‘It makes no sense': The young designers pushed off the runway
For the first time in 26 years, the Fashion Design Studio is out of Australian Fashion Week, which begins today.
The new operators of AFW, the Australian Fashion Council, delivered the verdict in March, denying the application from TAFE FDS in Sydney, which helped launch homegrown labels Zimmermann, Akira Isogawa and Christopher Esber.
'The AFC made an early decision to do fewer showrooms and focus on a wholesale showcase, meaning student showcases were paused for 2025,' says AFW chief executive Kellie Hush, who added a book launch for Ksubi co-founder Dan Singl e, a dinner party for Vogue and a closing party for Ksubi to the schedule.
'The industry values the work we do, so the decision was surprising,' says Andrea Cainero, co-head of the FDS. 'This has always been a platform for the next guard of designers.'
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Rather than accept the 'out' verdict, four designers from the FDS program are staging a rogue runway show, hours before the main event launches with the latest Carla Zampatti collection.
'We had to pivot and make sure that the designers are put first,' says co-head Laura Washington.
Cainero and Washington called on supporters to organise the last-minute showcase at the Overseas Passenger Terminal at Circular Quay. Turning the other cheek for an air kiss, invitations were extended to Hush and AFC staff to see the work of Eidan Ceilidh, Emily Misaki Hon, Daisy-Rose Cooper and Shiva Yousefpour.
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West Australian
a day ago
- West Australian
STM Loves: Corteo by Cirque du Soleil, Good Day Sunshine, Saben, Kmart and Si Paradiso
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Herald Sun
18-06-2025
- Herald Sun
Hipster swindle: Gen Z hand over $300
Chaad Hewitt looks perfect in a photograph. His swooshed-back brown-blond hair also seems permanently damp and the sharp edges of his cheekbones are highlighted by the camera flashes that blind the alleyway on the outskirts of Sydney's CBD at Australian Fashion Week. Chick-chick-chick. Even though he might not even be in frame of the pictures being taken, 21-year-old Chaad poses anyway. Cameras, in one way or another, are always following Chaad. Along with an enviable number of vowels in his name, he has the magnetic charisma of the lead character in any Y2K teen movie led by whatever actress was hot at the time. … Let's say Hilary Duff (who was 17 when he was born). And in his hand is the ultimate prop of the era: a camcorder. He holds it up to his right eye and squints the other. It almost happens in slow motion. Because that's the way kids like Chaad are living. Or, at least, pretending to live. The Panasonic video camera he's using was manufactured about three years before his birth, in 2008. At first he says it's from 1997 but later realises the error. He seems a little embarrassed it isn't as old as he initially thought it was. Still, he says he stands by 'the charm of the grainy, old-school footage'. The camera belongs to his girlfriend, who's also into vintage tech. 'Y2K cameras are literally my brand. It's what I do for a living,' Chaad gushes about his work in the content creation space. He says he has gathered about 100,000 Instagram followers in the past six months, bringing his total count to nearly 300,000 – all thanks to the low-fi vision captured on Y2K cameras that's then uploaded online. 'I got into Y2K cameras as soon as I was a young kid in school … in prep,' he says. 'And I remember my father giving me a camera to take to school.' He seems to reference the clunky camcorder like it's a great grandfather's antique fob watch – an heirloom handed down through the generations, as if it was pulled from the century-old wreckage of the Titanic. 'It brings back memories,' he says. 'People want to revisit the past. And young kids want to feel what their parents felt. You see shots of mum and dad from when they were younger, using these kinds of cameras and, for me, to go back in time … there's something beautiful about the vintage classic camcorders.' Cue the disgust of anyone born before the year 1995 who's insulted by that last statement. But who cares what you think. Chaad loves old stuff. And he wants everyone to know. 'I'm wearin' my mum's Rolex, and that's from 1980,' he says, holding up an arm to show off the battered leather watch band that's wrapped around his wrist. He says his girlfriend is taking him to a shop that specialises in Y2K cameras when they visit Japan later this year. He's going to add to his collection – a cluster of dusty tech equipment that already includes several video cameras and a bunch of point-and-shoots. 'I'm all about it, I love it,' he says. 'My girlfriend has gained thousands of followers because of this style [of footage]. And my friends are now getting on board with it on the Gold Coast. 'The demand is through the roof. And that's why it's hard to buy them these days.' How much would he pay for a Y2K point-and-shoot camera? '$300,' he says. That's a decent price for an item found in most junk drawers around Australia – a product that's two decades old, full of dust and may break at any moment. It almost feels cruel to swindle someone so young. But I did. STEAL FROM THE DEAD, SELL TO THE STUPID It began intense and methodical, as most swindles do. Before launching my new small business as a purveyor of obsolete tech, I performed rigorous market analysis – reaching out to other moguls in the vintage camera resale game for insights. 'I have actually noticed a significant rise in my orders going to Australia,' said an enigmatic Etsy seller known only as PiddlinPixie, who trades from her home in the US state of Arkansas. While she also offers kitschy toys and other nostalgic wares, she says old Y2K cameras (priced between $50-$200) are consistently her most-sold items and make up about 99 per cent of her sales, with between eight to 20 being purchased every week ('maybe even more'). The craze had been steadily growing over 18 months, supercharged by noughties nostalgia. An Etsy spokesman said the site had seen a 232 per cent increase in searches for digital cameras. Fashion designer Daniel Roseberry made entire gowns out of smashed CDs and 2000s-era cell phones at his spring '24 show for Italian haute couture label Schiaparelli. Prada also dialled into the obsolete tech craze by using old phones as props in recent advertisements. Steadily, Y2K cameras saturated TikTok before spilling out of online feeds and onto the streets. 'I just like that it's pink. And it goes with the outfit. It's, like, an accessory,' marketing assistant Josh Partington, 28, told me about the 15-year-old fuchsia Sony CyberShot he was toting around Sydney one day. He was also grasping a second Y2K camera – a Canon Powershot SX100, featuring a whopping eight megapixels. 'Things look better on a Y2K camera,' he said. 'It's that vintage look. And it's easier to carry around in your pocket.' Huh. Easier than, say, using the camera on the iPhone that you're already having to juggle? 'I know, I know …' he sighed, hanging his head at the ridiculousness of his previous claim. His Hunter S. Thompson-style aviator sunnies slipped down the bridge of his nose and he peered over the top of the lenses. He then readjusted the sleeves of his old-school leather jacket. 'It's vintage-inspired,' he said of his entire look. He had curated a wardrobe that cherry picked the must-have items from all the bygone eras – the sartorial equivalent of a radio station offering up the very best of the 70s, 80s, 90s to now. 'They're so hard to find,' Josh said of his vintage-ish cameras. 'They're in high demand.' According to my anecdotal evidence from the streets, this demand was clearly outpacing supply. And, from her American living room, PiddlinPixie was seemingly on her way to monopolising Australia's lucrative Y2K camera market. It was time for some competition to muscle in. First order of business: gathering product. Deceased estate auctions and garage sales became my hunting ground. I was like a modern-day Robin Hood – stealing from the dead and selling to the stupid. For a few manic weeks, Saturday and Sunday mornings were spent speeding my Corolla between suburban house clearances as I slowly built-up inventory. People had no idea about the goldmines they were sitting on. 'Are you a photographer?' one grey-faced daughter-in-law asked as she handed over a Panasonic Lumix FS42 from 2009. 'Sure,' I chirped, sipping the giant 7-11 coffee I'd purchased from a highway servo. Others were more bullish. 'We want $30,' one woman said as the golden sun enveloped her suburban garage, where other scavengers were picking through stacks of unwanted kitchenware and toys. 'I only have $10,' I said, stone-faced, while fingering through the wad of cash that totalled nearly $300 in the pocket of my jeans. 'It's a good camera,' she declared of the dinky Casio from 2007. 'The camera is 17 years old,' I rebutted. 'Can I test it?' No. She let me take it for $20. When I got home, it didn't work. The swindler became the swindled. But that was the game. It was all a gamble – risky for everyone involved. This underground industry was blurry – like a pixelated digital photograph from the early 2000s. But that loss didn't compare to what I'd soon gain. 'IT JUST STOPPED WORKING!' I'd buy cameras for $10 or $20 – not knowing if they were functional – and, after lightly testing them, I'd sell them online for anywhere between $200 and $400. Cost-of-living crisis? Ha! I'd soon be living off the windfall of cash I'd acquired from selling obsolete tech. Did I feel guilty? Not at all. It was the same scam Boomers pulled on millennials with vinyl records. And what about the Gen Z kids buying these cameras? According to research from Finder, younger Aussies have been hit hardest – with 77 per cent facing money troubles. It was found people aged 18 to 26-years-old were pulling back on spending due to economic stress, compared to any other age group in the country. But when it came to trendy vintage cameras? That's where they suddenly found cash to burn. 'Does it work?' asked Zana, a nervous high school senior, when I handed over a 2006 powder blue Sony CyberShot with six megapixels. Indeed, it was functioning well (I'm an opportunist, not a crook), but the answer to her question didn't even matter. She was gonna take it anyway. Merely grasping the item in her hand was going to skyrocket Zana's street cred at the school gate. She handed over the money: $250. The original box still had the old Harvey Norman price sticker on it from when it was bought brand new: $249.95. Who knew these cameras would become a non-depreciating asset that retained market value? The next customer was Dina, who came over to collect her purchase between university lectures. She paid $400 for a 2000s Sony digital camcorder that I'd scored for about $30. Business boomed over the course of a few weeks. It was the height of summer – picture perfect party season. Y2K cameras continued to flood social media feeds – the hype boosting the interest of desperate buyers. Everyone wanted to jump on the faux-futuristic cyber-core trend. And I was there to corrupt the obsession, like the human embodiment of the Y2K bug. A 20-something woman named Katie was between shifts at the nearby strip club when she rushed over to pay $250 cash for a coveted pink Samsung L100. 'All my friends are using these cameras!' she said, switching it on and toggling with the zoom lens. And the fact she scored a pink version? Her friends only had silver and black, she said. Just like at high school in 2005, a hot pink camera was still a status symbol. These relics were dual purpose: they had to look chic as a vintage prop in photographs while also taking pics that looked low-quality. Just ask Annie Hart. 'She's a cutie,' the 25-year-old marketing assistant purred while holding up her tiny 2000s-era Canon IXUS and kissing it. She paid $300. 'It depends on what vibe you're going for with your outfit,' she explained. 'The quality is lower and it looks more vintage.' Why not just put a vintage-looking filter on your iPhone snaps? 'It's not the same,' she said. 'I don't love the iPhone pics.' Modern-day smart phone photos were too pristine, with their millions of megapixels. But, apparently, the same problem could be found with some 2000s-era cameras that didn't quite offer an adequate amount of nostalgic fuzz. 'I bought one from someone online – a camera from 2011, but the images were too high quality,' said Chloe Zhu, 22, a content creator with a press-on nails business. She offered a rule of thumb for the vintage Y2K camera fiends: 'The shittier, the better.' Still, it's not exactly great advice, given the ultimate outcome of her model from 2011, which she paid $250 for. 'It just stopped working!' she lamented. 'It absolutely died.' But after-care isn't a service offered in the obsolete tech resale business. There is no Apple Genius Bar to help with your glitchy products. I learnt this the hard way. And just like Chloe's crappy old camera, my business suddenly shut down. CUT TO BLACK Over the sweaty Sydney summer, I'd managed to make $2,200. But, much like a snapshot, it was merely a moment in time. Gradually, the kids stopped coming. The floor of my apartment was scattered with fossils from the new millennium. I began reducing prices just to shift stock. It seemed there was now a glut of Y2K cameras on the market from other resellers who'd realised the trend. Perhaps Zoomers had twigged to the scheme and started sourcing from garage sales themselves, buying wholesale without the astronomical mark-up. In my haste to scale up, I'd also made some bad business decisions. Grew too fast. Bought too much product that I now couldn't move. More cash was going out than coming in. Making things worse, I had a bad run of buying cameras that wound up being defective – and then I spent even more cash buying new batteries and chargers in an attempt to fix them, but no luck. In a desperate move, I even tried diversifying my catalogue by pivoting into Y2K flip phones. The metaphorical call went unanswered. Profits were shrinking. I flew too close to the sun. It was a classic tale of corporate greed. Just like in 2008, things crashed. Originally published as The hipster swindle: Gen Z hand over $300
Sydney Morning Herald
14-06-2025
- Sydney Morning Herald
Need to liven up your winter wardrobe? Reach for flavours of mint, pistachio or strawberry
This story is part of the June 15 edition of Sunday Life. See all 15 stories. While florals for spring generally elicit a withering response of 'groundbreaking' – said in our best Miranda Priestly tone – pastel colours in winter are surprisingly, well, surprising. The spring/summer '25 European catwalks were awash with tones of pistachio (Chloe), fairy floss (Alaia), limoncello and grapefruit (Chanel), and ice-blue (Acne Studios). Meanwhile, at last month's Australian Fashion Week, local designers were also championing the 'soft' end of the colour wheel: Bianca Spender showed the versatility of pale yellow in bomber jackets and sheer leggings layered under dresses, while at Carla Zampatti, mint mingled with the palest of turquoises in a masterclass in black-tie dressing that was anything but drab. But before you think these scoops need saving for spring, pastels make a perfect pairing for some of this winter's warmest shades, including burgundy, which is instantly cooled down with a splash of peony pink, lemon or sky blue. Because pastels are inherently cool tones, they also tie back well with other warm shades such as chocolate, khaki and even some shades of red (think cherry, not brick). Though do try to avoid too much black with pastels - the contrast can be too jarring. That said, if you are a devotee of the monochromatic look and are keen for a pastel pop, make like Charlotte York-Goldenblatt and opt for a hair bow or headband from Versace or Valentino in an uber-femme shade of baby pink or blue. And, if you're like fellow And Just Like That character Seema Patel, who's encouraged by a matchmaker to wear pastels to attract a male suitor, and you're experimenting with a softer palette, ditch the twin-sets and pearls and instead opt for a tailored long-line vest or wide-legged trouser; more angular silhouettes will offset any overt 'girlishness' in the colour of the fabric. Accessorising with metallic belts and oversized, chunky necklaces also adds a degree of toughness. Finally, nails are also another low-cost, high-impact way to work pastels into your look. A gel manicure in a shade of lavender, peach or duck-egg blue -- or all three if you feel inclined -- will also make the skin on your hands appear more tanned, even if the closest you got to Capri this Euro-summer is imagining yourself there. Did someone say sorbetti?
