Today has been a weird one, what with one thing and another so if you're feeling bewildered, anxious, angry or any combination thereof nobody could blame you and certainly I won't. That said, I am more and more of the opinion that finding, appreciating, and celebrating
Moata expunges her Christmas to-do list in the form of a sweary twelve days of Christmas parody. It's just that kind of week.
It's the haka heard around the world but why does it resonate so much with people outside of Aotearoa New Zealand?
Things get messy in more ways than one in Coralie Fargeat's feminist body horror.
How Māori is Māori enough? The answer is... this question is a bad one.
Down with cynicism, up with the native bird of my choosing! It's our wholesome moment in the sun, Aotearoans. IT'S BIRD OF THE YEAR, BABY.
Moata recounts the events of 15 March 2019 as she experienced them (i.e. from the outside).
I had an entirely different post planned for today but that one was kind of a downer and I don't think it's necessarily what's required on this particular day, in this particular cursed timeline. I did not sleep well last night. This is down
Royal Commissions of Inquiry aren't set up every day, and their recommendations aren't a Christmas wishlist that you should feel free to pick and choose from...
An anti-g-string petition brings to the fore some of our less than gracious attitudes towards women's bodies.
Female rage seems to be a topic of discussion recently and actually... yeah, I am extremely pissed off, now you mention it.
It's all about the bite-sized, snackable, tapas-style content this week when I talk embarrassment, a nautical boyband, and Bridgerton!