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Hair tools so good they're headlining Fashion Week: Shark Beauty steals the show with sleek styles and celeb stylists

Hair tools so good they're headlining Fashion Week: Shark Beauty steals the show with sleek styles and celeb stylists

7NEWS13-05-2025

Australian Fashion Week is in full swing, and this year's surprise scene-stealer isn't just the fashion. It's the hair.
Thanks to Shark Beauty, statement strands have taken centre stage, and honestly? We're obsessed.
From 12–16 May, Shark Beauty has stepped up as the presenting partner of Australian Fashion Week 2025.
But this isn't just another beauty sponsorship.
This is an all-out hair celebration, complete with free styling sessions, celeb stylists and tools that deliver salon-worthy hair without the salon.
The backstage buzz? Shark's styling squad is working directly with some of the country's biggest designers, Carla Zampatti, Aje, Alix Higgins, Bianca Spender and Mariam Seddiq.
To bring each show's creative vision to life, one perfectly glossy blowout at a time.
Armed with the Shark FlexStyle Air Styling and Drying System, on sale now for $349.99. and the Shark SpeedStyle RapidGloss Finisher and High-Velocity Dryer, on sale now for $199.99.
They're making sure every model's hair hits the runway ready for a close-up.
Creative Hair Director Madison Voloshin is leading the charge backstage, styling for Carla Zampatti and Aje, while other top hair names like Chris Hunter and Daniel Jianing Liu are adding their magic to the mix. The vibe? Effortless cool meets high-fashion polish.
Free pop-up styling sessions
But here's the best part: you don't need to score a coveted front-row seat to get in on the glam.
From Tuesday, 13 May, Shark Beauty has opened the doors to their Shark Beauty Style Salon at Carriageworks.
Yes, that means you can book a complimentary 30-minute hair appointment and walk out with the kind of hair usually reserved for magazine covers.
Expect sleek blowouts, voluminous curls and expert advice on how to use Shark's cult tools on your own hair type.
And if you're thinking, 'Yeah, but I've got tricky hair,' don't stress. Shark Beauty is all about inclusivity; they're proudly 'For All Hairkind,' so every texture, curl and wave is covered.
With celebrity hairstylist Joey Scandizzo heading up the salon crew and Shark Beauty ambassador Maria Thattil making waves sleek (literally), it's clear this brand isn't just about hair, it's about confidence.
Because nothing says power move like runway-ready hair at 9 am on a Wednesday.
So, whether you're stalking street style looks on Instagram or heading to Carriageworks in Sydney (in real life), do yourself a favour: book the appointment, try the tools and join the hair revolution.

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Hipster swindle: Gen Z hand over $300
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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. 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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

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