When the sun doth shine in Dunedin, a rare enough event in its own right, a little-seen but widely noticed bird of particular plumage emerges: the girl in white pants.
In America, the longstanding fashion rule for wearing white pants is never after Labour Day but here in the Antipodes, the antithesis of New York Fashion Week in so, so many ways, white pants are a summertime fling, and just like such flings, can be rash if ill-considered.
But why shouldn't you wear white pants in the winter? Because you look pasty enough on a Dunedin July day, without exacerbating it by looking like a posturing albino.
In summer, my wardrobe tends towards the Caribbean Queen both in ethic and colour kaleidoscope; after all in a city where a pink frock and a smile are still considered scandalous in some quarters, hoochie-mama hues certainly shake things up a bit.
I have also been known to bear a flirtatious amount of cleavage should the whim take me.
"Up to the neck is the fashion in sales," I was reprimanded recently by a salesman-about-town I'll just call Death.
Obviously, the message that sex sells has yet to reach our environs, lost perhaps on its way down south from the den of iniquity that is the city of Boobs on Bikes.
This week, as the weather became more clement, I wore a spangly burgundy top and what-the-hell white pants, in the full and certain knowledge that white pants are anathema for many, and can go one of two ways:
A. You look like the broad side of an old canvas family tent.
B. You look expensive (women who wear head-to-toe white should be able to afford the constant dry cleaning).
But I hadn't factored in a hitherto unknown effect.
As hinted at above, white pants are not for everyone.
"Any thoughts on white pants?" I asked Tammy the beer-swilling model.
"No," she said.
"No is my only thought on white pants."
White pants are also not for those who feel that asking "Does my bum look big in this?" could ever be responded to in the affirmative.
Knowing the foolhardiness of asking a teenager this question, I turned instead to the economist.
"How do I look?" I asked, doing a twirl in my spangly top and white pants.
"You look like a stripper with her clothes on," he said.
High praise indeed.
A lack of pasties and exhibitionism holding me back from this profession, off I trotted to my place of work.
"Nice pants," said a male colleague.
"Nice top," said another, also of the masculine persuasion.
"The economist says I look like a stripper," I informed a female co-worker.
"Well, you do," she said.
Brides, vestal virgins and nuns all wear white.
I put it on and I'm the Whore of Babylon.
I went outside.
A brace of scaffolders were creating a metal labyrinth above the art gallery on the corner.
"Wahay!" they called affectionately.
Flinging the feminist shackles from my shoulders I decided to go with it.
Who was I to curb their cheerful monkey urges? Wearing white pants is a little like dating a man named after a serial killer: it can only end in disaster (and, yes, I did: his name was Manson; and, no, I don't know what his parents were thinking either).
Walking down the main street in the glorious Dunedin sunshine, following my flaneurism in the shop windows, narrowly avoiding sconing myself on a footpath sign outside Carlson, I was so chic, so Bianca Jagger.
Then at lunch, the tomato from my BLT landed on my thigh and oozed - as gore-splattered as a blonde in Wolf Creek - down the leg of my pants, leaving its brains smeared there while it gasped its last on my foot.
I looked like the virgin left at the end of a slasher film.
"Stupid white pants," I said.
This week
Tomorrow: Glorious, directed by Patrick Davies, Fortune Theatre, Dunedin.
Saturday: Katchafire, Sammy's, Dunedin.
Until Oct 4: Otago Art Society spring exhibition, the Art Station, Dunedin Railway Station.
Coming upOctober 9: The Checks, 10 Bar; Basshunter, Dunedin Town Hall.
October 10: The Wizard of Oz, Glenroy Auditorium; Women's Lifestyle Expo, Edgar Centre.
October 17: Antique fair, Dunedin Centre.
October 23: Acoustic church tour with Greg Johnson and Boh Runga, Knox Church.
Your Style
Jenny Yun (19) Student
How would you describe your style?
"Ooh, I don't know.
"I guess my style is quite basic and quite random."
What are you wearing and where did you get it?
"My white cardigan is from a shop called Zara in France.
"I got it when I was over there.
"My dress is from Infinite Definite in Christchurch, and my sunglasses were free from the same shop.
"The shoes are Keds from Ruby in Christchurch and the bag is from Witchery."
What are the latest fashion trends and have they hit the streets of Dunedin.
Or, do people in the South have their own style? Reporter Sarah Harvey goes out with camera and notepad to record some fashion statements.
Alexis Le Nestour (25) International student
"Old school."
What are you wearing and where did you get it?
"The jacket I bought in France about two years ago.
"In fact, all of my clothes are from France as I only just moved to Dunedin.
"My shoes are Converse, my jeans are Wrangler.
"The bag I got from Thailand.
"It is a cheap imitation of a Hawaiian Airways bag."
Alice Parker (20) Student
How would you describe your style?
"I buy reasonably normal stuff and then I add my own style to it by sewing bits and pieces on."
"My shoes are from Wild Pair, they are Gwen Stefani shoes.
"The socks are from Farmers.
"I have about 30 pairs of funky socks.
"I actually just bought another pair today.
"The tights - I can't really remember where they are from I have had them for ages - probably from Farmers.
"The skirt is from Cotton On, the shirt is from an op shop, the hoody is from a surfy sort of shop; I added all the detail.
"The hat is from an op shop."
Where is your favourite place to shop?
"I'm a bit of an op shopper, or I like cheaper clothes stores"
