NEVER HAVE I EVER by DEBORAH FRANCES-WHITE directed by TASNIM HOSSAIN
A playful drinking game provokes the simmering tensions between two couples as they share one last meal in honour of their doomed restaurant venture. Beneath the formalities and small talk lies a seething and spicy stew of money, sex, race and class.
Starring Simon Gleeson (Les Misérables), Chika Ikogwe (Heartbreak High), Katie Robertson (Five Bedrooms) and Sunny S Walia (Shantaram), this wild romp from writer Deborah Frances-White (The Guilty Feminist) will have you laughing and arguing long into the night.
When I was 12, like many tweens coming of age in the early 2000s, I made my own magazine. Titled Lift, it featured photos of my younger sisters styled, made-up and photographed by me. I edited the images in Microsoft Paint, and placed them alongside snappy titles and teasers, ready for the glossy pages I was sure they would occupy. Though Lift never quite made it to print, it cemented a passion for publishing that has stayed with me for life.
I’m pleased to say my editorial skills have improved markedly since then, as has my understanding of an editor’s role. When adolescent me first ventured into publishing, I thought I was the most capable person to wear the many hats required to make a magazine. Now steering Fashion Journal, I recognise the talents of our contributors far exceed my own. It’s an obvious realisation, but an important one.
As a result, this issue (and the entire Fashion Journal ecosystem, really) is one big collaborative effort; the whole is much greater than the sum of its parts. With different talents come differing opinions, and there have been many negotiations while bringing this edition to life. At one point or another, everyone has compromised. But this edition is anything but a compromise, brimming with ideas from some of the country’s brightest creative minds.
Within these pages, we celebrate a new generation of designers, highlighting the work of Australia’s top fashion graduates before it surfaces on the National Graduate Showcase x Emporium Melbourne runway at PayPal Melbourne Fashion Festival. We welcome a team of entirely trans and gender-diverse creatives who have taken charge of their own image in a reimagined editorial. We showcase our favourite designers’ favourite designers, and give free reign to the makeup artists whose work we’ve been admiring from afar. I could keep going, but suggest you start to flip through instead, as that’s where all the magic is.
This edition was made across cities and I acknowledge the Traditional Owners of these lands whose care for Country inspires us to do the same, starting with our care for clothing.
As for this issue, I hope you find inspiration in these pages, just like I did in the magazines I flicked through in my tweens.
Giulia Brugliera Managing Editor
Managing Editor
Giulia Brugliera
Features Editor
Lara Daly
Assistant Editor
Daisy Henry
Subeditor
Cait Emma Burke
Designer
Kelly Lim
Distribution
and Accounts
Frances Thompson
Managing Director
Kris Furst
Founder
Rob Furst
Contributors
Lekhena Porter, Charlene Davies, Caroline Zielinski, Chloe Hill, Jesper Hede, Jordan Conder, Elisa Keeler, Rong Jake Chen, Emily Nolan, Kacy Heywood, Kara Otter, Isabella Coleman, Izzy Wight, Simone Esterhuizen, Janet Anderson, Ammar Jamal, Kaisha Lux, Coco Smith, King Baba, Gidget Newman, Alan Trinity, Riley Christiansen, Maryel Sousa, Zebe Haupt, Kitty Lloyd, Xeneb Allen, Jordan Drysdale, Mathew Stott, Joëlle Parisotto, Jade Leung, Maleka Mitchell, Jamie Furlan, Byron Davey, Lula Cucchiara, Honor Munro, Imogen Wilson, Hazel Sherritt, Mindwell Holcomb, Tiara Vella, Daniel Mizzi, Robyn Daly, Maree Prokos, Ivy Reynolds, Meg McConville, Nisal Atapattu, Georgia Gaillard, Diya Shahaney, Prashant Ashoka
Enquiries, thoughts and ideas submissions@fashionjournal.com.au
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Fashion Journal is published by Furst Media Pty Ltd
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February 2025
Childhood dreams aren’t always realistic, but that’s precisely their charm. Slowly, what we want to be when we grow up morphs into an ambition that’s a little more practical, yet our dreams remain telling of who we are at our core. Here, the contributors behind this issue reflect on their childhood aspirations.
Jade Leung, Stylist
I’ve always dreamt of being a vet. I was obsessed with animals – my favourite publications being National Geographic and a book on dog breeds my mum bought me for my sixth birthday. Although my career as a stylist has me under the bright lights of a set, not the operating table of an animal hospital, I still fill my animalloving cup with weekly viewings of The Dog House and David Attenborough’s Planet Earth
Meg McConville, Makeup artist
I’ve always dreamt of being a makeup artist, it’s something I’ve been drawn to my whole life. When I was younger, I was obsessed with watching behind-the-scenes videos of film clips and fashion shows. I loved the interviews in the makeup chair and watching the artist work. I often say I actually have no idea what I’d do if I couldn’t do makeup – there was never a backup plan.
Lula Cucchiara, Film director and photographer
As a kid growing up in Argentina, we didn’t have a cinema where I lived. I still remember the first time I went to one in the big city –it blew my mind. I wanted to work in the projection room, there was something magical about how movies could create entire worlds on a screen. Now, I feel like I’m living that dream, just from behind the lens. It’s still about building little worlds, telling stories that (hopefully) will blow someone else’s mind one day.
Jordan Drysdale, Photographer
I always dreamt I’d be a photographer. When I was in high school, my parents bought me a camera and I would passionately take photos of my friends with imaginative concepts. I was heavily inspired by youth culture, visually documenting my interpretations and connecting with people throughout the process. I still feel the same magical feeling when capturing imagery and I’m blessed that my dream became my career.
Armani Visser, Model
I always dreamt I’d be a singer but I ultimately ended up taking a path in fashion. Growing up, I was an arty kid and I was mainly interested in performing. I eventually tried my hand at law school but didn’t find it to be a great fit. Now, as a model, I like how my work combines both my love for music and fashion.
A well-curated retail space carries a sense of intimacy that scrolling online can’t replicate. Although digital commerce has dominated much of our retail habits for the past several years, a slate of store openings across Sydney and Melbourne hints at a turning point: people want the IRL experience.
Dussy
Known for his camp and joyful designs, Melbourne designer Erik Yvon has opened the doors to his first brick-and-mortar space in Brunswick, cheekily named Dussy. Fitted with purple drapes, a pink faux fur counter and a curation of other local labels including Nofunović, Pigsuit and Pussy Pour Homme, Dussy is carving out an inclusive space to amplify queer and POC creatives.
Australian designer Alix Higgins has built a dedicated following since he launched his label, recently culminating in a debut storefront in the heart of Sydney’s Chinatown. Entering the store feels like you’re walking into Alix’s home, with art and furniture from the designer’s own apartment among the
Kacy Heywood is the multi-hyphenate creative behind Melbourne’s Error404 store, a well-known fashion hub stocking a range of emerging local designers alongside her own label, KAHE. She’s now opened a space dedicated to KAHE in Melbourne’s iconic Curtin House, a milestone that marks a decade since she started her label.
Puesto
Puesto is the first brick-and-mortar space by Terry, the Australian label known for its summer essentials cut from the ultra-soft cloth. The boutique’s benches are lined with souvenirs of a summer holiday, with beaded accessories, shells upcycled into candles, straw hats and woven bags, alongside the brand’s range of crochet and terry towelling styles.
The younger sibling to Albert Park’s longstanding boutique, Stable, Mane has opened in a bright, converted warehouse perched among the trees on Collingwood’s Peel Street. The multi-brand boutique carries beloved labels slightly different from its predecessor, including Perks and Mini, Kourh and Haikure.
interiors.
Off the Wall
Words by Caroline Zielinski
Photography by Lekhena Porter
Makeup and hair by Lara Daly
Her Instagram bio says she’s “unclassifiable” and with posts ranging from the artistic to the absurd, it’s hard to disagree. Not quite an influencer, not quite a performance artist, not quite a businesswoman, but somehow all of the above, Charlene Davies has skirted genres to cultivate an audience of over 1.6 million followers. But behind the street style theatrics, writer Caroline Zielinski meets a woman whose life journey has been anything but linear.
Charlene Davies is here to work. It’s the last leg of her full-day photoshoot with Fashion Journal and we’re gathered at the final location in Brunswick, ready to finish off a very productive – yet strangely relaxed – day.
Charlene is a 43-year-old artist, model and the founder of jewellery brand, Culturesse. But if you took a cursory glance at her Instagram profile (@charlene_ye_davies), you might mistake her for a wildly successful influencer. Her outfits are conceptual, her photos have a polished, editoriallike quality to them, and she partners with covetable labels like Jacquemus and Gentle Monster. A follower count of over 1.6 million, presumably there to observe her procession of street-style theatrics, only adds to the misconception.
At the time of writing, Charlene’s recent posts include an umbrella adorned with real croissants, and a centipede-like outfit made from frothy pink tulle and aluminium ducting that wouldn’t look out of place at The Museum of Modern Art. Scroll back further and her looks become even more absurd. One post shows a fully dressed table, replete with cutlery, crockery, glassware and napkins, worn around her neck to Australian Fashion Week. She says it took her close to 10 hours to make. With all those hours of arduous and unpaid labour in mind, one has to wonder, why? “It is true that time is money. However, I don’t always quantify time with payment when it comes to doing something I thoroughly enjoy,” she tells me. “Seeing the idea in my head turning into reality is payment
enough, especially when others also enjoy the results.”
When I meet Charlene today, she’s dressed head-to-toe in a lilac leather set sent to her by a Ukrainian label, Ciselés. It covers almost every inch of her body except for her hands, face and a small stretch of skin on her upper thighs – the gap where her thigh-high boots end and her mini skirt begins. A sheen of sweat covers her face – “It’s so hot today!” she exclaims – but it doesn’t deter her. She and the photographer, Lekhena Porter, who is shooting on film, discuss where to best position her. It’s a contrast to Charlene’s usual process: one intentional ‘click’ with no instant gratification, rather than a barrage of iPhone photos to review on the spot. But she knows her angles, suggesting myriad poses around the space.
Eventually, she picks up a gilded frame she’s sourced as a prop and puts it over her head. “How about I just carry this and have my arms stick out of it?” she suggests, positioning her torso half in, half out of it. It’s art, and it’s utterly Charlene.
it’s weird,” she tells me. In many ways, this unrestrained mentality defines Charlene’s approach to her work and life in general. Having grown up in Shanghai, being told she was ugly – “I didn’t look like those pretty little Barbie girls” – shaped her outlook on life in unexpected ways.
“Not being considered pretty meant I could have more fun with my poses, my photos and my outfits,” she says. “I’ve always loved taking candid photos, having an energy and mood to it, not necessarily posing and being all sexy.”
There’s nothing, from her unbridled honesty to her gestures, that classifies Charlene as anything other than original. Her Instagram bio says she’s “unclassifiable”, and after having spent just a few hours in her company, I’d agree.
We meet again the day after the shoot, on a rainy Melbourne summer morning at Mammoth cafe in Armadale. Charlene bustles in, clad head-to-toe in tonal denim. She’s wearing a light blue midi skirt, split at the front, paired with a dark denim bustier and a cropped, voluminous bolero jacket. She immediately insists brunch is on her. I wave her off, and we come to a standstill: let’s decide at the end.
Another photo on her Instagram catches my eye: a close-up of her face with colourful pieces of thread artfully tangled all over it. Her caption simply reads, “When bad sewing turned into art tantrums”.
“It’s random, it’s self-pleasing – I don’t really care if people like it or say
We both order poke bowls. “Poke is so amazing – the best poke bowl I ever had was in a small, shitty street in Paris,” Charlene says, laughing. Her demeanour is warm and engaging, her skin glassy against her curly black bob (I later find out her striking looks are due to her Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Mongolian genetics).
I ask her to tell me more about the fashion shoot, specifically the whirlwind of locations and corresponding looks she suggested to the Fashion Journal team. These saw her moving across Melbourne’s North and South, posing at a laundromat in Brunswick, outside a post office in Fitzroy and at the Tan Dai Asian Grocery in Richmond.
“I wanted to structure the shoot to reflect my life’s journey in Australia – I actually went through quite a hardship when I got here, aged 21,” she explains. “I met my now-ex-husband online and I moved here from Shanghai, where I never felt quite at home. I was a baby, stupid and naive.”
Ambitious and creative, Charlene unwittingly walked straight into a traditional marriage where she felt the expectation to stay at home and provide family support for her children and in-laws. “I’m like, no, no, that’s not the life blueprint I see for myself,” she says. Eager to work, she applied for a job in early childhood education. “I researched the easiest job for someone in my circumstances to get, and it turned out to be childcare.”
As with everything, she threw herself into the challenge –toddler and husband in tow. The clincher for the marriage came when her first ‘luxury’ purchase was called into question: a black leather jacket from Jeanswest she’d spent months saving up for. “It wasn’t a luxury brand, it was just a simple black jacket, and it was my own money in a joint account,” she recalls.
“It was a really sad but also powerful moment for me. I thought, ‘Is this what my marriage is going to be like?’ I didn’t want that.” So, at the age of 23, she walked out. With the help of her parents, who alternated between living in China and Australia to look after her baby son, Charlene rented out a flat in Springvale and dreamt of making something of herself.
But it would be a long time before she became the creative force she is today (one who’s invited to fashion weeks globally, receiving invitations from the likes of Issey Miyake, Prada and Jean Paul Gaultier, to name a few). For Charlene, life has been a relentless pursuit of something greater, for both herself and her children. As a single mother working full-time, her spare hours were spent at laundromats and Asian grocery stores to keep the household running. Somehow, she also put herself through a Master of Education and the International English Language Testing System, ultimately becoming a primary school teacher.
When her English test results were released, Charlene recalls the Catholic school she was working at praying for her. “They knew my story, and the morning the results were going to come out, the principal dedicated 10 minutes of prayer to ‘Miss Ye’,” Charlene says, her eyes welling up. “I was shocked. I was like, ‘What, for me?’. It’s a moment that I’ll never forget in my life.” Unsurprisingly, she aced the test.
Charlene has been met with similar moments of kindness throughout her life: from the commercial property broker who helped her find her first home so her son could have friends over for his birthday, to the supportive colleagues and managers who gave her career guidance.
Then, a meeting with her now-husband, Tim, opened up another door. A former eBay executive 10 years her senior, Tim introduced her to a world of travel that culminated in her next venture.
“He asked where I wanted to go and I said Paris. I’d heard good things about it, I’d heard bad things, but I really wanted to see it.” Inevitably, she loved Paris, but it was a chance visit to Lille, a tiny town on the border of France and Belgium, that she says changed her life.
“My husband was taking candid photos of me walking around the side streets when we found this small jewellery store with all this beautiful Chinese embroidery,” she recalls. “I love earrings, but I don’t have pierced ears because they keep closing up. The woman there fixed one of the earrings into a clip for me so that I could wear them.”
On the long flight back to Australia, Charlene came up with a plan to start her own jewellery business, sourcing products from countries all over the world.
unexpected ways,” she explains. It’s perhaps why she captured the industry’s attention before she’d even reached 2000 followers. Assembly Label was the first to recognise her talent. “They direct messaged me, asking if I’d like some clothes to take pictures soon,” Charlene recalls.
At first, she couldn’t believe it, why her? But, as with all challenges in her life, she embraced it and took the brief seriously, staging a days-long photo shoot in St Kilda.
“So I delivered all of these images to them, and they were overwhelmed,” Charlene laughs.
Culturesse started with a small collection, sold via eBay, offering a unique service converting earrings for non-pierced ears. Over the years, trips to the post office became exponentially more frequent as Culturesse grew.
Marketing the brand online honed Charlene’s artistic eye, and pushed her to start experimenting with her own style. “Sometimes I have a specific theme in my head first… I then search Google, Pinterest, TikTok and my own wardrobe resources to refine the idea,” she says.
She’s the creative director and producer of every look she posts, roles that are demanding enough in isolation. But when elevated to Charlene’s calibre – requiring outfit concepts and materials, fittings and adjustments, location and transit planning, crew coordination, video script writing, content sequence planning and trend monitoring – her true capabilities emerge.
She approaches fashion as a vehicle for artistic expression and not simply a reproduction of trends. “To be honest, not many ordinary things catch my eye, I like to mix things up in
“I remember their brand manager, Emily, saying they’d never, ever had people go to that much depth for a collab. So that started a few more collaborations with them, and they were very kind to me.”
Since then, her hard work and exceptional eye for the off-beat has led Charlene to enviable collaborations with luxury labels like Mulberry, Givenchy, Longchamp, Tory Burch, Rimowa and more.
And while her personal style isn’t easy to pin down, Charlene looks to her star sign, Gemini, for inspiration. “My fashion label preferences are split into two halves. On the one hand
I love modern, succinct and quirky designs by brands like Jacquemus, Coperni, David Koma and Kimhekim,” she says. “On the other hand, I gravitate more towards a Y2K personality that has a forever-girly heart, and sometimes a dark gothic vibe. Brands that tick those criteria for me are Omighty and Rick Owens, and Australia-wise, I love Alemais.”
❀ ❀ ❀
Anyone looking at Charlene’s career from afar would think she walked out of the womb into the world of high fashion. But she knows what it’s like to fight. While she may be comfortable today – “I no longer have to worry about financial security” – Charlene remembers the days when saving up for a leather jacket would take months of budgeting and sacrifice.
“In life, you either sink or swim – and I chose to swim,” she says, smiling.
Special thanks to Beinart Gallery
Words by Izzy Wight
Collage by Simone Esterhuizen
What started as a reclamation of girlhood has turned into an online trend that infantilises and trivialises women.
So why are we dumbing ourselves down for the bit?
It feels like not too long ago, all young women wanted to be was ‘not like other girls’. Kudos (particularly from men) was given to those who rejected feminine stereotypes: the ‘tomboys’ who preferred cargo pants over mini skirts, contact sports over crafting, and listening to anything except for vacuous, mainstream pop music.
At one point or another, many of us were guilty of buying into this twisted brand of ‘feminism’. Then in 2014, Gone Girl’s antihero Amy Dunne dropped the ‘Cool Girl’ monologue: “Men always use that, don’t they? As their defining compliment. She’s a cool girl. Cool girl is hot. Cool girl is game. Cool girl is fun. Cool girl never gets angry at her man.” There it was in front of us, the patriarchal standard so many of us had internalised and perpetuated, unwittingly. Once Gone Girl’s author, Gillian Flynn, spelt it out – both its impossibility and absurdity, but also its unwavering grasp on contemporary feminism – that sentiment began to shift.
With TikTok as the platform of choice, the younger generation turned against the cool girls and coined a new term, ‘pick-mes’, a shorthand for those vying for male validation through baggy clothing and a faux interest in skateboarding. After so many of us realised we had been shaping ourselves for the male gaze, the pendulum started swinging right back into the pink, diamante-encrusted world of femininity. This time though, it was for the girls.
Just girly things
The counterculture icon had arrived and she was, above all, exactly like other girls. Sporting hyper-femme outfits and pigtails, the new, self-proclaimed ‘bimbos’ took to social media, speaking in breathy whispers about sexual liberation, misogyny and gender expression. One Greta Gerwig-directed Barbie film later and bimboism snowballed, welcoming ‘girl humour’ into the zeitgeist. Girl dinner, girl math, hot girl summer, delulu girls, silly yapper girls and “I’m just a girl” girls all became culturally relevant, particularly for a chronically online subset of women.
As Danielle Cohen wrote in a 2023 article for The Cut, “The word ‘girl’ is carrying a lot on its back these days, endlessly tacked onto other words to make them cute, empowering and sociologically meaningful, all at once. There are so many girls to be, and so many things to girl.” Remembering my years as a (millennial cusp) pop music-loving, highly emotional, uncoordinated square peg seeking validation in a round hole, girl humour felt refreshing at first.
I identified as a ‘yapper’, justified ‘little treats’ with carefully calculated ‘girl math’ and saved memes of tiny fluffy animals with bows on their heads and captions like ‘This is who ur being mean to btw’ and ‘Your honour, I’m literally just a girl’. If these examples mean nothing to you, that’s because they’re endemic to a very specific, TikTok-centric depiction of girlhood.
It felt pithy and unserious yet self-aware, and I related. I eagerly agreed that yes, I love making frivolous purchases and talking too much! My eyes do feel hot and watery when an authority figure is scolding me!
All that glitters is not girlhood
Like all internet trends that inevitably hit saturation point, it was fun until it wasn’t. As much as I believe memes are sacred (made to be enjoyed in slack-jawed silence, scrolling in bed hungover or on your work commute), girl humour has become too prolific for the pattern to go unnoticed. Melbourne-based culture writer and producer, Eilish Gilligan, feels the same way.
“Funnily enough, one of the most irritating things about the whole girl humour trend to me is that it doesn’t pay an ounce of respect to the source material,” Eilish says. “I’m talking about the song ‘Just A Girl’ by No Doubt. I feel pretty confident this is where the phrase originated.”
Looking at the evidence, Eilish may be right. The chorus of Gwen Stefani’s tongue-in-cheek ’90s anthem accompanies a large portion of the girl humour videos on TikTok. “The whole point of that song is the crushing weight of the patriarchy and trying to give it the finger,” Eilish explains. “The dripping sarcasm in the lyrics has been so properly diluted through incorrect usage over the last few years that it’s pretty much completely disappeared. These days, the words ‘I’m just a girl’ kind of just mean exactly that. It’s such a shame.”
Thirty years after the release of the song, saying ‘I’m just a girl’ often feels more pitiful than patriarchy-crushing. For me, at least, it became an excuse I used when faced with arduous tasks – like job applications or early-morning flights – and then later, something I just said when I couldn’t be bothered to think of anything more interesting. Like when you repeat a word over and over again, the phrase ‘I’m just a girl’ began to lose its meaning entirely.
Are we all in on the joke?
Before you start to think I’m taking an internet trend far too seriously, let me clear something up. I think humour –particularly the dark, subversive, ironic and downright stupid kind – is deeply important. I’m committed to the bit like it’s my full-time job, embracing my predictability as a hot girl with IBS and proudly hanging a shirt that reads ‘Passenger Princess’ in my wardrobe. But is everyone else in on the joke?
“I’d argue the line between self-deprecating humour and self-infantilisation has well and truly been blurred when it comes to modern, zeitgeisty jokes about womanhood,” Eilish says.
“Obviously, this is a huge generalisation, but when we infantilise and trivialise ourselves and our own abilities, we make it much easier for bad-faith actors to make those jokes, too. And suddenly they’re much less self-deprecating and much more, say, a bunch of men making fun of women.”
Sometimes, your nuanced, tongue-in-cheek humour isn’t going to land the way you want it to. If there’s one thing we’ve learnt from the last five years, it’s that a facetious jab about the female experience can be taken at face value by the wrong people. It’s almost like for every sexually liberated bimbo on the internet, there’s a conservative ‘trad wife’ counterpart – and they’re both saying: “I’m just a girl”.
In reality, living as a woman often means being subjected to constant scrutiny from all angles, no matter what you do. It can be oppressive and mentally taxing in a way men will never understand – and that’s without adding intersecting factors like size, race, sexuality or disability. For that reason alone, sometimes surrendering to a difficult day with ‘I’m just a girl’ feels liberating. But say a phrase often enough, and you’ll start believing it. So might those around you.
“We can’t expect people who have biases towards women to hear us laughing at ourselves, saying ‘girl math’ to justify buying stuff on sale, and think ‘Oh, well, they’re saying that sarcastically as a response to suffering under the patriarchy,’” Eilish agrees.
In 2025, girl humour is beginning to feel more like internalised misogyny. In some ways, we’ve taken a tool of empowerment and weaponised it against ourselves – it feels like a real-life equivalent of the meme, ‘This is why we can’t have nice things.’ But women should be allowed facetiousness in the face of a scary, shifting world.
You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t, so you may as well tie a bow on it. Buy all the little treats, approach the difficult days with levity and remember, the next time you infantilise your abilities by saying ‘I’m just a girl’, the phrase was once screamed into a microphone as a rebellion against the constraints of girlhood.
Words by Cait Emma Burke
Photography by Chloe Hill
Kowtow’s new circularity-focused loyalty program, The Collective, is the culmination of years of innovation in the sustainability space. Writer Cait Emma Burke speaks with the label’s founder, Gosia Piątek, on how the new program incentivises customers to view their clothing as part of a circular system.
I made my first Kowtow purchase in my early twenties, almost a decade ago. It was an impeccably cut navy wrap dress with a white circle print, and the fabric was light and breathable yet still held its shape. One of the best items in my wardrobe, I wore it to within an inch of its life, and so did my housemates – it really was the sisterhood of the travelling Kowtow dress.
As a New Zealander, I’d known about Kowtow for a few years before making that purchase. I was vaguely aware it was an environmentally conscious label, and that its pieces formed the backbone of many enviably stylish women’s wardrobes. But working in a popular fashion consignment store in Wellington in my twenties – the city Kowtow hails from – showed me just how often customers and staff gravitated toward the label. The quality and versatility of its designs were noticeably above average, so it hasn’t been surprising to see Kowtow cultivate a devoted customer base over the years that have followed.
Founded by Gosia Piątek in 2006, the New Zealand label has been a pioneer in the sustainable fashion space since its inception. Gosia started the business with her partner at the time, a graphic designer, combining his design skills with her passion for ethics and sustainability. More than anything, she was driven by a curiosity to discover how clothing was made and how far she could trace its production. “I didn’t study fashion design but I always loved clothing, and used to make my own clothes in high school with my mum and best friend. The way Kowtow came about was from a desire to do good, to change an industry,” she says.
From the beginning, the label was committed to making clothes from Fairtrade-certified organic cotton, a decision Gosia says was “an easy one” because her certifiers could provide her with a transparent production chain “from seed to garment”. Over time, the team began to integrate other fibres to meet the demands of Kowtow’s customers.
It introduced pieces made from fabrics like merino wool and recycled nylon, ensuring it continued to take its environmental responsibilities seriously.
Ultimately though, Kowtow decided to become entirely plastic-free. In 2020, the label stopped using the fibres that compromised this goal, and returned to using exclusively Fairtrade-certified organic cotton across its designs. This meant halting production of its bestselling product, a pair of leggings that contained elastane and plastisol ink from screen printing. “We knew our ultimate sustainability goals to eliminate plastic, reduce waste and support full circularity mattered more to our business,” Gosia explains.
Most recently, Kowtow has launched a loyalty program, The Collective, which encourages its community to view their wardrobes as a circular system. Like many other loyalty programs, customers receive one point for every $1 spent in-store or online, but this initiative goes further. “We’ve elevated the program from solely rewarding purchases to rewarding members for contributing to a circular fashion system,” she says. Customers can gain points by repairing garments through online tutorials, buying and selling pre-loved Kowtow garments, and giving old garments back to the brand. Points can be redeemed for rewards and put towards future purchases.
The return program is particularly innovative, allowing customers to send their well-loved Kowtow garments – items that are beyond repair – back to the label so they can be put into Kowtow’s research and development program, Regenerate. “Any take-back program has no cookie-cutter solutions, it depends on what we have received back. Quantity, type of fabric and colour can all differ. However, with Kowtow garments now being one singular natural fibre and completely plastic-free, it means regenerating these garments into new yarn, or returning them back to the earth, will be a lot easier.”
The label has offered lifetime repairs since 2018, and it’s become a fundamental step in closing the loop and reaching Kowtow’s goal of eventually attaining full circularity. So far, an in-house team has repaired over 1,500 garments, and created a range of tutorials to help its community learn easy repairs they can do at home.
Obviously, all these innovations require a team that’s forward-thinking and clued up on sustainability. Gosia describes her team as “sustainability nerds”, telling me she’s incredibly inspired by them. “Every time I walk in, I remember how special the people and the work are. Working on our first sustainability strategy together in 2022 really solidified the goals we wanted to achieve as a team.”
One of those goals was to have a waste-free workroom and in pursuit of this, the team has implemented a “hardcore” recycling system. Gosia tells me Kowtow’s workroom manager has found a way to recycle nearly everything, and there’s even an ‘X’ on their rubbish bin, prompting employees to consider how they could recycle or reuse the piece of rubbish they’re thinking about throwing away. “Our food scraps are collected every week by someone on a bike, who takes them back to a local urban farm for their compost. We even use pencils instead of pens – again, very nerdy, but it all adds up and contributes to our overall goal of leaving the planet better than we found it,” she shares.
For those eager to explore Kowtow further, the first collection from new head designer, Dayne Johnston, is now available. Drawing on Dayne’s decades of experience in the industry, it marks the label’s third plastic-free release and a new era for the brand. Gosia describes it as “workwear meets refined tailoring”. If Kowtow’s designs over the years are anything to go by, I’m sure these pieces will also join past collections to become vital building blocks in many wardrobes.
Paper dolls have long been a favourite childhood activity of the fashion-obsessed. The freedom to play and experiment with style, mixing outfits and miniature accessories without consequence, has surely led many to pursue a career in the industry. If some of Australia’s most talented designers and buyers could dream up their own paper doll wardrobes now, what might they look like?
Lilycait at Mother Cooper at Mother
Photographer Jesper Hede
LILYCAIT_MOTHER_1.JPG
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LILYCAIT_MOTHER_2.JPG
COOPER_MOTHER_2.JPG
Kara Otter and Isabella Coleman are the clever minds behind So Familia, a boutique based in bustling Newtown. Rejecting the framework of traditional fashion retail, the pair chose to blur boundaries and integrate both independent labels and vintage under one roof, including Kara’s own label Karameleon. Design-wise, it’s all very flirty, feminine and fun.
1. LITTLE YARN Lucky knit tee 2. A-D-ATELIER Minerva blouse 3. SOOKI LALA The Gambler bag in Leopard 4. BYE BAMBI Amerie capri 5. AMISS Ilan boot in grey 6. KARAMELON Call Me Rose NY top 7. PUSSY POUR HOMME Les Cheveux scarf in Rouge 8. PUSSY POUR HOMME Holy Hedonism bag 9. CURTSY TOES Toe Post wedge 10. KARAMELEON Red Sporty Booty bikini 11. OLIVIA ROWAN Bethany dress 12. Vintage wrap sunglasses from SO FAMILIA 13. RAMP TRAMP TRAMP STAMP Logo Removal Ladybug tee from SO FAMILIA 14. A-D-ATELIER Atticus pants 15. PUSSY POUR HOMME Holy Hedonism belt
The New Standard
“There exists an essence in trans people that sits outside the bounds of ‘beauty’ in any measurable sense.”
In 2024, Sydney-based actor and model Janet Anderson began working on an essay exploring the media’s palpable shift in trans representation, particularly trans women. She reflected on its implications, and the precarious connection between beauty and gender. Drawing on her own experience as a trans woman in the fashion, art and theatre worlds, the idea soon grew legs. It was no longer enough for her thoughts to simply sit on paper. Engaging a wider team of trans and gender-diverse creatives, she created ‘The New Standard’, a creative project that studies and celebrates beauty, “for us, by us”.
It’s
undeniable: the ‘Dolls’ are in demand. How do I so confidently make this assertion? A twink on TikTok told me, of course. Where else would I find information pertinent to me, the news? In a TikTok most likely lost to the annals of the internet, creator @s1icky__ states: “If you’re one of the Dolls, you need to take your ass to New York and get a model agency ASAP… Literally every new model that is killing it right now is a Doll.”
Trans representation, particularly of trans women, has steadily grown since the supposed ‘tipping point’ proposed by Time Magazine in 2014. With the likes of Hunter Schafer, Alex Consani, Colin Jones, Aaron Philip, Munroe Bergdorf and Hari Nef gracing covers and catwalks at every turn, it’s clear that now we have been deemed marketable, our profitability is assured and our identity coveted. OPPOSITE PAGE NICOL AND FORD gown, MATEA GLUŠČEVIĆ shoes, PHOEBE HYLES necklace, DINOSAUR DESIGNS bangles, stylist’s own earrings THIS PAGE SEBRINA WEARS MAROSKE PEECH Ivory Lace leotard and Ivory Spiral leggings, ASOS heels, DINOSAUR DESIGNS earrings cuff and bangles, ARMANI WEARS OUSE WORLD dress, DINOSAUR DESIGNS earrings
His credentials, unspecified. His audacity, unchecked. To be told ‘the Dolls are having a moment’ in New York City, a historic epicentre of trans excellence, is surface-level ironic. Especially given the term ‘Doll’ most likely originated in the underground ballroom scene (a black and brown queer subculture), although its use and meaning has shifted over time. Being told this ‘news’ by a young, white, cis, gay man made my eyes roll to the point of retinal detachment. However, his advice isn’t entirely baseless.
The intersections of the trans community and the fashion industry are canyon-deep. Fashion house Mugler has been enhancing its runways with trans beauty for decades, and iconic models like Connie Fleming and Tula found success despite their identity, rather than because of it.
It’s important to acknowledge that the majority of the trans women who’ve been able to infiltrate the mainstream fashion consciousness in this way are tall, thin and white, which is true in almost every avenue of queer representation and a reminder we’re being inserted into an existing hierarchy. The fashion world has often cultivated a severe, androgynous look. With the rise of Ozempic and buccal fat removal, having a strong jaw, sunken cheeks and even a pronounced brow bone is back in vogue. What’s next, Adam’s apples and a baritone register?
But when the dust has settled and the trend cycle has moved on to the next algorithmically predetermined fad, trans women will continue to set the standard, seemingly unbeknown to the cis/het world. Outside of the hormones and gender-affirming procedures that are now more readily available, there exists an essence in trans people that sits outside the bounds of ‘beauty’ in any measurable sense.
I believe this comes from trans people’s study of themselves. It’s an understanding that’s earned and acquired through endless introspection and a deep indulgence in fantasy. I’m reminded of a quote from the novel Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg: “It’s a beauty one isn’t born with, but must fight to construct at great sacrifice.”
The ‘beauty standard’ as a concept is impossible to separate from its capitalist and colonial roots. Adherence to it goes against every notion of ‘queerness’. We are assessed, classified and ranked into an arbitrary system with a clearly defined top and bottom. The further you are to the top (i.e. passability) the more likely you are to get booked. THIS PAGE JANET WEARS NICOL AND FORD gown, PHOEBE HYLES necklace, DINOSAUR DESIGNS bangles, stylist’s own earrings, KYE WEARS MAROSKE PEECH collar, CHOU CHOU INTIMATES bra and underwear DINOSAUR DESIGNS earrings and bangle, stylist’s own skirt, OPPOSITE PAGE JANET WEARS MATEA GLUŠČEVIĆ shoes, DINOSAUR DESIGNS bangle, stylist’s own earrings
How
could someone who was presented with the gift of manhood, arguably the highest honour society can bestow, throw it all away to suffer through the trials of womanhood?”
Trans women, specifically, sit at a precarious intersection of misogyny and transphobia. How could someone who was presented with the gift of manhood, arguably the highest honour society can bestow, throw it all away to suffer through the trials of womanhood? Such a person must be diagnosed, studied and institutionalised with a severe case
This long-overdue reverence of trans people is something that is disregarded and ridiculed. All too often, we’re pulled into debates around semantics, centring mostly on biological determinism. I long for the day when my explorations in femininity can be out of genuine curiosity or joy, rather than a safety precaution or a set of indicators needed to pass through the checkpoint of ‘womanhood’.
At the end of the day, progress in representation does little to supersede the issues facing trans people as a community, both legislative and social. While it’s a privilege to even be on a set, being the only trans person there can often feel like a hollow victory and can entail more emotional labour than the given fee could ever cover. And that’s ignoring the almost inevitable backlash a campaign starring
These images were made with an entirely trans and gender-diverse cast and crew, in an aim to showcase trans beauty without the voyeuristic gaze associated with a normal beauty campaign. It’s pedestalling without tokenising.
Forbyus,us. “
Words by Maryel Sousa Collage by Simone Esterhuizen
After taking a sabbatical from social media at the start of last year, Maryel Sousa noticed her life had started to become more fulfilling. But what’s the reality of being ‘off grid’ for an entire year?
This article is about social media. Wait! Before you turn the page, this is not another thinkpiece about mental health. That angle has been done to death, dissected and stitched back together so many times that we all know it inside and out.
I didn’t delete social media for mental health reasons. I just needed to focus on my final university assignments. But what started as a temporary break soon became a personal challenge: how long could I last without logging back in?
The longer I stayed offline, the more I noticed my life was changing. My friendships felt different, my identity felt clearer and my opinions felt more my own. Social media, I realised, had been shaping it all.
Do I know you?
I moved alone from New York to Melbourne in 2019. As someone in a new city with no friends, social media became my lifeline. Even though I only really knew a fraction of my followers (and none of the influencers I followed), I felt more connected to them than the strangers I sat next to on the tram. I scrolled through countless hours of content about other people’s lives until it felt like I simultaneously knew everything about everyone and nothing at all. I’d feel so socially drained after putting down my phone that I’d have no desire to go out and mingle.
It turns out digital burnout is a real
thing. Our brains aren’t wired to know everything about everyone all the time.
Robin Dunbar, a British anthropologist famous for his research on the topic, argues that human beings have limits to social connectedness. While we can recognise up to 1,500 people, we can only maintain about 150 meaningful relationships – that’s 150 people you wouldn’t feel weird joining for a drink if you ran into them at the pub. Only about five of these can be truly intimate.
Sydney-based clinical psychologist Dr Maria-Elena Lukeides tells me that Dunbar’s number essentially means our brains have a built-in social bandwidth. “Social media creates this illusion of endless connection but our cognitive capacity hasn’t evolved as quickly as technology. That’s why scrolling can feel so overwhelming. We’re trying to process way more social information than our brains are designed to handle,” she says. So, while we’re tapping through Instagram Stories and giving mental real estate to hundreds of people we only sort of know, Dr Lukeides warns we run the risk of neglecting our deeper, face-toface relationships.
This could explain why parasocial relationships (the one-sided connections between you and Paul Mescal or the Scandi influencers you follow) are on the rise. Influencers tend to share content that’s easier to digest than real life. Sometimes it’s aspirational, sometimes it’s messy, but it’s always perfectly and
succinctly edited for your entertainment. Parasocial relationships with these influencers involve no lulls, awkward moments or confrontations, and minimal effort from you.
Besides their obvious appeal, Dr Lukeides says parasocial bonds can even be beneficial, offering a sense of connectedness and community, especially for those who feel socially isolated. However, overreliance on them (or other digital relationships we can simply ‘log out’ of) can lead to dissatisfaction with the IRL relationships that require emotional investment, vulnerability and time to fully blossom.
Since deleting social media, my world has become smaller. Without the loweffort upkeep of likes and Story replies, some of my relationships have naturally ended. But the friendships I’ve held on to – and the ones I’ve built since – feel richer and more intentional.
Bore-core
On social media, we encounter an onslaught of content designed to sell us a new identity every other week. There’s a constant pressure to build a personality based on your style, rather than using your style as an authentic expression of your personality.
I’m not immune. Hand-knitted sweater vests, vintage prairie dresses and grey blazers pulled straight from my TikTok For You Page are all collecting dust in my wardrobe back home.
“ Without the low-effort upkeep of likes and Story replies, some of my relationships have naturally ended. ”
You can probably imagine these items in the worlds their corresponding ‘-cores’ inhabit: the hallowed halls of a prestigious university, a sun-drenched field of wildflowers, a cafe in Stockholm. I’d convinced myself these pieces were invitations into these worlds, that I’d seamlessly fall into these lifestyles by cosplaying the right aesthetic.
I bought into the illusion that clothes could magically transform who I am – an illusion designed by capitalism and one that Gen Z is particularly vulnerable to. According to Melbourne-based brand strategy consultant Eugene Healey, Gen Z was born into an advertising era based on ‘loose identity formation’.
He explains that brands don’t just sell products, they sell aspirational identities that are strong enough to drive a sale but flimsy enough to dissolve when something new comes on the market. These loose identities are based not on who you are but on who you want to be. Case in point: 2024’s Birkin bag charm trend.
As a style icon, Jane Birkin exuded romance and freedom. Her own eponymous handbag, the design gifted to her by Hermès in 1984, was covered in stickers, charms and wear-and-tear from years of use. TikTokers who wanted to adopt her bohemian identity had an easy solution: ‘Birkin-ifying’ their bags by beating them against concrete footpaths and purchasing a diverse collection of keychains as quickly as possible.
Can Jane Birkin’s lifetime of curated style be boiled down to a few hours of online shopping? Does throwing a neutral cardigan around the shoulders of a white button-up really give you the aura of old money? Of course not. Inauthenticity is visible from a mile away.
We often feel like being authentic means being unique, but maybe that’s not true. This past year, I’ve discovered that my personal style is super boring. I love a neutral colour palette, oversized silhouettes and above all, comfort. I love wearing T-shirts and sneakers and a maximum of one accessory. Most of all, I love that my covetous pursuit of new stuff (and the faux identities attached to it) has come to an end.
Echo, echo, echo…
Are your opinions yours? Like, really yours? Are they based on fact? How do you know? AI-generated content is surging across social media platforms. Of course, you and I aren’t fooled by the unsettling images of plasticine puppies or Coke-bottle sculptures that seem to dominate boomer newsfeeds. We scoff when Aunt Susan comments, “Amen!” on a picture of Jesus praying over a crew of flight attendants. We would never be
duped by such an obvious grift. Or would we?
Social media has become my generation’s primary news source. But despite our presumed internet savvy, studies show that young people are actually more likely to be led astray by misinformation than their older counterparts. Gen Z’s media literacy rate is shockingly low, with 36 per cent struggling to differentiate real headlines from fake ones – a concerning statistic for a generation addicted to media consumption.
We’ve seen social media weaponised to radicalise Gen Z men, enticing them with unchecked half-truths and conspiracies. Once ensnared, this extremism is difficult to escape. Ollie* had to claw his way out of the alt-right pipeline. “My algorithms locked me in an echo chamber and fed me content like ‘Social Justice Warrior Destroyed by Common Sense’,” he says. “It took a serious, deliberate effort to find content that presented strong opposing arguments.”
I’m fascinated by algorithms and how they seem to know you better than you know yourself. But it’s difficult to tell whether algorithms reflect or shape who we are. One thing I’m sure of is they rarely show you the whole picture. “The algorithm appealed to my desire to see myself as an intelligent, rational individual and also a darker desire to see people I deemed ‘entitled’ get their comeuppance,” Ollie tells me. “I now see this was a very curated, bad-faith representation of ideas.”
Like boomers on Facebook and men like Ollie, I’m not exempt from falling for smear campaigns, photoshopped tweets that confirm my existing biases and rumours that make too much sense to question. Stepping back from social media closed the door to a world of overwhelm. Without the noise, I’ve had to think more critically about what I hear and what I believe. Some of my opinions have grown stronger. Others, I’ve realised, are worth changing.
What now?
My friends keep asking if I plan to reactivate my personal accounts after a year offline. To be honest, probably not. Though I feel disconnected from much of the world, I’m more connected to the parts that matter to me than ever before.
Tomorrow, I’m meeting a friend who’s been in Japan for a month. I’m sure she’s posted dozens of photos online, but I haven’t seen any of them. I’ll make her a chai, and we’ll sit on my couch while she tells me everything I’ve missed. We’ll chat until it’s time to say goodbye, and in a few weeks, we’ll find ourselves here again.
*Name has been changed.
VISIONARIES
Working in fashion media offers access and insight to a talented collective of original and creative thinkers. This group has inspired Visionaries, a publication housed within Fashion Journal and made in collaboration with Specsavers that squares our focus on three Australian women whose artistic vision is unmatched.
The coming pages are dedicated to these three thinkers. Throughout, each wears the Mimco Eyewear range available exclusively at Specsavers, which offers elevated, modern frames across both optical and sunglasses styles. The new release expands the brands’ first collaboration. Like the Visionaries themselves, Mimco and Specsavers have introduced something new to the fashion landscape with their partnership.
As you read more about these women, you’ll see how each brings a unique lens to her work, adding an original voice to a landscape that often rewards sameness. Each prioritises quality craftsmanship, originality and style, three principles mirrored across the Specsavers Mimco Eyewear range. Explore the collection below or find it in-store and online at specsavers.com.au, where it’s now available.
PHOTOGRAPHY BY Zebe
Haupt
Mimco 14
Mimco 13
Mimco 12
Mimco 15
Mimco Sun RX 08
Mimco Sun RX 09
Mimco Sun RX 07
I LOVED MY JOB. I was working in experiential production, always involved in really major events, bringing brand activations to life when Covid hit. I watched my career disappear in a matter of days. My only saving grace was that I’d started a side business baking cakes, Miss Trixie Drinks Tea.
At the time I thought, ‘Maybe I’ll try to convince people to eat cake when everyone is cancelling their celebrations.’ I created cakes with pun messages like, ‘This shit is bananas’ or ‘You’re one in a melon’. It really took off. I wouldn’t use the word ‘viral’, but it definitely went from side hustle to full-time business very quickly at a time when a lot of people were really struggling.
My now-business partner Alisha Henderson (of Sweet Bakes) messaged me and we began talking about a shared kitchen, but I had this greater vision. I knew putting on physical events in Australia is incredibly expensive and that’s how our business Co.Bake was born.
We thought, ‘Let’s make a space that looks amazing, let’s do the heavy lifting. Then brands can roll in with their goods to sell, or
do a workshop, or whatever they want.’ I think it’s earned the respect of my peers. They should respect it, because this is a concept that hasn’t been done before.
I’ve had so many comments from people like, ‘How can you share a kitchen with one of your competitors?’ and that’s just the most boring argument to delve into. Some of the best creative projects and products are born from collaboration; I’ve been loving Mimco’s collaboration with Specsavers. It’s allowed the brand to engage with a whole new market of glasses wearers and given Specsavers customers access to a really elevated, fashionforward product.
Right now, I’m enjoying the big, wire frames available exclusively at Specsavers. I like having fun with my opticals. Because I wear fun, colourful clothing, people sort of expect that. Looking forward, my focus is on growth. That doesn’t necessarily mean getting physically bigger, it might mean working with different people in different ways or introducing different products. I always want to be at the forefront of pioneering styles.
COURTNEY AT LOLA VARMA
COURTNEY ILLFIELD took an unconventional path into bridalwear. Beginning her career as a fashion and wedding photographer, the Melbourne-based creative made her foray into wedding dresses after hearing the frustrations of brides-to-be.
“Ten years ago, there was nothing on the Australian market that was non-traditional in aesthetic or approach,” explains Courtney. “I found myself in conversations with many women struggling to find a wedding dress that felt aligned to their day-to-day style, that didn’t fit the normal mould of a traditional bride.”
In Western cultures, the ‘normal mould’ of bridalwear had remained practically unchanged for centuries. In 1840, Queen Victoria donned a white satin, lace-trimmed gown to marry Prince Albert, forging a fashion tradition that has managed to persist, despite how radically our understanding of marriage and weddings has shifted.
This dissonance spurred Courtney to start her bridalwear label, Lola Varma. Since 2016, she’s dedicated her work to those who don’t want to be bound by convention. “The women who [don’t] connect with the common sweep of garments, the traditional details, the dated silhouettes,” she says. “Part of the creativity is finding what isn’t being done, there is so much repetition within the industry.”
Through Courtney’s eye, the boundaries of bridalwear get redrawn in surprising and original ways. From sculptural looks and magically draped silks to minimalist two-piece sets and frilled gloves, each piece feels contemporary and at home in the wider fashion landscape.
Courtney’s approach to design is unconventional; she looks to films, vintage fashion, old-school photography and even the plants growing in her garden for inspiration.
However, it’s her actual vision she considers most important for her creative process, as her role demands a strong eye for detail. Her style is effortlessly cool (she favours Jonathan Anderson and The Row) and as a glasses-wearer, she’s particular about the frames she likes. For her day with Fashion Journal, she chooses pieces from the Mimco Eyewear range exclusive to Specsavers, from timeless black statement frames to a subtle and sleek wire-framed design.
Similar to her designs, Courtney has set up Lola Varma’s showrooms in stark contrast to the wider industry, prioritising a bride’s comfort and involvement in the process. Each of her brickand-mortar locations (found in Fitzroy and Redfern) is a departure from the pomp we tend to associate with the world of weddings, boasting chic, modernist furniture and a refreshingly un-bridal aesthetic. “They’re pared back and homely. No chandeliers, no champagne,” explains Courtney. “We serve tea and offer a service for the bride that wants something different.”
Notably, Lola Varma has also merged its showroom and workshop into a single space. Brides are invited to see the brand’s garments take life before their eyes, from pinning to stitching and beyond. “It’s really important to know where your clothes come from… There aren’t many clothing labels left in Australia producing entirely onshore [so] I’m always proud of this accomplishment,” says Courtney.
Perhaps what’s most visionary about Lola Varma’s approach is her commitment to comfort. It’s a somewhat radical move in the context of the bridal industry, but Courtney’s years as a wedding photographer afforded her a unique understanding of the modern bride and their needs.
“Over the years of photographing weddings, and specifically brides, all around the world and in an array of cultures, I realised that comfort is paramount to being present on such a significant day. Not just comfort within an outfit but comfort within yourself and your skin. That’s the foundation of Lola Varma, encouraging brides to search for comfort, not trends nor obligations.”
CHRISTINE AT SUKU HOME
CHRISTINE LAFIAN just wants you to have fun. The multi-hyphenate creative is the force behind Suku Home, one of Australia’s most distinctive lifestyle brands. First launched as an online bedding store, Suku is now home to a tight but sought-after collection of pyjamas, apparel and bedwear boasting kaleidoscopic colours and striking, hand-drawn prints.
From the get-go, Christine envisioned Suku as a welcome respite from monotous mainstream interior trends. Founded in 2013, the brand took shape amid the hyper-minimalist and greige aesthetics of the era. “I felt like there wasn’t much representation of exciting or playful homewares,” she says. “The options were so plain and uninspiring, and I just couldn’t bring myself to dress my home in something so simple.
“I thought, ‘I spend so much of my time at home. So why shouldn’t it feel just as stylish and vibrant as the way I dress myself when I go out?’”
This fashion-forward approach led Christine to launch linen and homewares that sat proudly outside market trends. Her designs were instantly identifiable: bold, joyous and vivid, reminding us that, much like we experiment with our wardrobes, we don’t have to take home decorating too seriously. Her work quickly caught the eye of a group of loyal followers and it wasn’t long before word caught on. As her fan base expanded, so did Suku’s offering.
With the introduction of an apparel range several years later, Christine flipped the script. Her Wear collection carried the comfort and playfulness of Suku Home to a sea of breezy summer dresses, cotton shirts and colourful bamboo pyjamas designed to be worn outdoors. She’s since dabbled in accessories and swimwear too.
For Christine, craftsmanship is an important piece of the puzzle. Each Suku piece is hand-dyed, hand-painted and handsewn by Suku’s talented team. This means print placement varies, making each Suku piece one of a kind. Beyond face value, the brand’s bed linen is crafted using Suku’s own buttery bamboo formula, with a custom weft and weave, chosen for its super soft texture and durability.
Given her focus on the home, it’s no surprise Christine takes inspiration from her childhood. Raised in Indonesia, she wanted to bring the colours and patterns of indigenous Indonesian cultures into homes here. She takes cues from traditional pattern work and integrates this with her own creative sketches, before turning to skilled Indonesian craftspeople. “Most of my designs start as a scribble on my iPad before they turn into a fabric drawn by artisans,” Christine explains.
Christine’s time spent returning to her homeland, and travelling beyond it, have been essential to honing her designs. “I think you can find inspiration if you open your eyes and pay attention to things, rather than scrolling through your phone,” she explains. “I try to make sure to take time off to leave [Melbourne] every now and then… Sometimes the answer is just outside your comfort zone.”
As an eclectic combination of colour and comfort, Suku follows the lead of Christine’s personal style. As a glasses-wearer, finding frames that resonate with her unique taste has been essential. Recently, she’s been accessorising with the new collection of Mimco Eyewear exclusive to Specsavers. She’s opting for statement sunglasses and lilac-toned frames that pair neatly with Suku’s current pastel tones.
Armed with new eyewear, Christine has her sights set firmly on the future, with a plan to return to Suku’s roots. She surprised her customers last year by announcing she would be closing the brand’s Dream Baby flagship store on Gertrude Street and downsizing to a smaller space.
For Christine, putting Dream Baby to bed was an important decision to realign the brand with its values. “We are returning to our core focus this year, prioritising loungewear and bedwear. Moving from a retail store to a showroom has given us the space to refocus on what truly matters,” she says.
Now in a smaller showroom on Collingwood’s Wellington Street, Christine is using the opportunity to streamline Suku’s operations. “Managing a larger store was taking so much of our energy, and we realised we were often creating products just for the sake of filling the shelves,” Christine says. “It wasn’t a sustainable way to run the business in the long-term. With the showroom model and limited opening days, we can slow down and approach things with more intention and care.”
If TikTok virality has taught us anything, it’s that people are nosy when it comes to beauty products. We want to know who’s double cleansing at night, how often people are washing their hair and exactly what tweezers they’re using. This curiosity is amplified when it comes to professionals’ routines. With extensive experience both on set and in the salon, hairdresser Xeneb Allen has a particularly covetable kit. She’s the founder and director of Curlysiouxsie, a creatively-driven alternative to conventional salons based in Melbourne’s Nicholas Building. Here, she shares a glimpse of her favourite products.
Davines More Inside Oil Non Oil
This is a light oil that literally has no residue and doesn’t add any stickiness to the hair after you apply it. I love this for a careful, natural finish after I dry cut, or if I wash hair after the cut. It keeps frizz away and it’s ideal for those who don’t love the feel of hair products.
Sachajuan Finish Cream
This cream gives a light, easy finish after a blowout or when I’m on set to maintain smoothness, without stickiness. It’s really pliable, so I love it for wet hair looks too.
Kevin Murphy Hair Resort Spray
Your beach look or tousled texture friend. I love to use this on fine, wet hair, post-haircut and wash, to blow wave with. It delivers the best grip to the hair before drying, to be followed with any finishing product of your choice.
Dyson Supersonic r™ Professional Hair Dryer
Just when I thought the Dyson dryer I had was the bomb, along comes this! I blow wave a lot in the salon and use dryers a lot on set. This lightweight tech means your gal’s wrist is still intact after a 12-hour day of manoeuvring.
Cantu Shea Butter Coconut Curling Cream
Apart from smelling heavenly, I like this mid-weight cream for coily, curly or wavy hair types as it gives hold without weight.
Ampro Shine ’N Jam Conditioning Gel
To lay those edges for my curly and coily honeys, both in the salon and on set. Shine ’N Jam has great staying power and doesn’t get crusty.
IMAGE VIA @CURLYSIOUXSIE AS TOLD TO FASHION JOURNAL
Honour Roll
PHOTOGRAPHER AND CREATIVE DIRECTOR Jordan Drysdale PHOTOGRAPHER’S ASSISTANTS Mathew Stott and Joëlle Parisotto STYLIST Jade Leung STYLIST’S ASSISTANT Maleka Mitchell MAKEUP Lara Daly HAIR Jamie Furlan and Byron Davey at LNDN Hair MODELS Emmanuel and Bridget at People Agency RETOUCHING Shetouch LOCATION Temperance Hall
Each year, a panel of industry judges combs through dozens of student collections in search of the next generation of Australian fashion talent. A shortlist is created, and these budding designers are invited to showcase their work on the runway as part of the National Graduate Showcase x Emporium Melbourne at PayPal Melbourne Fashion Festival. Seizing the rare opportunity to access this wildfire of creativity in one fell swoop, photographer Jordan Drysdale captures a snapshot of work from this year’s 11 nominated designers.
JOANNA YOUN dress
WILSON JEDD ADAMS coat, DENTS Tiana gloves
FRANK TAPLIN blazer and skirt
CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT PASEPA WEARS KOALA DI Dragon bikini set, stylist’s own wrap, BASJIA WEARS SNRKLBR Vice bikini top, deadstock bikini bottoms from SO FAMILIA, stylist’s own belt, MIA WEARS RAMP TRAMP TRAMP STAMP Multiway striped bikini set, RAMNEEK WEARS deadstock bikini top from SO FAMILIA, BUTTERFLY KISSES thong bottom, MAROSKE PEECH Demi belt, JOLO WEARS BUTTERFLY KISSES triangle top, MAROSKE PEECH Demi belt, FRANCESKA WEARS PALOMA WOOL City bikini top, BUTTERFLY KISSES thong bottom, HAZEL WEARS SEXIAZ micro cup bikini BUTTERFLY KISSES shorts, IOLANTHE WEARS ASTROPRINCESS Zebra Starkini top SEXIAZ Thicc G bottoms, BUTTERFLY KISSES skirt, CLIVE WEARS NIPSLIP Star bikini BUTTERFLY KISSES thong bottom, UNDERGROUND SUNDAE custom apple necklace stylist’s own top, ATOUG WEARS SEXIAZ midi cup top, SNRKLBR Paris pant from SO FAMILIA, stylist’s own necklace
CREATIVE DIRECTION AND PRODUCTION
Studio Mimi
PHOTOGRAPHER
Lula Cucchiara at Sam I Am
STYLIST
Hazel Sherritt
MOVEMENT DIRECTION
Tiara Vella
HAIR AND MAKEUP
Mindwell Holcomb
MODELS
Atoug at Stone Street Agency, Hazel at People Agency, Mia at Everi-Body, Basjia, Clive, Franceska, Iolanthe, Jolo, Pasepa, Ramneek (all self-represented)
CASTING
Mimi Casting
TOP TO BOTTOM MIA WEARS RAMP TRAMP
TRAMP STAMP Multiway Striped bikini set
IOLANTHE WEARS ASTROPRINCESS Zebra
Starkini top, SEXIAZ Thicc G bottoms, CLIVE
WEARS NIPSLIP Star bikini, BUTTERFLY KISSES
triangle top (worn underneath), BUTTERFLY KISSES thong bottom, UNDERGROUND
SUNDAE custom apple necklace, FRANCESKA
WEARS PALOMA WOOL City bikini top BUTTERFLY KISSES thong bottom, HAZEL
WEARS SEXIAZ micro cup bikini, BUTTERFLY KISSES shorts
Zebra Starkini top, HAZEL
OPPOSITE PAGE
(LEFT TO RIGHT)
JOLO WEARS BUTTERFLY KISSES triangle top
MAROSKE PEECH Demi belt
RAMNEEK WEARS deadstock bikini top from SO FAMILIA, BUTTERFLY KISSES triangle top (worn underneath) and thong bottom
THIS PAGE
SEXIAZ midi cup top, SNRKLBR Paris pant from SO FAMILIA
Despite our differing political and social views, one theme remains consistent in Australian culture: we love to swim. In this satirical vignette of our nation’s swim culture, writer Daniel Mizzi explores the different sides of a national identity and how they can be distilled into, well, pools.
Amid the fever of an Australian summer lie the tanned and toned bodies of Melbourne’s Inner North. To beat the heat, they’ve flocked to the coolest spot in town: Fitzroy Swimming Pool. Yet, no one swims. Instead, they sit sizzling, slathered in tanning oil and wrapped in cling film, rather like rotisserie chickens, to protect their newest tattoos. Tramp stamps peek out from above their thongs, nipple rings replace bikini tops and chlorinated curls are swept from their eyes with a full set of acrylics.
Further south, a similar scene unfolds at Prahran Aquatic Centre. Bodies are slow-roasting along the pool’s edge, basting themselves with regular dips. Like at Fitzroy pool, there’s a thriving queer scene here. The difference is that in the Southside, everyone who looks gay is gay.
Massive, muscular men populate the pool – if they all decided to return to the grass, the water level would drop by half. To describe them as ‘big’ would be insincere, just as calling their swimwear ‘tiny’ would be generous.
One can catch a whiff of strawberry lemonade, mango swirl and passionfruit tart – not the scent of vapes, but Frozen Sunshine icy poles. Advertised to ‘lickers, suckers and biters’, they quench thirsts and urges.
At Fitzroy pool, a sweet, sticky smell lingers in the air: fresh cherries, chop-shop tobacco and sweat, despite any real signs of exercise. It’s a scent one wishes they could stick their nose into; a fragrance inspiring global pop sensation Troye Sivan to bottle and label his own, ‘Pool’.
Across town, another pool is being enjoyed, the Harold Holt Swim Centre, named after our former Prime Minister who disappeared while swimming in 1967. Here, perspiration is caused by desperation, as flustered mothers smear sunscreen over eager toddlers, while fathers wipe condensation away from their Eskies
and the damp from their backsides. Here, true-blue Aussies turn red in the afternoon sun. If the singer were to bottle this aroma, it would aptly be titled ‘Suburbia’.
Unlike Melburnians, Sydneysiders prefer beaches over pools – and so do their tourists. Travellers come from beyond the seas, eager to catch sight of the advertised ‘Australian Beach Beauty’. They move in droves to Bondi Beach, eager to seek her out. Little do they know, those at Bondi are just fellow visitors. True Sydneysiders, savvy as ever, conceal themselves at tuckedaway spots like Gordons Bay, where the boys wear the bikinis. Sprawled out over the rocks, mermen, maids and theys soak in the rays.
The contrast between these swimming holes is in more than just location, it speaks to different sides of a national identity. Those who summer at Harold Holt’s pool and the tourists who frequent Bondi long for Australiana; swimming backstroke towards nostalgia for the past. Meanwhile, the progressive in-crowd in Fitzroy paddle freestyle toward a new vision for Australia (or at least they would, if they dove in). Despite it all, Australians share a passion: we love the water.
If Holt were to emerge from the wet today, he’d be met with a country that’s united in other ways too. We’ve maintained a dry sense of humour. We laugh at the irony of a youth who would rather smell of ‘Pool’ than dive into one and naturally, we named a swim centre after a man who drowned. He’d also come to find our swim culture hasn’t changed: one need only observe the Fitzroyalty with their budgie smugglers and mullets to realise they, too, keep traditions alive, albeit ironically.
As the heat swells and cool water beckons, we strip down, shedding our usual armour and, along with it, our differences. Whichever lane you spent the day splashing about in, it’s clear the beauty of an Australian summer unites us. Dive in, as you are.
Presented by
Curated by Daisy Henry
The fashion industry is a menagerie of many creative, eccentric and passionate people. Naturally, it can be a wild place. The Fashion Journal team has heard plenty of confessions among industry circles, from friends napping in the changerooms during their retail shifts to colleagues returning used underwear because they ‘only wore them once’. One editor knew a girl who knew a girl who accidentally started a fire in a store changeroom. Sparing you the theatrics, she ultimately got off scot-free and no one ever knew she was the arsonist.
Stories like these were shared among the FJ team recently, during a particularly juicy session of Never Have I Ever, prompted by the announcement of Melbourne Theatre Company’s stage show of the same name. Written by the host of The Guilty Feminist podcast, Deborah Frances-White, Never Have I Ever follows two couples who share a meal to honour their failed joint restaurant venture. As the night progresses and wine continues to flow, they start to play the drinking game, which naturally sparks a slew of confessions and provokes a risqué dare that changes the dynamics of their friendship.
Eager to know what other juicy anecdotes exist in our network, we asked the Fashion Journal community for stories lived, witnessed and suspected, all to be shared anonymously, of course. Here’s what came back through the grapevine.
MAYA*
Fashion influencer
I was engaged as an ambassador for a store opening in the city. Part of my duties involved posing for journalists, including for a massive, national media outlet. We were shooting outside the store and I was wearing one of the brand’s dresses; it was quite sheer, so I’d decided to go without underwear. While we were shooting, one of the photographers told me to “jump”. I did, repeatedly, and to my horror, a tampon fell out. Another public figure yelled out, “Is that a tampon?” in front of everyone. I was horrified.
LINDA* Photographer
I was working at a consignment store overseas when a very rare designer dress went missing. A few weeks later, someone noticed it on set at a shoot. We managed to track it down to a photographer who was promptly banned from the store.
EVANGELINE*
Stylist
When I first started working for an online retailer, I was asked to check off a list of garments. We had a rule that no pens were allowed in the studio (weird, but I soon realised why). I was still very green at the time and I was checking off a rail of high-end blazers and I accidentally put a huge pen mark right on the front of it. It would’ve been worth at least five grand. I checked in with my supervisor saying I’d noticed this mark (holding my sheet of paper with a newly acquired pencil) and had to pretend the garment came to us like that and kept working. I felt guilty the whole day. I never told anyone that story, it’s been seven years.
ANGUS* Designer
A friend of mine changed the autocorrect settings on my phone without telling me, so that ‘babe’ corrected to ‘mole’. I commented ‘babe’ on a model’s Instagram post during Australian Fashion Week, ultimately calling her a ‘mole’, and didn’t realise until much later. Awkward.
MILES* Writer
In my student days, I wrangled a wristband to a VIP event at a fashion week through a contact. Upon arrival, I convinced the PR team there had been a mistake and that all my friends were meant to have wristbands to access the VIP party as well. We all infiltrated and later published a blog piece about how the event was pretentious and boring.
SU* Fashion writer
In high school, I knew a girl who had the most amazing wardrobe. All her pieces were designer, and they were always new-season. Like most teenage girls in our cohort, she was also always happy for her friends (and friends of friends) to borrow pieces for gatherings, parties or formals. I thought her parents must have been really rich until I asked to borrow one of her dresses and she invited me to come over and try on a few. I soon realised they all had a small hole along the left seam of the dress, near the garment care tag. It turns out she’d been cutting off the security tags in-store and shoplifting most of her wardrobe. As far as I know, she was never caught.
SARA* Fashion account manager
I was loaned a designer dress to wear for a major event and was walking on my way to the event when I heard a tearing noise. I turned and saw the back of the dress was torn. I felt so guilty, however, I later found out three of my industry friends had all worn the same dress and it happened to their garments too.
ALISHA* Business owner
Never have I ever been bitten by a shoplifter. The company I worked for was paying employees extra at the time to catch people stealing (ick). I was bitten for $50. Not worth it.
*Names have been changed. mtc.com.au
he buzz of a runway is always electric, but peek backstage and the voltage turns way up. Dozens of bodies move with pace and intensity, bringing the designer’s vision to life. Adrenaline is pumping and timing is tight as hair and makeup artists add the final touches to their models. These often undocumented minutes before showtime are captivating. Or at least, we think so. With the bare bones of a creative brief – to design a look inspired by their dream runway – photographer Robyn Daly captures four of Melbourne’s brightest makeup minds in their element.
LOCATION Curlysiouxsie WORDS BY Lara Daly
PHOTOGRAPHER AND CREATIVE DIRECTOR Robyn Daly at Assignment Studio MODELS Emma, Dika and Jett at People Agency, Annabelle (self-represented)
What inspired you to become a makeup artist?
“The most glamorous ladies in my life, my nan and Mum. At 89, my nan still wakes up every morning and does a full beat.”
What’s your favourite era of beauty?
“Probably the ’80s. From the punk scene to the sleek Serge Lutens style, it’s all so dramatic and bold.”
“I came from a background in healthcare and realised I couldn’t express myself as colourfully in that field as I wanted… Pursuing my passion for hair and makeup was the best thing because it allowed me to continue working with people, but in a more creative way.”
“My family owned a horse stud when I was a kid. I used to show Arab horses almost every weekend and my favourite part was getting the horses ready for show. The makeup we would put on the horses was very basic, mainly just black shine around the eyes and nose, but it would make them look so beautiful.”
“We’re in such an exciting time right now, with access to incredibly diverse products, models and ideas. The freedom to express beauty is unmatched. That said, I’m an emo kid at heart. Punk and goth aesthetics will always have a special place in my creativity and will never fail to inspire and excite me.”
Inspired by: Ashley Williams circa 2019, Jeremy Scott-era Moschino and Alessandro Michele-era Gucci runways
Through her skincare label, Junglo, part-time Melburnian Diya Shahaney celebrates the traditional South Asian beauty ingredients she grew up with. Here, she shares how her family’s culture has influenced her approach to style, starting with her most treasured item: a set of bangles.
I grew up in India then moved to Australia when I was seven. I’ve always felt different, whether that’s because of the texture of my hair, my skin colour or the food I would eat in the playground. But I think one area where I haven’t felt the need to fit in is in fashion.
It’s a credit to the women I’ve grown up around. They each have a very distinct, unique and personal sense of style, from the way they drape their sarees (there are many different ways to do it) to the region their fabrics come from.
My current style is authentic and playful, which to me are one and the same, even though one sounds serious and the other sounds fun. But I think when you’re being playful, there are no rules, so that’s when you’re being authentic to yourself.
I’m a storyteller, both through my skincare brand Junglo and my style. I focus on details like tailoring, craftsmanship and how each stitch and fold can tell a story. My wardrobe blends Indian styles like one-shoulder draped pieces I can wear over a pair of jeans – easy to wear, but a way to carry my culture.
One of my favourite items I own is a bangle set my mum got me many years ago. It’s two different sets combined and I’ve removed some pieces. There are nine bangles in this set, and they’re all different sizes and types of gold. Each one has its own really beautiful talisman.
My mum makes these trips back to Delhi to visit her mum every few months, and every time she comes back, she buys
something for me. There’s this really beautiful store near our house in Delhi called Ogaan. It’s like the Incu of India and that’s where she bought these bangles.
My whole life, I’ve grown up with women wearing bangles or wrist accessories because they’re a very culturally-rooted piece. I love the mix of subtlety and strength they have. You can constantly hear the clinking sound as you move your hands. Although I’m not always the first person to speak up in a room, the bangles announce my presence before I say anything.
There’s also this nostalgia that I think a lot of brown women would relate to. There
was always a ringing through the household when the women in my family would move around or get dressed. Jewellery is such a big thing for Indian families and Indian women, and the sound of bangles is synonymous with their strength. It’s a way of carrying their stories with me.
We’re so lucky to be South Asian – we have some of the most creative photographers, designers and artists out there. It’s so exciting to see the global recognition they’re getting now. A lot of these designers are meaningful to me, as they’re mixing craftsmanship with modern silhouettes. It’s not only about their clothing but how they market their brands that’s inspiring to me.
I think it’s very similar to what I’m trying to do with Junglo.
These designers are uniquely themselves. They’re not tied to trend cycles. It’s all about them being able to express their culture and heritage and I find that so refreshing.
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