NORSEWEAR

If you’ve ever wanted to understand how a bunch of fluffy
lawnmowers changed the direction of this country and its economy, read on.

First, let’s roll back the clock to 1773. That’s when Captain
Cook made his second voyage to Aotearoa New Zealand, dropped anchor, fetched a
ewe and a ram, and plonked them on a patch of grass in Queen Charlotte Sound.

It wasn’t a shining moment. It was, in fact, an unmitigated
disaster - the pair wasn’t exactly in rude health, having just been rolling
around at sea. Making sweet love was probably not on the cards – in fact, they
only survived a few days on land. Utter shambles.

But we Kiwis don't give up easily. Over the following few
decades, more settlers arrived – often with sheep in tow – and by the 1850s,
sheep farming was established.

In 1880, some forward-thinking Canterbury blokes set up a
co-operative to ship wool overseas, the first of its kind in the country. And
then came the golden age of wool. Sheep were basically our entire personality.
Meat and wool carried the economy, and in 1982 we hit peak sheep: over 70
million of them, or 22 for every human. 

If you’ve ever met someone overseas who has never been to
New Zealand, it’s undoubtedly the first thing they’ll mention. “Ah New Zealand!
You have more of the sheeps than the people!” 
Yes, Gustav – you are correct.

But the world was changing. Polyester had started strutting
in from the late 1950s onwards and overseas, massive factories were beginning
to produce synthetic carpets. By the 1980s they were abundant and they were
cheap.  Aggressive marketing strategies
from the manufacturers (remember the Rhino ad?) ensured that if you wandered
into a carpet store during this period, you’d soon be tacking nylon onto your
floor.

And our clothing, too, became thinner and shinier and
plastic. Jumpers, socks and beanies were more likely to be made of cheap
polyester than anything else – cotton for something a bit fancy. The black,
synthetic filled puffer became our unofficial uniform.

Farmers were scratching their heads over how they’d keep
their land profitable, and plenty of hillsides went to pine trees and cattle.
By 2024 we were down to 23.6 million sheep, about 4.5 per person (sorry,
Gustav).

But wool itself never stopped being brilliant. New Zealand
merino is truly superb stuff – really fine, naturally bright and clean, temperature
regulating, moisture wicking and odour resistant.

Take that, clammy, smelly polyester. 

Right now, we’re at an inflection point – a pivotal moment
in wool, where people are finally clocking that wearing clothes made from petrochemicals
is deeply uncool. Natural, renewable fibres are back, the wool industry is on the
rise, and we’re tentatively seeing value creep back into the supply chain. 

Even the farmers are smiling – that’s got to be a good
thing.

So, in summary,  a
dodgy start, a golden age, a slump, and a comeback. 

Wool has always been anything but boring.