There is a particular disorientation that comes from popping into the bank and finding yourself in the 1930s, even allowing for the building dating from that era.
The queue is a study in cloche hats, pearls, braces, and polished shoes. Someone in a perfectly cut double-breasted suit is discussing internet banking, while a woman in a peach walking dress scrolls on her phone. Meanwhile, I’m standing there in activewear, looking like I’ve wandered in from a far less glamorous century.
This happens when the Art DecoFestival rolls into town. It’s a case of embrace it, or feel out of place, because Napier doesn’t so much host the festival, as become lightly possessed by it.
Vintage cars tootle through town, gleaming under the Hawke’s Bay sun, ferrying delighted visitors along Marine Parade. Drivers and passengers alike offer cheery waves, while horns give cheerful, polite parps. Nobody appears to be in a rush, which feels deeply subversive in 2026.
Then the planes arrive...
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