On a dancefloor at 2am, I heard Jacinda Ardern’s husband say they were moving to Australia. I don’t blame them | Johanna Cosgrove

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I got the news that Aotearoa’s most (internationally) famous prime minister is moving to Sydney in a way that is only possible in New Zealand. I was at the final Splore festival in Tāpapakanga at the weekend (one of our longest-running and arguably most beautiful festivals) when Clarke Gayford, Jacinda Ardern’s husband, popped up next to me on the dancefloor dressed as a giant toadstool. “Yeah, we’re moving to Sydney,” he said to a man in funereal pirate garb. “Can’t wait!”

Maybe it was the joy of a perfect tracklist at 2am, maybe it was getting this breaking news from the horse’s mouth, but I felt thrilled for our former first couple. Like Splore, NZ has the hungover malaise of a party being cancelled and the lights going out.

I, too, have informally exited the country (and don’t you dare tell the New Zealand tax department). The daily deep humiliation of our current NZ government proved too much. Just this week our prime minister announced that the government is giving police officers new powers to move on rough sleepers or people displaying disorderly behaviour in town and city centres. Breaching an order risks a fine of up to NZ$2,000 or three-month jail term.

Instead of investing in infrastructure to support the most vulnerable members of our community, authorities want to sweep the problem under the rug and punish them for it. It’s a humiliating policy from a self-proclaimed “progressive nation”.

It’s no surprise that so many Kiwis are leaving this behind for a nation with much larger capacity for embarrassment: Australia. I’m only slightly kidding – Anthony Albanese inviting Isaac Herzog for a jaunty state tour in the face of a genocide and labelling Grace Tame difficult is also extremely embarro.

Australia and New Zealand are close in many ways but we are still … different countries. Moving from your homeland isn’t chill, even when Medicare access is straightforward and work visas are guaranteed. In the week before my one-way flight to Melbourne last year, I felt an enormous pull to stay.

But the excitement and possibility of a new life proved ultimately overpowering. How intoxicating to live in a city where I didn’t need to own a car because the public transport system is functional. One where I could afford vegetables. I had been living in Naarm for three full days when I had the smug satisfaction of knowing that I had done the right thing in joining the 200-odd people fleeing Aotearoa every single day. The signs were all there. Namely signs with the price of apartments, botox and cucumbers (the holy trinity).

Turns out, many of my friends have felt the same. One of my dearest friends – another creative in his 30s – moved around the corner and, when I texted him to ask why he had made the jump across the ditch, he said: “It felt hard to do something new with my life in NZ. Increasingly it felt like the place was being tailored to suit an older generation, rather than us. Like the only option for people our age was to be trapped in a Mazda SUV on the Northern Motorway with children in car seats in the back.”

I have marvelled that people my age in Australia have healthy social lives and actually invest in their local communities. It’s shocking to see disposable income and its positive economic impact. New Zealand might have greener pastures but, financially, the land of Oz glows in Technicolor. Our minimum wage is roughly A$19 an hour and the average rent in Auckland in 2025 was more than $2,000 a month. Make it make sense!

I’m an actor/writer/comedian with no kids. If I can’t make it work, I sure as hell don’t understand how families are surviving (fun fact, one in seven NZ children are living in hardship)

I love New Zealand. It’s my home. I will always come back! But life is for living. Jacinda, Clarke and Neve deserve every bit of happiness. Even if it is across the Tasman.

I’m right there with them, rejoicing in affordable cucumber slices and a wrinkle-free forehead.

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