A sparkly, accessible extravaganza: Reviewing the World of WearableArt

What happens when fashion literally grows legs and struts off the runway? When does a dance number become full-on theatre? And where on earth do art and accessibility link up like besties? All of this happened at this year’s World of WearableArt (WOW) in Wellington.

This year marks 20 years of the capital’s most iconic, sparkly, extra-as-anything fashion meets-drama event — and trust me, it served. Wellington — a city famous for its wild wind and rollercoaster streets — can make even the most confident disabled person go ‘yikes’. But I chose accommodations based on proximity to the venue in the city centre.

Now, fair warning: Wellington’s gradient is not for the faint-hearted manual chair users. Definitely the workout you never signed up for. I’d 100% recommend having an able-bodied buddy when braving the streets. A lot of shops and restaurants are tucked inside heritage buildings, which means, yep — you guessed it — no wheelchair access. Honestly, it’s a little sad that our capital city still flops on that front. It limited my shopping and dining options way more than it should have.

The venue for the night, TSB Arena, was just a few easy minutes’ roll away from my accommodation, which was extremely handy. And for pre-show vibes? I hit One Red Dog on the wharf — accessible, delicious and serving cocktails that delighted even my pickiest palate.

Accessibility Level: Boss Mode  

As a deaf, low-vision, powerchair-user, events can be straight-up exhausting. Sometimes it feels like I didn’t even get an invite. Over time, my disability list has grown longer, while my social calendar has shrunk shorter. Events became “nah, not worth it,” and isolation was winning. 

Then enter Ange — a.k.a. my accessibility fairy godparent. She's the deafblind coordinator for the Blind Low Vision Trust in my area, and immediately started asking: “Okay, how do we get you back out there?” Cue: WOW. 

To my actual delight, TSB Arena nailed the brief. We’re talking accessible toilets, dedicated drop-off zones, seating options and more. Then it levelled up: reserved seating for chair-users, a NZSL-interpreted night, closed loop hearing tech, and even an audio description experience (a little salty it costs extra, but it sounded pretty next level).

Seating-wise, I could stay in my chair or transfer to theirs, plus my companion (shout out to Ange again) scored a free ticket. The absolute best part? I could sit right up close to the stage without paying premium prices. Accessibility that doesn’t break the wallet equals chef’s kiss. It was great to feel part of my community as there were many other disabled audience members attending. 

The show itself was pure chaos in the best way. WOW is basically what happens when Cirque du Soleil and Project Runway have a glittery baby. Aerial artists flipping above my head. Dancers and singers vibing on all sides. Models strutting designs that looked like they’d walked straight out of a dreamscape. Screens and a super in-depth programme making sure no one misses the plot. Performers even came through the crowd, which meant I got to clock fabrics and textures at arm’s length. Talk about immersive.  

I didn’t even feel left out when it came to music — although I couldn’t hear it, but oh I could feel it. The bass went boom, my chair went vibey. Other audience members told me this show is a non-negotiable part of their annual calendar, and honestly? I get the hype.  

My final verdict? You don’t have to be a fashion nerd to lose your mind at WOW. It’s 90 minutes of non-stop colour, movement and drama. I’ll be going back next year and every year; it’s a non-negotiable for me. If accessibility is the assignment, WOW understood it, studied it and turned it in early with sparkles on top.

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