What you wear to a protest isn’t just about looking cool for the ‘gram. In reality, the clothes you wear to a protest are an intersection between fashion choices and politics: whether you’re marching for trans rights, chanting for Palestine, or standing silently in black on a Thursday, your outfit is saying something—it’s a statement that doesn’t need to be spoken out loud. Long before Instagram stories or high-vis vests, people were using what they wore to demand visibility, power, and change.
Protest wear is a symbiosis between symbolism and strategy. Some people show up wrapped in pride flags and face glitter. Others pull on all black, cover their faces, and move as one. Some wear taonga, some wear slogans, and some wear nothing identifiable at all. Suffragette whites, black bloc tactics, riot-ready sneakers are all examples of how fashion has always been part of the fight. You might see someone at a rally wearing all black but with a tiny Thursday in Black pin—signalling solidarity with survivors of sexual violence. Or maybe a handmade patch with “ACAB” stitched into the hem of their jacket. The quiet stuff counts, too.
Fashion is fluid, but intention matters. Whether you’re dressing to be seen, or dressing to be safe—both are valid. And sometimes, the most radical thing you can do is show up exactly as yourself. In a protest, your body becomes a banner—and what you put on it can keep you safe, make a statement, or both.
Dressing for Resistance – Lessons From History
The Suffragettes
The Suffragettes were the women who campaigned for women's right to vote. The choice to adopt the white camellia as their symbol throughout the movement was both a practical (white camellias grow around the same time as the Parliament voting seasons) and symbolic decision (white is associated with purity and delicacy, emphasising that the suffragettes would not be any less feminine with the ability to vote).
While radical dress reform wasn’t the primary objective of their cause, the social climate they protested within encouraged a broader examination of the roles women hold within society. A big part of the protest against these traditional roles was advocating for ‘rational’ clothing, departing from the traditional women's dress that was often hard to move in. The suffragettes ditched fitted bodices for bloomers, embracing practicality while remaining proudly feminine. They felt that making women’s dress more practical on the day to day was important for advancing their role within society.
Bloomers actually paved the way for women getting on a bicycle, with famous Aotearoa Suffragettes Alice Burns and Kate Sheppard being members of the first all-women's cycling club. Bicycling gave freedom of travel to women, and the practicality and safety that bloomers gave female cyclists was an important element within the suffrage movement. What they wore became proof that women could claim space, comfort, and political power all at once.
Tip 1: Wear ‘rational’ clothing. Dress for comfort and practicality. Streamline your clothes – things that hang loosely (like belts) are more easily grabbed, but clothing that is too tight can restrict your movement. Layers can be helpful too: zip-ups can be ditched easily, allowing you to quickly shed a layer if grabbed or to switch up your appearance. Long clothes (leggings, longsleeves) protect your skin from sunburn or scrapes. Closed toe shoes are a good idea: you might be standing for hours. You might need to run. You might step on broken glass. Leave the Docs at home if you can’t walk in them for 6+ hours.
Black In The Context Of Protest
Thursdays in Black
On our campus, protests happen every Thursday – and you might not even know it. Thursdays in Black is a global movement that started in the 1970s and has since taken root in Aotearoa, with our very own Otago branch. It’s not performative or flashy, but wearing black every Thursday is a simple, powerful way to show solidarity with survivors of sexual violence. It's a quiet protest against rape culture and victim-blaming—and you don’t need a megaphone to make it matter.
“If my clothes could speak on a Thursday they would be saying, ‘We stand with you,’” Grace Johnstone, Treasurer of Thursdays in Black Otago, says. “So often, survivors feel isolated, anxious, and unfairly dismissed by those around them after they disclose an experience of sexual harm. In response to this, our clothes would be saying: ‘Kia kaha; it is not your whakamā to be holding. It is not your fault, we believe you, and it is never too late to ask for help or seek support.’”
While it’s subtle, people do notice. The exercise of dressing in all black is a symbol of resistance and resilience against sexual harm. “At the start, lots of people noticed and would ask about it, particularly my friends,” Grace says. “After explaining our kaupapa, many of them joined in.” One of her favourite memories? A Thursday when some students approached her to ask if her all-black outfit was part of the movement. “It prompted a really lovely discussion,” she recalls. “Wearing the badge often helps—it gives people a bit of a lead-in.”
There’s power in that visibility, and in the quiet sense of unity it builds. Grace describes the movement as “particularly special” when she spots other executive members taking part on Thursdays. “We are always engaged in the movement, and it feels very special to be playing our part collectively.” Sometimes the outfit does do the talking. “I know that if even one survivor sees us wearing black on Thursday and feels seen, we truly have done our job. It is a small statement, but its impacts are huge.”
For students who want to express their values through fashion but don’t know where to begin, Grace’s advice is simple: just start. Find a movement that resonates with you, and take steps to find like-minded people. “Starting with something small, but impactful, like Thursdays in Black, is a low-effort/high-impact mode of engagement.” It’s proof that protest doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful. Sometimes all it takes is a black outfit, a quiet stance—and the willingness to wear your beliefs on your sleeve.
Black Bloc Protest
The use of black isn’t just symbolic either. We’ll keep saying this about colours – but they often hold an equally practical use. While not specific to Aotearoa New Zealand, black bloc protesting tactics refer to protestors’ use of black clothing, ski masks, scarves, sunglasses, and other face-concealing or protecting items to hide their identity from police and other organisations. The uniformity between protestors makes it difficult to distinguish between participants – hence the term ‘black bloc’.
Tip 2: Dress to disappear (when you need to). When you become part of the crowd, you’re harder to track in surveillance footage or end up in a picture on your mum’s Facebook feed. Blend into a bloc by not wearing logos, slogans or stand out gear – anything identifiable can be used against you. Sunglasses or goggles prevent facial recognition, as do scarves and bandanas. Just remember that in some places, face coverings are legally dicey—know the law before you mask up.
Colour in Protest
Not every protest outfit is about disappearing. Sometimes, it’s about showing up loudly—visibly, colourfully, defiantly, unapologetically. Protest fashion isn’t always tactical. Sometimes it’s personal. Sometimes it’s emotional. And sometimes, it’s just proud.
The Keffiyeh
The keffiyeh, a traditional Middle-Eastern headdress, is commonly worn to signal solidarity with Palestine. It has become a global symbol of resistance. You’ll see it on protest lines, in everyday outfits, printed on tote bags or stickered on laptops.
In Aotearoa, it’s not unusual to also see people subtly incorporating Palestinian colours into their outfits: red nails, green scrunchies, a scarf tied just-so. Some people wear purpose-made shirts with bold slogans or watermelon artwork that puts their politics on their chest. It’s wearable activism, and it often speaks before you even open your mouth.
“The keffiyeh is quite symbolic,” Associate Professor Marcelle Dawson explains, who has a particular interest in social movements and popular protest. “People might adopt or choose to wear that as a sign of where they stand [...]. So without speaking, those symbols would give a very loud indication of where you stand.”
Continuing with the form of practical protest wear, Marcelle notes that something such as a scarf can be worn in many contexts – outside of a demonstration or protest. “People could just be wearing that as an ordinary fashion accessory, but it makes a statement in a way.” That’s the advantage of the intersection between clothing and resistance: “These things are signifiers and they symbolise your stance on the issue.”
The colours we see in pro-Palestinian demonstrations are also obviously symbolic – the “watermelon colours”. “We've got little watermelon earrings, things like that, as a signifier. But those colours – red, green, and black – are obviously in the flag. And so this is also what people would choose to do, quite intentionally – choosing to wear those colours is quite symbolic.”
Tip 3: You don’t always have to blend in (despite what we said earlier). Match your fit to your cause – sometimes standing out with colour to match your cause is protest.
Protest as Tangata Whenua
Marcelle talks about Hīkoi mō te Tiriti (‘March for the Treaty’) as an example of how colour was once again incorporated into protest. “Very symbolically, you would see red, black and white. Because those are the colours of the Tino Rangatiratanga flag. Wearing a colour that is in a country's flag, or that is known as being symbolic of a struggle, is quite key as well.” However, protest for tangata whenua isn’t putting on an outfit for a protest every few months. Instead, protest happens every day: “Getting dressed is more than just an aesthetic – it’s an assertion.”
Nā Heeni Koero Te Rerenoa ‘Sky’ (Ngāti Hine, Te Waiariki ki Ngunguru, Te Rarawa) explains that in kaupapa spaces, Māori identity was often expressed through the accessories such as hair pieces, pounamu, and whale bone. “Prior to these big, current day protests, we were raised to think that tidy blacks are presentable for us [...] Neat, sharp, don’t stand out too much [...] That is changing. Today, we’re seeing an explosion of Māori designers that shift the way we show up, and ultimately how we express mana motuhake.”
Pakihi Māori (Māori business and enterprise) are popping up everywhere. The My Taiao range, The HORI clothing, Hunaarn Kākahu and even custom Red Band gumboots by MokoBandz are all examples of how Māori design is being woven into everyday wear. “This is what you’re seeing our people turn up to the protests in, as well as going to work in,” says Sky. “I go to Uni in them. That is the mana behind pakihi Māori – it’s not just every few weeks to show up to one thing. It is an all-rounder.”
Sky explains that these designs push the boundary of what a Māori is supposed to look like. “Our wardrobes are stacked, our taonga are layered, and our outfits speak louder than the words as well. So we’re not just dressing up – we’re dressing with purpose.” These collections of clothes and accessories are trendy while being strong expressions of whakapapa protest and pride in Māori culture.
Sky’s favourite designer is Hunaarn – and she’s finally a proud owner of one of her dresses, after waiting months for it to come back in stock. She recalls watching the Māori Queen Nga Wai Hono i te po Paki’s coronation, and seeing a sea of Hunaarn’s designs – blending neutral tones with elegance and elements of mātauranga. “This is us blending in and also maintaining mana motuhake by not muting or extinguishing elements of ourselves or elements of our culture. We can bring both to the table. I think that in itself is a form of protest.”
Sky carries with her the sentiment expressed to her in an interview with Debbie Ngawera-Packer, co-leader of Te Pāti Māori: “We dress hard because we show up hard.” She and Rawiri Waititi are both known for their strong, intentional styles – sometimes even pictured in colonial silhouettes. They make use of top hats and tailored suits, redefining what business attire looks like. It’s a challenge to what is traditionally deemed appropriate wear for a politician and what is appropriate wear for a Māori politician – “Because it seems they are not the same thing.” It’s using tools such as colonial attire – which have been used to suppress Māori – into statements of presence and power.
When Sky dresses in tāera Māori, these are acts of tino rangatiratanga. They are not reserved for days of protest – it is every day. “These are visual declarations of mana motuhake. This is what it means to dress hard.”
“You will hear us before you see us,” Sky continues. “And when you see us, you’ll know exactly who we are. This is what I feel encapsulates the mana motuhake of dressing to protest every day. Not just protests in themselves.”
The Umbrella Movement
The Umbrella Movement protested against the introduction of legislation that would have allowed Hong Kong residents to be extradited to China to face trial – also known as the Hong Kong Extradition Bill. While the majority of protests happened in Hong Kong, the protests attracted international attention due to Hong Kong’s significance in the global economy and political landscape. In Aotearoa New Zealand, the Umbrella Movement prompted debate about democracy and freedom of speech, Aotearoa’s relationship with China, and obligation to those connected to Hong Kong but residing here – such as international students, temporary visa holders, as well as citizens and permanent residents with ties to Hong Kong. Demonstrations of solidarity were also made here. The Umbrella Movement was an important lesson on how colour could once again be used strategically to attract the attention of the media.
“The media picks up on things that look striking for a photo,” Marcelle explains, talking about the Umbrella Movement’s strategic choice to wear all yellow and carry yellow umbrellas. “You’d be noticed by wearing a single colour – it would make for quite a strike.” The visual footage of those demonstrations drew in the media, placing the Umbrella Movement’s cause right in the public eye. “If you see a little aerial shot of [the Movement], you just sort of see these yellow umbrellas – and it wasn't because it was raining. It was a tactic to capture the attention of the media.”
Colour was symbolic to the Movement, but it also served practical purposes. Marcelle explained that the umbrellas were also used to shield from tear gas that was coming the protestors' way. Fortunately, tear gas was last used in Aotearoa New Zealand during the protests relating to the Springbok Tour in 1981. However, as seen in the COVID-19 protests outside Parliament in 2022, police still use pepper spray with extended ranges and sponge rounds.
Queer Symbolism
In Dunedin, at a recent trans rights protest, the Octagon lit up with colour. Pink scarves, rainbow pins, bright jackets—it wasn’t just about staying warm; it was about being seen. Protesters wore their pride as protection, and it worked.
Hundreds gathered in the Octagon to push back against legislation attempting to reduce gender to biology alone. But the mood wasn’t black bloc bleak—it was vibrant. There were pink scarves, blue eyeliner, rainbow ponchos, and enough corduroy to clothe an entire queer commune. Activists stood in a sea of their own pride, wrapping themselves in flags and colours that said: I exist, and I’m not backing down. It was political pageantry at its finest.
Madeline, a visibly queer, gender-nonconforming lesbian, attended in what she calls her “uniform”: Doc Martens, a cropped Queer Mess muscle tank, and a hand-painted sign that read “Dykes for Trans Rights.” It wasn’t just an outfit—it was a declaration. “At a protest, you can’t always verbally communicate. So having clothing that signals you’re on the same side is important—it helps you find your herd,” Madeline explains.
Her outfit was layered with symbolism—boots rooted in lesbian history, a locally designed shirt worn as a sign of solidarity, and a slur reclaimed with pride. “It felt powerful,” she said. “People already read me as a loud, political dyke based on how I dress—and I’m fine with that. Better to be hated for who I am than loved for someone I’m not.”
For many, safety and self-expression are in constant tension—but Madeline’s answer to that is pretty simple: “Honestly, I just think fuck it.” She’s reached a point where visibility isn’t just personal—it’s political. “Mainstream culture has swung conservative, so now more than ever I want to be visible. I want to be that person a closeted kid sees and thinks, ‘I can be myself too.’”
Her fashion is a full-circle moment, healing the child who longed to wear what she wanted, honouring the teenager too scared to do so, and celebrating the adult who finally can. “Cargo pants and a button-up from Hallensteins might not look radical to everyone, but to me, they’re a promise to live on my own terms.”
For queer, trans, and nonbinary people, fashion is survival. It’s self-definition in a world that loves a neat label. Dressing femme as a trans woman can be dangerous. Wearing a binder in public might get you clocked. But these are declarations of autonomy as much as being stylistic choices. Every bold lip, every DIY pronoun pin, every subtle or flamboyant choice is a reminder that fashion is personal and political.
Moh, someone who has attended several protests, captures this beautifully. Earlier this year, they attended a trans rights rally in the Octagon expecting a more palatable, "acceptable" kind of protest. But instead of blending in, Moh chose to embody resistance. "I decided on army surplus boots, big baggy jeans & nothing but a corset bra on top, with a big patch I made pinned on to it that said 'FAG' in a blackletter font," they say. "The combination of a scruffy unshaven face, breasts very much on display, and a reclaimed slur was a degree of gender/social nonconformity that's important to represent at protests."
Protest clothing doesn’t need to convert people to make an impact for Moh. Sometimes, it’s about visibility, catharsis, and creating conversation within the community. "Wearing a mask is direct action against both lax public health policies, and surveillance," they explain. "But beyond that, clothing as personal expression can signal solidarity. I have a patch that says ‘The Very Pharmaceutical’—a reference to Jean Genet—and it always sparks interesting conversations about trans healthcare."
Moh is acutely aware of how much meaning students often miss in what we wear. "Too many people don't know the political history behind fashion styles, particularly alternative fashion, all because the modern world reduces these things to mere aesthetics," Moh said. Take leather, for instance. "It began as protection in the punk scene against violent fascists, then became a symbol of reclamation in queer kink spaces. But now? You can buy a harness from a fast-fashion chain without ever knowing that legacy."
That lack of awareness isn’t a moral failure—it’s a result of depoliticisation. But Moh’s perspective reminds us that our fashion choices carry traces of rebellion whether we realise it or not.
And yes, sometimes that rebellion carries risk. At the 2023 protest against anti-trans figure Kellie-Jay Keen in Auckland, Moh and many others were proud to stand firm—even when things escalated. "We dismantled fencing, overwhelmed neo-Nazis, took over the stage [...] It was intense," they say. But they also admitted something quite human beneath the bravery: "My one regret is that I kept a piece of jewelry in my ear piercing—it was still healing. As things got heated, I was like, ‘Fuck yeah,’ but also increasingly worried about it being torn out. Should’ve just taken it out beforehand."
It’s a potent reminder that these statements of identity and resistance don’t exist in theory—they happen on real bodies, in real danger. Fashion, for people like Moh, is never just about looking good. It’s about survival, expression, and solidarity.
Tip 4: Leave the bling at home. Earrings, necklaces, even rings can be torn off, caught and snagged – causing you harm.
Marcelle’s ‘4 M’s’
Okay, so you’ve got the fit. You’ve made your sign. You’ve charged your phone. But protest prep doesn’t stop at what you wear—it’s also about what you know. Because the police don’t care how cool your outfit is if they decide to kettle you. And the system doesn’t care if you’re just there “as support.” So let’s get smart.
Marcelle likes to think about how she would plan a protest outfit using the ‘4 M’s’ – media, message, mobility, movement.
Media
As previously mentioned, drawing media attention to your cause can work in your favour by raising public awareness. Take the Umbrella Movement, for example, or how many of the photos in the media covering Hīkoi mō te Tiriti depict a sea of Tino Rangatiratanga flags and kairākau in piupiu.
Message
Marcelle summarises this as being if what you're wearing aligns with the message you are trying to put out there. Marcelle references the wearing of the keffiyeh as a good example here, also noting, “The Woman's March, for instance. Pink was quite symbolic. A lot of women wore pink beanies on that particular demonstration. Thursdays in Black, obviously people would be wearing black there. It’s whether or not your fashion choice aligns with the message.”
Mobility
What Marcelle asks in terms of mobility is whether you can run in your outfit. “Some demonstrations happen in a context in which you need to be on the move,” she explains. You may need to be able to move away from the police, or get out of situations that are turning violent.
Marcelle recalls a time when she was very young, about to attend her first protest demonstration and living in Johannesburg. “We were advised to take a tooth brush and wear a bandana headband. The idea was that if you were arrested, you could have a toothbrush in the holding cell.” The headband was to protect your face from tear gas – which could come in handy if you faced pepper spray in Aotearoa. “It’s thinking beyond the moment of the protest. If stuff is going to go down – what are you going to do?”
Other tips in the interest of thinking ahead are bringing snacks (you could be out there for awhile), plenty of water, a mini first-aid kit and any medication you might need. Bring a power bank, and an emergency contact number on your arm (in Sharpie). Your phone might die. It might get lost. It might get confiscated. Your forearm isn’t going anywhere (hopefully). Bringing your ID can be helpful if you’re a support person, but just bear in mind it literally identifies you. Speaking of that, disable digital snitching tools by turning off Face ID or Touch ID. Police can’t legally make you enter a passcode, but they can hold your phone up to your face. Turn off location services. Log out of apps that use facial recognition. If you want to go full-tinfoil-hat, put your phone on airplane mode or leave it behind altogether (just make sure someone else has a camera).
There is safety in numbers. Bring a buddy. Better yet, bring a group. Know who you came with, agree on a check-in plan, and watch each other’s backs. If someone disappears or gets arrested, you need to know how to find them—or at least who to call.
Last, but certainly not least, know your rights (and the limits of them). In Aotearoa New Zealand, you have the right to protest peacefully. You don’t have to answer police questions, and you don’t have to show ID unless you're driving or being formally detained. That said, you can still be moved on, arrested, or surveilled. It's not about being paranoid—it's about being prepared.
Write down (or save offline) the number for Community Law (03 474 1922 – Otago), your uni’s legal rep, or any protest observer group active in the city you are in.
Merchandise
Sometimes groups will sell merch to raise awareness for their campaigns (t-shirts, hats, buttons, etc.), like watermelon stickers in the context of pro-Palestine demonstrations. “Protestors will sometimes wear these items not only symbolically to align themselves with the cause or raise awareness amongst others, but also to support the group materially in their fundraising efforts.”
Marcelle warns, however, that the merch aspect of activism runs the risk of commodification. Sales targets can sometimes become bigger than the campaign itself. Also, as with any fashion item, there are ethical issues that need to be researched. “A social justice campaign should not engage in unethically sourced/produced items and thereby undermine other social justice campaigns in the name of its own cause,” Marcelle explains. Be aware of the sources of the merch you buy – try to buy from local vendors. Social media platforms are great ways to connect with people who can help you get your hands on some merch.
Final Thoughts: Fashion With Intention
Clothes aren’t just decoration—they’re declarations. They’re armour. They’re camouflage. They’re conversation starters and line-drawers and middle fingers. Whether you’re blending in to protect yourself or standing out to be seen, protest fashion is about intention. Knowing what message your body is sending—and making damn sure you’re the one sending it. You don’t have to be loud to be powerful. You don’t have to be pretty to be political. But you should know that what you wear matters. Because your outfit can carry more than style—it can carry solidarity.
The point is: resistance doesn’t always look like a crowd. It looks like a pair of watermelon earrings, a pair of Red Bands stylised with moko, or packing a toothbrush for a demonstration in case things get crazy. It’s small, daily acts of resistance.
So: Be safe. Be bold. Be informed. And wear your values on your sleeve—literally.