No two days ever look the same. When I’m in Sydney, I split my time between my apartments in North Bondi and Waterloo. We have a warehouse in Waterloo and a studio in Alexandria. On sunny days, I’ll start the day with a coastal walk, pilates class at Body by Berner, or a PT session with my girlfriend Charlie Austin at Beachouse. Afterwards it’s usually a croissant from the bakery on Glenayr, a Simon Says green juice, and a batch brew from Mecca on my way into work. I love slow mornings and often work late into the night. 

As a child, I saw fashion through the lens of manufacturing long before I saw it through the lens of design. Afternoons and school holidays were spent at my parents’ office on Kippax Street in Surry Hills (Sydney’s fast fashion hub) or our factory in Guangzhou where there were hundreds of seamstresses. Our Waterloo warehouse, which we still have today, had shipping containers arriving weekly and forklifts stacking pallets of cartons up to the ceiling.

Today, I'm privileged to work alongside the manufacturing team my parents built over decades. Their knowledge is invaluable, but the intention behind what we create has changed. We produce in smaller quantities, with a focus on design and craftsmanship.

Recently I’ve been thinking that if I hadn’t become a fashion designer, I would have loved to be an architect. Both disciplines consider proportions, materiality, and function in similar ways. 

My approach to design is surprisingly analytical, probably closer to product or industrial design than people expect from fashion. Every stage, from research through to sampling and fittings, follows a highly methodical process.

As a child, I was constantly rearranging the furniture in our house and begging my mum to let me redesign my bedroom. Weekends were often spent at antique auctions with her (she’s an avid collector). That’s where I learned the importance of craftsmanship, patina, and the beauty of objects with history and provenance.

Today, my aesthetic for interiors is inspired by Brutalism and wabi-sabi. Axel Vervoordt has been my greatest influence. I've read his autobiography cover to cover.

I'm drawn to clean, architectural lines and sculptural silhouettes. Each garment should hold its own, but together form a collection through recurring motifs and brand codes. Over the years, I’ve established a recognisable visual language that extends into my interiors. 

I’m drawn to spaces with exaggerated proportions, natural light, high ceilings and lots of negative space. I love concrete and stainless steel, softened with natural materials like timber. 

My palette is usually quite neutral, with a seasonal colour used to define a collection. I've always admired people with an intuitive understanding of colour. It’s an art form in its own right. A close friend Liana Rossi recently introduced me to A Dictionary of Color Combinations by Wada Sanzo.

Thank you! The collection came at a time when we had just returned from a sales trip in Paris, amidst so much uncertainty around the world. I kept thinking about the importance of the creative community and designers who came before me such as Vivienne Westwood, who used fashion as a platform for activism and cultural dialogue.

My references came from rock and roll, club culture, and the queer community that shaped my early twenties. We also made the decision a few weeks before the show to expand into unisex, introducing menswear and casting male and non-binary models for the first time. 

The show was about the intersection of fashion, music, performance, and art. It felt like the first true expression of the world we're building around the brand.