blood is used to save someone, and you get to find out your blood type.

Time

Another incredibly important thing you can gift is your time. If you are able to, there are plenty of charities like the Heart Foundation, or Cancer Society on Daffodil Day looking for a couple of hours of coin collecting (standing around holding a bucket and giving out stickers with a friend). Alternatively, you can get involved with something like Big Brothers and Big Sisters, where you spend an hour a week with a young person who really needs a solid permanent presence in their life.

Effort

Ever wanted to run a marathon, half-marathon, 10k, 5k, or walk around the park? Why not get people to sponsor you? There are bonus mental health points for getting your body moving too. If you have plans to partake in any of the summer runs like the Auckland Marathon, it’s not too early to start fundraising!

Spend money to make money

One thing that many people don’t know is that charitable donations are tax-deductible. That means if you donate anything above $25 you will receive a tax receipt from the charity. At tax year end, you can submit that on the IRD website for 33% back in your tax return. So if you donate $100 to your favourite charity (World Vision, the Fred Hollows Foundation, I am Hope, etc.), they will issue you a tax receipt and the IRD, not the charity will refund you $33. You can keep that or you can donate it right back. That $33 will give you another tax receipt and that will get you back $10.

Salomons, Dickies and boiler suits - stamping art onto plastic at

HOLIDAY RECORDS

By Liam Watters (he/him) CONTRIBUTING WRITER Illustration by Haydn Nixon (he/him)

At Holiday Records, we’ve had countless writers, interviewers and videographers through our doors to pick my bosses’ brains about the process of stamping someone’s art onto plastic. I had never intently thought of my workplace as a community as far as the word goes. But Holiday is a community at its core. It’s the flashpoint and physical manifestation of a scene and global shared interest of music as an artform.

That being said, it can be monotonous work at times. Every single record gets pressed, checked, sleeved, jacketed, boxed and shipped. On and on, sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. From the outside, it looks as if we are a group of musos cosplaying as blue collar workers. The contrast between our long haircuts, Telfar bags and Salomons, and our Dickies-sponsored workwear shirts and boiler suits is something to behold.

From the outside, it looks as if we are a group of musos cosplaying as blue collar workers. The contrast between our long haircuts, Telfar bags and Salomons; and our Dickies-sponsored workwear shirts and boiler suits is something to behold.

You’d think this type of work would be automated by now, but until a machine can simultaneously check for microscopic flaws, misaligned labels and excess material while holding a beer in one hand, I’d say my job is safe.

Much like any factory environment, there is a hierarchy. I, myself, am at the bottom of the food-chain. As a ‘Sleeving Weapon’ (as described on the job listing), it is up to me and three others to individually check, clean, trim and package up every record that passes through the machine. You’d think this type of work would be automated by now, but until robots can simultaneously check for microscopic flaws, misaligned labels and excess material while holding a beer in one hand, I’d say my job is safe.

The next rung on the Holiday community hierarchy is the fabled presser. There are currently three pressers operating within the whole of New Zealand. Their names are Tom Henderson, Tom Aitchison and Damon Arts, and they are ultimately the ones responsible for our output of high quality records. They intently monitor a range of factors, like the temperature of the raw PVC, and any flaws and imperfections that can arise while a run is underway.

I am at a loss about what they do all day. It seems to be a blend of engineering, jerry-rigging and having the expansive knowledge and immense passion required to keep a half-a-million dollar piece of machinery running smoothly. The pressers are usually separated from the sleevers by an inch-thick pane of glass. This is largely to keep out the overbearing noise of the press, while also sparing the pressers from our inane conversation. Despite this transparent barrier, we still find a way to communicate with each other. Be it the hand signal for a coffee from Cafe Mocha down the street, or a particularly dry in-joke where we try and get each other to yawn; this sense of separation between the two halves of Holiday is a barrier in the physical sense only.

Above the presser tier of the Holiday ladder are our directors, Ben Wallace and Joel Woods. Ben and Joel are the founders, owners and operators of Holiday. They started the business in 2018 as a record store before transitioning into a pressing plant, to both fill the growing demand for plastic discs and to voluntarily bring a shitload of stress into their lives. Ben personifies the duality of man. Although he’s always immersed in his work, he still manages to be an extremely personable and social leader when dealing with artists and staff. Nowhere is this patience and personability more apparent than during the conversations Ben has to endure between myself and my two sleeving partners, Sam and Fletcher. When you spend hours on end facing two other people, the conversation can spiral into some pretty dire tangents about the omnipresent ‘Joe Cool’. Ben seems to be attuned to blocking this out for the most part, although there are moments we see the headphones rise. Overall, I’d say Ben ‘tolerates’ this sense of community we nurture on a daily basis.

Joel has been living in the Netherlands for the past eleven months, getting in his OE with the J1 visa before it’s too late. Despite this, and the time zone difference, Joel is a wizard when it comes to Holiday’s design aesthetic, marketing and artist communications, and we look forward to having him back in August. The story of how Holiday started has already been told before, most eloquently by The Spinoff and Hello Zukeen, so to not flog a dead horse I implore you to read what they had to say.

Ultimately, Holiday Records is a business. And at the heart of our business is the artists, who seek us out and trust us to press their music onto wax. We see everyone - from local legends like Tom Scott and The Beths, to random small-town geezers who just want their passion project in a physical medium. It’s by far the most gratifying part of the job, where the community aspect of our work comes into play. Anyone with the means and the talent can press and produce an album at Holiday, although many smaller acts don't get the chance.

In saying that, we recently shared a competition, ‘Waxed’, with Australian cultural outfit, Monster Children, for an up-and-coming artist to win a run of 300 records pressed and printed with us free of charge. We had a staggering 800 entries from across Australasia, further highlighting how big this community really is. Vinyl sales for 2022 were 41 million units globally. Of those, approximately 300,000 units were pressed by us. This huge demand for physical titles is somewhat re-democratising the industry, especially in the age of streaming. When an artist presses an album on vinyl, it builds a community around their music. It enables them to commoditise their brand, leave a lasting impression and ultimately give them the means to pursue their vision. With this support, it creates a fantastic space where artists and their fans can feed off each other to further develop and interpret the work strenuously put out there via Holiday.

Holiday Records as a space is an industrial parody. Yet it is the nucleus of a community that manifests itself as a physical medium. It is not just the concept of music as a physical medium that I find incredible, it is how a community of music collection, celebration and consumption can be born out of a team of eight people in the heart of Tāmaki Makaurau.

Good thing I'm "fluid" in Chinese

By Vivien Whyte (she/her) ASSOCIATE EDITOR

I recently saw Joy Ride, directed by Adele Lim, and was completely captivated by the horny Asian girls going ballistic in their ‘homeland’. Genuinely a hoot from start to finish, the 95-minute film left me feeling exhilarated, but bleary-eyed.

Truly, Crazy Rich Asians walked so Joy Ride could run. Kids nowadays will never be able to grasp just how blessed they are to have that sort of representation in mainstream cinema. The fun sort, where we can all laugh at the all-Asian girl squad for totally normal reasons. The sexy sort, where they’re in touch with their sexuality and sex drive, and not in the oriental-maiden way. The diverse sort, where we see a myriad of different diasporic Asian identities interact with both each other and their ‘homeland’. The type of representation where we don’t have to take ourselves too seriously – it’s just fun!

Without giving too much away, Ashley Park plays an ambitious lawyer who’s knee-deep in the merciless corporate bloodbath and is about to embark on a business trip to China. Having been adopted from China by a white American family, she speaks no Chinese but has promised her boss (who is an ally, by the way) to secure the deal with the prospect of making partner on the line. She takes along her Chinese-speaking, sexpositive artist friend, Lolo, and they are shortly joined by K-pop enthusiast, Deadeye, and Chinese-drama actress, Kat. The foursome face a series of misadventures and, along the way, grapple with belonging, family, internalised racism and being lost and found (literally and metaphorically).

Not only that, but seeing real representation of Asian women with sex drives is a game-changer. Honestly, one look into my Instagram DMs is all you need to convince yourself how big of a problem Asian fetishisation is. There’s a long history of media that has painted the sexy Asian woman as a mystical, submissive water lily, and the sex-positive Asian woman as a cunning, dirty bittermelon, with the intersection of the two being the mythical dragon lady. Plus, sex is an especially taboo subject for many Asian women. Years of exoticised representations in the media plus a lack of sex-positive conversations in our lives mean that we are rarely empowered in our sexuality or sexual preferences. So, seeing Asian women who are unapologetically lusty, desirable and sexy felt like the equivalent of a second sexual awakening.

Being able to laugh in a cinema of people who just get it honestly got me on a high. From a kumon-ified version of ‘WAP’ (“There’s some whores in this jia”) to an “At least she’s not Japanese” joke, Joy Ride plays like a kids' movie – there are jokes that everyone gets and hidden innuendos for the adults in the room. Here you'll also find jokes everyone can laugh at, but then there are those extra-special tidbits just for the immigrant and Asian baddies. At the same time, scenes from China (a place I haven’t been to in over a decade) and seeing a Chinese family eat together under one roof reduced me to a slobbery tear-stained tomato, prompting my friend to comment that “She wasn’t even pretty crying, it was full-on ugly tears”. Although not everyone would’ve been reduced to a waterhose, for me, those scenes of the fabled ‘homeland’ really brought home the sadness of having many of your family live overseas.

For me, it feels like a coming-of-age story. Not the soppy high school one where Spandau Ballet plays in the background. But the immigrant coming-of-age story that happens in your 20s when you start reflecting on yourself, your identity, the role your tiger mum had in your life and why being a diasporic kid is complicated. It’s the one that gets you out of your shell and makes you question if you’ve been adhering to white, Eurocentric society, or even a white, Eurocentric version of yourself, for too long. It reflects the time where you find healing in your friends, not your relationships, and truly grow, rooted in knowing who you are. Except my story doesn’t feature ex-NBA star Baron Davis, but you can’t have everything in life.

Of course, Joy Ride is far from the first film to provide the representation my younger self craved. In fact, films like The Joy Luck Club, The Farewell, Saving Face, Everything Everywhere All At Once and many more all fill a Michelle Yeoh-sized hole in my heart. However, what sets Joy Ride apart is that – in the wake of films like these – it doesn’t need to do the heavy-lifting of “How do we do Asian representation on screen”. Just because a film features Asian people it doesn’t have to be EEAAO-level deep. It can be BEEF-level crazy and on an IMAX screen! I didn’t realise until Joy Ride how freeing it is to see representation that doesn’t necessarily have to take itself too seriously. Nor one that has to market itself as the first all-Asian cast in pop culture. As a consequence of having a storyline centred around Asian characters, of course it’s going to fill in representation holes. However, the movie feels like watching those silly rom-coms I loved as a pre-teen and is free from the trap of needing to be that deep. Its fun humour and TikTok-ified delivery really solidified, for me, that there is a new horizon for Asian representation on the big screen. And I am so excited!

Seeing Asian women who are unapologetically lusty, desirable and sexy felt like the equivalent of a second sexual awakening.

Papaiti Records: The Flying Nun of Aotearoa Emo

By Liam Hansen (they/them) FEATURE WRITER

As the youngest of three kids, I can’t deny the privilege I had – being blissfully unaware of my family's hardships whilst playing “Mario Kart Wii” was probably my peak in life. But at ten years old, it hit me that the best part of my youthfulness was the fact that I could watch both my siblings go through their cringeworthy emo phases before me. Unfortunately, I didn’t realise being emo wasn’t actually a required part of teenagehood, and even worse: I discovered My Chemical Romance about twenty minutes and 43 seconds later. That was the beginning of the end, and the reason I’m now the sad queer emo family reject.

My life as an emo kid started in 2016 as a Tumblr troglodyte, before developing into being an insufferable indie kid. I never shut up about Modern Baseball, Cap N’ Jazz, or Taking Back Sunday – and to be honest, I never really stopped. The screamy, emotionally driven lyrics were therapeutic for an annoying teenager in West Auckland, especially when the pandemic hit. The loudest music I could find bled into my ear drums and out into the rest of my year 11 classroom through my shitty dollar store earphones, solidifying me as a pretentious wanker who probably deserved to be bullied a teensy bit more. But after leaving high school and awkwardly inserting myself into the Aotearoa music scene, I stumbled across a multitude of nerds just like myself making music about growing up in shitty small town New Zealand, finding solace in the people who mean the most. This isn’t just Kiwis emulating the sounds of Midwest emo from the United States – it’s a unique and growing subgenre, and brought together by a tight knit community of musicians and artists distinctively formed by the Aotearoa underground.

The origin of emo is a “depends who you ask” type thing, but generally speaking, it stemmed from the post-hardcore scene in Washington D.C. in the mid-80s and developed from there across the nation and world. From a Google search of “emo in New Zealand”, it seems that black fringe emo kids spread like wildfire during the mid-2000s, and countless articles exist lambasting these annoying little teenagers for their feeeeeeeeelings. Ironically, just as the mainstream emo wave died out, the modern Aotearoa emo community started to form. Whanganui-based musician James Stutely has been on the hunt for pre-2010 Aotearoa emo for a while: “Almost all the emo that I can find is in that mid-2000s style”, referring to bands influenced by My Chemical Romance, Paramore and Fall Out Boy rather than the older, original style of American Football or Mineral. James is a bit of a leader in the Aotearoa emo scene (though he’s reluctant to admit it). He’s played in How Get and Yon Loader but his most well-known mahi is as the drummer of Carb on Carb, an emo project formed with vocalist/guitarist Nicole Gaffeney that’s been active for over a decade. Carb on Carb melds beautiful double-tracked guitar riffs with fast paced drums, with the occasional nod to early Flying Nun-esque jangle pop combined with sounds from Midwest emo. Nicole takes up lead vocals while James provides backup, with the lyrics forming a romanticised vision of Aotearoa suburbs and natural environments. “I guess what we’re trying to do is really embrace and celebrate New Zealand. There’s always songs about LA or whatever, but LA fucking sucks in my opinion,” James said. This also translates into their vocal delivery and general atmosphere, which came to fruition after their tours outside of NZ in Australia, Japan, and the US. “We’ve always tried to stay honest to our roots, not changing our accents or singing about other places. Especially after doing a lot of that touring, we’ve become really appreciative of our home.”

Sad by Sad South.

James’ work goes beyond Carb on Carb, as he’s spent around 12 years developing Papaiti Records. Papaiti began with James and his friend recording bootlegs of local gigs, and distributing them through their website. “It became a vehicle to put on our ‘Sad By Sad-Western Australia’, ‘Sad-by-South New Zealand’ festivals and other tours.” These days, the label serves as a hub for Aotearoa emo – a move that happened just as gradually as the move from bootleggers to record label. “It started out more indie and punk, and then edged more and more towards emo. We still do a lot of stuff that's only really adjacent to that sound, so it's not just an emo label, but almost everything we’re putting out this year is definitely on that wavelength.” By no means are Papaiti the only people championing Aotearoa emo: Right here in Tāmaki Makaurau we have awesome bands like Melanie, who have been bringing a heavier sound reminiscent of Joyce Manor and The Hotelier to Aotearoa, and K M T P, who have their debut album coming out in late September on Sun Return Records. But Papaiti is truly special, pioneering the distinct sound of Aotearoa emo. They bring together their influences of North American emo and the jangly reverb pop that has echoed through the soundwaves of Kiwi student radio stations from the 80s until now to form it into its own niche subgenre. In my opinion, what Flying Nun was to the Dunedin Sound in the 80s, Papaiti is now to Aotearoa emo.

A great example is Model Home, a self-described “sad songs quartet” based in Ōtautahi/Christchurch. “I think we started in 2018, just playing sad songs in a storage facility in Woolston,” said Rachel Norcross, who helms the lead vocals and one of the band's two guitars. While Papaiti isn’t strictly an emo label, Model Home is perhaps the band most true to the sound the Aotearoa emo scene is carving out for themselves. Their recent releases, ‘Leaky Home Simulator 2031’ and ‘Midnight, Dragon Garden’ come together through a menagerie of influences spread across their band, from radio pop to alternative rock, English folk to theatre. The lyrics continue to romanticise life in Aotearoa, with the debut single of their upcoming album calling Christchurch an earthquake town. “There’s a lot to talk about when you’re in your late twenties, growing up in a city that fell apart. Becoming an adult in of itself has been strange as well – we write a lot about homemaking, and driving, and work taking up all of your time and things like that. It’s basically dad emo.” It all comes together in a defined and strong sound that gives echos of any tune that would soundtrack the intro of a mid-2000s coming-of-age film – although I suppose it’s less “A teenager is sad about Christchurch sucking because nothing happens”, and more “A young adult is sad about Christchurch because too many horrible things keep happening –and also groceries are expensive”.

When it comes to the stuff that veers toward merging emo with different genres, Pōneke based artist Shannen Georgia Petersen is the person to ask, playing in her classically emo solo project, as well as ‘Sports Dreams’ – blending emotionally driven vocals, lyrics and guitars with a more dreamy, electronic sound. She also plays in Welcomer, and has recently reformed her two-piece Fruit Juice Parade to open for American screamo band La Dispute. And yes, all of those projects are on Papaiti Records. Shannen grew up in Te Papaioea/ Palmerston North and shares the same sentiment that James and Rachel hold around the impact Aotearoa small towns had on their youth and music-making. “A lot of growing up in a small town is just driving or walking around being like, ‘far out, this sucks, there is nothing to do.’ So you go and make music with your friends, and even if the music is like, ‘fuck this town, my town sucks’, it’s still a nice way to be able to celebrate it.”

The small-town environments James, Shannen, and Rachel all grew up in were the perfect emotional breeding grounds for each of them to begin making emo music. You can easily draw parallels between the mixture of farms and suburbs in Palmerston North to the Midwest US. Ōtautahi/Christchurch is actually a sister city of Seattle (home to integral early emo bands like Sunny Day Real Estate and Roadside Monument), and despite the size of Auckland in comparison to the rest of NZ, the Carb on Carb song ‘Kei Tāmaki’ accurately calls it “The biggest small town in our small country”. But Shannen gave particular credit to the scene in Palmy for supporting her better than what the bigger cities of Aotearoa could offer. “It was all to do with ‘The Stomach’, really,” she said, talking about the city’s recording studio and all-ages venue. “That was just where we would go on the weekend or after school, just to hang out and pester whoever's working. I guess we were all sort of drawn to each other there.” They were incredibly appreciative of The Stomach and the Palmy music community for being a safe space for them and their friends as teenagers. “It’s not the same experience I’ve heard from my music friends from Auckland, or even Wellington and Christchurch.”

Each of these artists and their projects have now come together under the Papaiti label, often touring and playing at each other's gigs, in each other's bands, and forming a community across the nation. They’ve pioneered Aotearoa emo and what it’s trying to represent about our, to quote poet Hera Lindsay-Bird, “stupid milk-loving piece of shit dumbass mean spirited sale at Briscoes racist sexist 40% off deck furniture piss country” in all of its glory (Hera, if you’re reading this, have you ever thought about starting an emo band? I’ll play bass!).

Model Home.

This is all coming from a fan’s perspective, though. “In terms of an actual subgenre, I don’t think we’re quite there yet,” James said. “I don't think there would be enough musical motifs you could write down, or anything like that. But in terms of a community or a network of bands, Aotearoa emo is definitely here.” Rachel from Model Home shared a similar sentiment, attributing the band's creation to the community. “We were all really good friends with the Carb on Carb guys, and every time they came down to play a show they would crash with us. We always wanted to play shows with them, and eventually we just went ‘let’s just start an emo band, let’s do it’”.

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter if Aotearoa emo is a fully fledged subgenre or not. In a couple years’ time, Spotify will probably have “Western Marlborough Semi-Hardcore Space Punk with Ska Influences” as one of their millions of genres, so really in 2023 strictly defining music by genre is useless. “What’s really important is the community aspect of it,” said Shannen at the end of our yarn. “The music isn't secondary, but it's just nice to have a network of people that you can, like, share knowledge with. There’s nothing more important than finding your funny little community.”

The good thing is, these folks aren’t gatekeeping their spaces in the slightest. From everyone I spoke to, and through my own experiences in the scene, it’s clear that the focus is to make sure that everybody is safe and having a good time, whether they’re starting their own band or just hanging out to have a little cry to some awesome tunes. “No one in this community would say anything remotely discouraging if a young person came up to them,” said Rachel. Just start writing about anything, playing anything, give us a yell and we'll play a show with you. Especially for a genre that’s been accused of gatekeeping in the past, I think what we're doing in Aotearoa is the opposite. Saving the best parts of emo and leaving all the worst bits. For us, emo is whatever you say it is, and if you play cool music, we'll just come play with you and support you.”

Oh boy, it’s promo time, baby! You can catch Shannen's band Fruit Juice Parade opening for La Dispute at The Hollywood in Avondale this August, hear upcoming albums from Carb on Carb, Yon Loader and Model Home later this year, and support all those bands when they inevitably tour Tāmaki Makaurau. All of them have music out on all streaming platforms now, and more info on the label can be found at @papaitirecords or papaiti.com.

Carb on Carb by Ezra Simons.

shannengeorgiapetersen by Anna Bell Chung.

THE

YOUNG INFORMED & :

Debate’s Coverage of the 2023

General Election

By Nic George (he/him) Chief Reporter

The 2023 general election is just around the corner!

With two and a half months until polls close, Debate is launching our campaign, The Young and Informed, aiming to provide studentfocused election coverage.

For many of you, this will be the first election you are eligible to vote in, which can be very intimidating, but this is also your first opportunity to have a say in our future.

It is important to empower students by ensuring you are heard and your concerns are addressed, as your perspectives will shape the political landscape that lies ahead.

At the heart of every student magazine is the voice of its students, so it is vital that our coverage represents that voice.

Here is a peek at what we will be providing in The Young and Informed:

• Profiling Auckland MPs to hear their plans to improve the lives of their constituents and create better opportunities.

• Interviews with experts who can provide fact-based perspectives on the future in store for us once we have graduated and are out in the world.

• Hearing from advocates seeking to transform their activism into institutional change.

• Most of all, we want to talk to students and get their perspectives on the political atmosphere they are about to inherit.

We are an Auckland-based student magazine so we will primarily focus on issues close to home, but many of our struggles are felt nationwide.

We need to know how the future government plans to address the big issues impacting our lives as students, so we will be looking for solutions to the following:

The environment: Climate change is here. Auckland experienced the worst flooding in the last three decades, and models created by climate experts have shown that there is a direct link between our greenhouse gas emissions and these extreme weather events.

We need to know what our leaders are planning to do about it; we need to know from experts whether those plans are viable and effective or just pixie dust.

The cost-of-living crisis: Labour has touted that they have brought annual inflation back in line, but we have seen the cost of food items increase by 12% in the last year.

As the country heads into a recession, it could become more difficult to find work at a time when students will feel the squeeze from both ends.

Mental health: In the last four years, our generation has gone through a trautmatic event.

Studies have shown that the pandemic did a number on our mental health, and experts will examine the long-term impacts for decades.

While lockdowns were proven to be effective at saving lives from COVID-19, years of having ineffective mental health systems left the country vulnerable.

Elections can be turbulent, and new issues will likely arise as we close in on the final polling day, so we will keep our ear close to the ground for any plot twists ahead.

This is also an opportunity for us to collaborate with the student journalists here at AUT, who want to gain political journalism experience.

As a former editor for the Te Waha Nui student newsroom, I have worked with a very talented cohort of young journos, who are eager to bring the lessons they have learned in class to the real world.

If you want coverage of a political issue, get in touch! There is a lot we hope to do in this space, including polls and vox pops around campus.

Don’t be shy if you see us around campus - we want to hear from you!

Fairy Kisses from Shooless

By Hannah Nott (she/her) CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Genre-bending Tāmaki five-piece, Shooless, have just released their first eponymous EP. Hannah Grace-Nott details their unique performance style from the audience.

Nothing can surprise me at a Shooless performance. I’ve witnessed feather fedoras, cousins twerking, dresses being stitched side stage, nanas raving and a multitude of bare feet. I’ve heard vocals that transport me to a world where I’m rolling in a mushroom field, songs that leave me strutting out of the venue like I’m in Devil Wears, and lyrics that remind me of my mother’s arms after my first heartbreak.

I most recently saw Shooless perform at Ponsonby’s Ahu, a venue dedicated to supporting artists of all mediums in Tāmaki Makaurau. Very few artists I have seen live break the fourth wall like Shooless. Their engagement with the audience has a unique confidence and authenticity. At their Ahu gig, they literally played on ground level, making every person in the room feel personally serenaded. Having had a front row seat for the establishment of Shooless and many a rehearsal in their crowded living room, I am always excited to witness the band’s development and the energy they cultivate for their audience.

Having roomed with lead vocalists, Freya and Guy, I can attest there is not an inauthentic bone in their bodies. They’re transparent in the best way, reflected by how they acknowledge those who have travelled to see them play. Their performance returns the energy of the grinning faces mirroring them from beginning to end. This transparency was especially direct with Freya’s performance of ‘Fairy Kisses’, accompanied by lead guitarist, Locky, and bassist, Will. In the fast-paced, chaotic world we live in, it is rare to be completely still and silent. It is rare to stand alongside a grown man as he cries with tears of pride for the leader his daughter has grown into. The ultimate ‘big sister’ lullaby full of lyrics each of us needed during our childhood and teens, ‘Fairy Kisses’ paralysed the room with honesty and vulnerability. Everyone held their breath because the vocals breathed for them.

If there’s one thing Shooless have mastered, it’s the bridge. This melodic break is often overlooked, but it has become their trademark - building a strong narrative and climax for every listener. This is most apparent in their tracks ‘Journey to Nazareth’, ‘Butter’ and ‘Skink Brain’. It’s clear that members of the group have spent many summers listening to live music in the open outdoors. Even in the smallest of rooms, a Shooless bridge creates this breadth of space for the audience to be drawn into the instrumentals in whatever way comes naturally, all the while craving the return to the melody. Shooless certainly ‘let ’em cook’.

Synergy is when an interaction gives way to a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. And the synergy within Shooless is unparalleled - whether it be the locking of eyes between drummer, Jordan, and bassist, Will, as they effortlessly change tempo, or Locky’s shared heartbeat with the vocalists’, allowing them to draw out certain notes. These depths can’t be rehearsed, but are instead reactive from momentary energy. Every few bars is a trust fall, and they play for each other as much as they play for their audience.

This is a band that has done their research. Every song has a narrative, and every note has intention. If Weyes Blood, King Krule, Fleetwood Mac and Al Green had a love child, it would be Shooless. Although I don’t play any instruments myself to do justice to the madness, creativity and precision of Locky, Will, Jordan, Guy and Freya, I feel there is nothing in this world more important than storytelling. And that is what Shooless does best.

In the fast-paced, chaotic world we live in, it is rare to be completely still and silent. It is rare to stand alongside a grown man as he cries with tears of pride for the leader his daughter has grown into.

Photography by Tori Vitali

Photography by Tori Vitali

‘Bating’, the online community finding connection through jerking off

By Chris Murphy (he/they) CONTRIBUTING WRITER

The internet is a weird place for communities. The global scale and relative anonymity of most online platforms have allowed for communities to pop up around topics that would otherwise never be discussed in everyday conversation. I came across a community like this in the very lonely days of the lockdown in 2020. A friend of mine told me that there were servers on Discord where you could meet guys to jerk off with. It seemed like a fun idea, and honestly, I would have done anything to feel any type of human connection. So, I gave it a try. But the community I discovered was a lot more than just horny queer dudes masturbating together. I came into the strange and surprisingly deep world of bating (bayting) and solosexuality (where one prefers masturbation over other forms of sex). After lockdowns came to an end and life went back to normal for most of us, I moved away from that community, but my interest remained. It’s big and complicated, sometimes even esoteric, but it’s definitely one of the internet’s more unique queer communities - the world of bating and solosexuality. So, what is it exactly?

to-earth demeanour. He’s a well-groomed, well-spoken 30-something Aussie guy, not at all what most people would imagine when they think of a self-described masturbator. He manages to masturbate for at least three hours a day - a number that’s probably eye-popping for many. When asked whether he ever struggles to balance that with his personal and professional life he says, “No,” without the slightest hint of hesitation. For him, it’s just another part of his daily life, akin to work, family or sex, “I get up early every day and I can easily find three hours to bate. Other people might watch morning television.” He’s been with the community for a long time and has seen it grow massively, from maybe 100 people on various sites and forums to a large community of adult performers, writers, podcasters and, of course, casual bators and solosexuals.

M.B. Timothy is an author and an out and proud solosexual and bator from Melbourne. He describes bating as, “actively going deep into the pleasure you can get from your own body.” Solosexuality is usually defined as a type of sexual expression where a person expresses their sexuality alone, but to Timothy, it’s a lot broader than just that. He’s married to a solosexual partner and recognises solosexuality in a variety of people, from those who don’t engage in partnered sex to those who might prefer to masturbate with their partner; “[It’s] a spectrum, like any other sexuality.” When we finally sat down, I was immediately struck by his down-

The bating community is a distinctly online one. Like most niche internet subcultures, the exact origins of the community are pretty elusive, but it probably has its roots in early gay online forums and chat rooms. The older bators I’ve spoken with seem to remember coming across terms like bator and solosexual around 2005, but it more than likely existed before that in one form or another. It also began to grow on communities like Tumblr, but probably really found its feet with the founding of BateWorld, a social networking site specifically for bators. It’s through sites like BateWorld that bators and solosexuals were able to start creating an identity, sharing techniques and stories, as well as nudes and porn. Nowadays, you’ll find most of the community on Twitter or Discord. For many people, digital communities are a safe space to explore their bodies and their sexualities openly. During lockdown it became a place for people to safely enjoy a sexual connection with others. For others, it can be a fun way to get their image out and make money.

Illustrations by Haydn Nixon (he/him)

“I get up early every day and I can easily find three hours to bate. Other people might watch morning television.”

“I’m just happy I can be 25 and have a community that I fit into.”

ColbyJaxx is a 25 year old adult entertainer from Wisconsin in the US. He recently won the BateWorld bate-off, a kind of online reality show where people took part in masturbation challenges, trying different positions and techniques on camera for audience votes. It doesn’t even cross his mind that winning a jerk off contest might be odd for some people outside the community. “I wear it proudly,” he says. He’s from a small town in Wisconsin where everyone knows everyone, so his career in porn isn’t exactly a secret. “Everyone knows about Colby,” he says. He’s got a pretty stoic attitude about it though, and he keeps his head high. He’s friendly and chipper, with a slight Midwestern twang to his accent. With a bleach-white smile and short blonde hair, he looks like a Ken doll (if Ken could jerk off). He came into bating fairly recently, during Covid. He had a boyfriend at the time and was tired of bottoming, “It felt like a task.” So discovering a community where he could just enjoy his own body was a perfect space for him. As a person who had struggled with body image and eating disorders for most of his life, he loved the open and body-positive attitude of the community. Being able to see so many different body types being celebrated as well as being open with his own body helped him immensely. “I’m just happy I can be 25 and have a community that I fit into,” he says.

But like all communities, this one has its dark sides. There are many parts of the community that celebrate and encourage chronic masturbation and porn addiction. It’s easy to come across parts and aspects of the community that are more about self-destruction than they are about self-pleasure. Encouraging people to prioritise jerking off over their normal life, to skip work, ignore their partners and ignore their families. As with many online kinks, it's difficult to tell how much of it is real and how much of it is just a fantasy. But still, it's a disturbing aspect of the community and one that’s particularly concerning as issues like porn addiction come more and more into the mainstream conversation.

Liam Williams is a podcaster, writer and bator living in Melbourne. Though he has a podcast, writes erotic fiction and maintains a Facebook group and Discord server, he doesn’t really see himself as community-oriented or part of a collective. “I don’t know if I was trying to find a community, it was more for me confirming yet another thing about my sexuality that was different,” he explains. “Despite the podcasts and the Discord server, I don’t have this big ‘community feeling’ around me.” He’s more interested in bringing the conversation into the mainstream in real-life and normalising solo-sex as a legitimate sexual preference and not just an online kink. He created his podcast because he felt that many other existing solosexual and bating podcasts were too focused on just being something for listeners to wank to, rather than a serious conversation about sexual identity. It’s not about solo-sex being an alternative sex for losers who can’t get laid but a normal and healthy part of a person’s sexual life. He tells me, “you can enjoy an hour with yourself as much as you can enjoy an hour with someone else.” Though he understands the irony of doing his advocacy from behind a fake name, for him, it's about removing the stigma and shame around the act in general. “I want to get to the point where the blokes that I play sport with know I’m a bator.” And he feels like it’s getting there; he tells me about several conversations he’s had with friends, both straight and gay, who’ve been receptive to his identity.

There definitely seems to be a lot of big goals for the community, and it doesn’t look like it's slowing down anytime soon, with hundreds of new people joining websites like BateWorld or getting on Twitter everyday. For me, at least, there is something radically subversive and inherently queer about bating culture. Masturbation is something that for most of modern history has been something dirty, shameful, sinful and, most of all, hidden. As Thomas Laqueur writes in Solitary Sex: A Cultural History of Masturbation, “[Masturbation] is that part of human sexual life where potentially unlimited pleasure meets social restraint.” The willingness of these men to completely throw away the social restraints put on their self-pleasure is a strangely defiant act in many ways. Though at times I found myself struggling to take intellectual takes on the community seriously when looking at endless streams of porn and dick pics. I think for some in the community it is a more intimate expression of their sexuality and for others it is just a kink, or even just an addiction to porn; there’s probably room for both types at the end of the day. I also just think it’s great for queer people in general. As “side” has become a more and more popular alternative to the traditional roles of top, bottom and vers, I think a lot of people, regardless of their gender, would benefit from just getting more in touch with their own bodies and how to do that with a partner. It’s very common for bators to be people who were just sick of penetrative sex, and communities like this one can play a role in expanding the mainstream idea of what sex is (i.e. not just a penis going inside somebody).

Masturbating, jerking off, bating, whatever you want to call it - can definitely be a funny topic. When I first started writing this piece I was expecting to end up with something more humorous but after speaking with the men of the bating community, it’s become hard not to take it seriously. For people who bate, jerking off isn’t just jerking off. Colby said at one point during our interview, “to me, it’s a form of self-love and taking care of yourself.” It’s almost an art form for them, it’s their sex, but it’s also a form of self-expression. Because, I think, when we get rid of all the awkward discomfort around the subject it becomes another facet of sexuality, like anything else. Bators and solosexuals have issues within their community, just like any other, but people can and do make efforts to improve it. The community is young and still finding its feet. While a lot of people might struggle to take it seriously as an identity, after having such open and honest conversations about it, I’m mostly on board.

“You can enjoy an hour with yourself as much as you can enjoy an hour with someone else.”

A Walk Down Memory Lane: My Cinematic Misadventures

By Thomas Giblin (he/him) CULTURE & LIFESTYLE WRITER

There's an innate value attached to the shared screen experience, that isn't talked about enough. There’s something special about watching a film as part of an audience, rather than at home. Cinema chains can wax lyrical about how "extra-comfy recliners are just the beginning" and why you should gorge on their overpriced food and drink combos, but the magic of cinema is its shared experiences. Cinema is a piece of entertainment and escapism. But more importantly, it’s a thought-provoking communal experience that will stay with you, transforming into a cherished memory. Unlike the monotony of content streamed straight to your viewing device, this communal experience highlights the beautiful, often hilarious impermanence of inperson human connection.

Netflix, Amazon Prime and Disney+ have homogenised the shared screen experience. A dimly lit lounge or the comforting swaddle of a stained duvet has replaced fading fluorescent lights and the familiar scent of salted popcorn. You can now freely choose what to watch, when and where, all for $15.99 a month, but everything blurs into one. Films like Red Notice, The Midnight Sky, Triple Frontier and The Gray Man are uninspired and trite - produced to attract subscribers. The communal experience, exacerbated by Covid-19, has shifted online to Twitter replies, Reddit comment sections and Instagram DMs. In becoming the predominant way people experience cinema, the magic of hushed voices, overpriced snacks, and hyperbolic trailers is slowly fading. There's plenty to love about these streaming services, but let us remember those cherished memories at the cinema.

In paying homage to sitting side-by-side with strangers bathing in the flicker of a taut thriller or ravishing romance, I've curated some musings from my favourite cinematic communal experiences. From the Cannes Film Festival to Academy Cinemas, I've witnessed it all. I've even seen a man devouring a roast chicken while waiting for a Marvel flick to begin.

Sleeping Beauty

Lee Chang-dong is one of Korea's most revered directors. His 2018 psychological thriller Burning was considered the best Korean film of all time until Parasite appeared a year later. The film is a slow-burning character study of Lee Jong-su, who's asked to look after a cat for Shin Hae-mi, a girl he used to know. It’s an intriguing but exhaustive mystery for some. With a run-time of two and a half hours, its deliberate glacial pace was too much for the elderly woman next to me, as her head first rocked onto my shoulder an hour into the film. As Lee closes a door, a sound which echoes over tacky gold-adorned statues and into the barren Civic theatre, the sleeping beauty beside me is jolted awake. They apologise profusely, but as the mystery deepened with the arrival of the handsome and well-off Ben, the film’s sensuous twists and turns do nothing to keep the dozing woman next to me cognisant.

This time, as her head nestles once again onto my shoulder, she begins snoring. It fuses with the soundtrack of heady jazz, causing those seated around us to stare. I'm guilty by association - this woman is as much a stranger to me as I am to healthy sleeping habits and choosing not to vape on a night out. My hands gently push her away, but her lifeless body rocks back into mine. Strangers gesture at me to awaken her, and my panic multiplies as the decibels of her snoring increase. I desperately mouth to those around us, "I don't know her", before violently shaking her awake as the film becomes increasingly fraught in its final minutes. Before long, the credits roll. She turns to me in a daze, and musters the most serious look she could, and said, "Well, that was boring."

Andy Serkis as Caesar

This story reveals a spoiler from 2011's Rise of the Planet of the Apes. If you haven't seen the film by now, huh? The film was re-released in anticipation of War for the Planet of the Apes, a franchise of summer blockbusters far better than expected. In the third act of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Dodge, the abusive animal control guard, wields his taser over Caeser. He wants the ape back in his cage, but Caesar has had enough. "No", he shouts - the gorillas can speak. A girl at the front of the theatre shrieks before exclaiming, "What!" The cinema chuckles together, marking an early communal cinematic memory of mine.

Please Leave the Package by the Front Door

I'll never miss a film from Ken Loach,the British director famed for his attention to workingclass social issues such as poverty, homelessness and labour rights. Sorry We Missed You (2019) focuses on Ricky and his family, who are struggling to survive in the aftermath of the 2008 financial crash. Ricky seeks out a job as a delivery driver, and he hopes to regain some financial independence, but the pressures of the job are overwhelming. À la Amazon, he urinates in bottles, isn't given breaks and is fined if he is late to deliveries.

The crux of the film sees Ricky in hospital after being robbed and viciously beaten whilst making deliveries. Maloney, his rage-inducing boss, furiously phones to explain that he's facing fines of over £1,000 as a barcode scanner was stolen during the assault. Ricky's wife Abbie takes the phone, castigating Maloney for his treatment of her husband.

A packed Civic breaks out into applause. It's an inspiring moment of worker solidarity, but I can't help but sense a feeling of deceit. There's an air of hypocrisy among this overwhelmingly white, elderly and affluent audience. They're happy to engage with these socialist values in art, but they don't practise them, as they'll continue to vote National or Labour “for the sake of the economy." Does art actually have the power to change the world, or do they instead make people feel better about their lives?

The Sounds of Thunder

Thunder Road, the breakout debut feature by Jim Cummings, is not a sexually-charged film. Instead, it is a darkly funny story of a grieving cop whose life is falling apart. The film opens with Officer Jim Arnaud delivering a hilariously awkward eulogy for his late mother, set to Bruce Springsteen's song ‘Thunder Road’. Not long into this monologue, a couple stumbles giddily into the cinema. I hear their wine glasses clink and their hushed giggles. I'm seated in the middle row, but it's a small cinema, and unfortunately, every seat is close enough to hear the perversions of the back row. It only takes a few minutes before the untoward sounds, commonly associated with hormonal teenagers, reverberate alongside Arnaud's Texan twang. My mouth is aghast; this isn't how I planned on experiencing the indie darling of 2018.

Idiote

The cinema is the perfect place to eavesdrop. People are somehow oblivious to your presence as they chronicle stories from their personal lives. Often, those eager to impress their dates will flaunt their filmic knowledge while waiting for the light to dim. I arrived early and found myself seated behind a group of elderly friends. The film? The Truth, Hirokazu Kore-eda's first non-Japanese-language film. Shoplifters, his previous effort, won the Palme d'Or. Despite these two facts, the group of friends rattled off mistruth after mistruth about The Truth and Catherine Deneuve's oeuvre until the film began.

"The French know how to make a film," one says to the other as the credits roll. Moments later, "Director: Hirokazu Kore-eda" appears on the screen. "That's odd", they utter. There's little harm in this cultural gaffe, but its humour brought a wry smile to my face, unlike Netflix shoving their latest original down my throat.

The Noé Effect

Cinema's enfant terrible Gaspar Noé delights and thrills with each cinematic endeavour. From I Stand Alone to Vortex, all his films are notoriously provocative, with his hugely divisive 2002 feature Irréversible, which was labelled by film critic Roger Ebert as "a movie so violent and cruel that most people will find it unwatchable". Climax, his fifth film, follows a dance troupe rehearsing in an abandoned school. The rehearsals are a success, and a party begins. Unknowingly, the sangria has been spiked with LSD, sending the celebrations spiralling into a psychotic frenzy.

The Civic’s immense scale, combined with the visceral intensity of Climax, left viewers tearing at their friends for comfort. People shielded their eyes with shaking hands; some even left. Films by directors like Noé thrive on the energy of the audience together in a dark room. Laughs and screams are best heard when you're not alone.

FILM FESTIVAL Whānau Mārama

19 July - 6 August

Run, don’t walk! It’s the New Zealand International Film Festival, which means the best of global cinema is in Tāmaki Mākaurau. The films, which hail from 39 different countries, feature Cannes Film Festival winners, documentaries, shorts, retrospectives, films for kids, animation and the ‘incredibly strange’.

MARKET

Auckland Zinefest Market Weekend

Saturday 5th & Sunday 6th August Free!

Highly anticipated fan favourite, the Auckland Zine Fest is back at Toi o Tāmaki! Bursting with creativity, come and be a part of the best of Tāmaki zine culture, small press and all things DIY! Check out their schedule for more details on free workshops.

Auckland Art Gallery | Toi o Tāmaki

ART

Ever Present: First Peoples Art of Australia

Auckland Art Gallery | Toi o Tāmaki

Now - Sunday 29th October Free!

With over 150 works from 1890 to today, Ever Present: First Peoples Art of Australia is the largest overview of its kind to be presented in Aotearoa. Head to the art gallery and enjoy the collection, which is accompanied by a series of talks, special events and tours.

EXHIBITION World Press Photo Exhibition

Smith & Caughey’s

Now - Sunday 20th August

$15 Student

This annual exhibition presents the annual World Press Photo Contest, showcasing the best and most compelling photojournalism from around the world.

AUGUST 2023

G G i u d g i e

TĀMAKI MAKAURAU - AKL

Ringlets

Where? Whammy Bar

When? Friday, August 4th Cost? $30

Elemental Jazz: The Lahaar, Phoebe Rings + DJs

Where? Neck of the Woods

When? Friday, August 4th Cost? $25

Ok Listen: with Ngaru, Dylan Biscuit and Bbyfacekilla

Where? Neck of the Woods

When? Saturday, August 5th Cost? $22

Horn | Fazed On A Pony | Wellness

Where? Whammy Backroom

When? Saturday, August 5th Cost? $10

Soft Bait

Where? Whammy Bar

When? Friday, August 11th Cost? $15

Heavy Chest

Where? Tuning Fork

When? Saturday, August 12th Cost? $20

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