Anthony Albanese's office photo: What's in, what's out and what it says about Australia's leader in 2025... including the item we can all relate to

Daily Mail​

7 days ago

As Parliament resumes after Anthony Albanese 's second election win, this time resounding, the Prime Minister's office again offers a curated window into the man behind the nation's top job.
Call it political interior design, or just the subtle messaging of power through personal artefacts. Either way, the objects on the PM's desk and surrounding shelves speak volumes about what he values, what he wants Australians to see, and just as tellingly, what he no longer feels the need to display.
The latest official photo makes that point before you even scan the bookshelf. In 2023, Albo was snapped in a Radio Birdman T-shirt (4), a visual nod to his Triple J sensibilities and his everyman persona (in inner cities at least).
This time around, it's a sharp navy jacket and open-collared shirt - no band tees, no slogans. He finally looks the part: re-elected, emboldened, and leaning into the gravitas that comes with high office. The personal flourishes remain, but the overall tone has matured. The Prime Minister is no longer dressing down for the cameras.
So too, the artefacts have undergone a kind of rebrand.
Several once-prominent pieces are conspicuously absent this time around. The signed Midnight Oil Makarrata Project album (6) is gone, so too the Qantas model plane (3) that for years sat proudly in Albanese's office - a holdover from his time as transport minister. But their disappearance is more than aesthetic tidying.
These weren't just casual desk decorations. They were part of a first-term identity: the music-obsessed, frequent-flying, culturally savvy Albo. But political offices don't remove memorabilia without cause. The Oils' frontman Peter Garrett hasn't exactly been generous in his praise of Labor's policy agenda, especially post-Voice. The model jet? Grounded, just like the Prime Minister's association with Alan Joyce-era Qantas - a proximity that drew scrutiny in the first term, especially after revelations about his son Nathan's controversial Chairman's Lounge membership.
Even his GQ Man of the Year award (7) - which, for full disclosure, I profiled him for in the magazine itself - has been retired from view. Previously positioned proudly behind his chair, it now appears to have been quietly boxed. Maybe it didn't fit the updated message. Or maybe it just felt a little off-key for a second-term PM aiming for statesman, not celebrity.
Gone too are some of the older, familiar touchstones: the Rabbitohs-themed items, while still present, have been consolidated. The signed NRL and AFL balls (5 and 9) remain on a higher shelf, but no longer dominate the foreground. They're still there, but dialled down - a nod to his sporting passions rather than a centrepiece.
The new additions on Albanese's desk say a lot about the PM's priorities - or at least what he wants the public to believe they are.
There are more images of his son Nathan, including the long-present framed portrait (1), as well as a newer, staged photo of the PM, his fiancée Jodie Haydon, and Nathan walking Toto the cavoodle together (13). It's a curated slice of suburban domesticity - all that's missing is a flat white and a Sunday market in the background.
A singular photo of Jodie (11) now features more prominently than before, part of a broader theme of personal connection. But the most conspicuous addition in that category is the framed cartoon showing Albanese proposing to Jodie (6) - playful, whimsical, and unusually revealing for a man trying to project control and seriousness.
It's placed directly beside another framed drawing: a stylised portrait of Toto the dog (7), who has now ascended to gallery status on the office wall. It's another new entry - possibly clipped from a weekend paper, or sent to him directly by the cartoonist - offering a glimpse of the PM's self-awareness. The humour is still there, just framed more formally.
In a subtle nod to expanding his appeal beyond the Inner West, a cricket ball now rests on the shelf (4). It's a small but deliberate choice. Rugby league remains his passion, Souths in particular, but cricket speaks to a more traditional national pastime - and perhaps a broader audience.
Toto the cavoodle (7) has ascended to gallery status on the office wall
Then there's Rosie Batty's book Hope (12), prominently placed. It's unclear whether Albanese has actually read it, but its appearance speaks to the second-term agenda. Domestic violence policy is a key priority for this government, and the symbolism of having Batty's work on display underscores that intent. There are policies backing this up - the signal, in this case, comes with substance.
And finally, the most easily missed but perhaps most relatable inclusion: the frayed phone charger cord (14), trailing off the desk's edge like an unresolved policy thread. It's minor, yes, but symbolic. A little worn. A little tangled. A touch of chaos under the veneer of order - just like governing.
Consistent Threads
Some things haven't changed. The Aboriginal artwork (2) behind one of the family photos remains, a quiet continuity in the post-referendum landscape. It's not flashy, but it's constant - a subtle marker of ongoing commitment even amid national setbacks.
The trio of flags - Australian, Aboriginal, and Torres Strait Islander (10) - also endures. While largely ceremonial, their continued presence sends a message about national identity. Had Peter Dutton won the election, it's hard to imagine two of the three surviving the transition.
A PM Rebranding — Gently
So, what does it all add up to?
This is still the office of a Labor leader deeply shaped by personal story - a son of a single mum, a Souths tragic, a man who found love again later in life. But the second-term version is more grounded, more disciplined. The rock'n'roll flair has been packed away. The slogans have been shelved. The sentimental has overtaken the stylised.
The family photos, the artwork, the dog drawing - they all build a narrative of empathy and authenticity. But the shift in wardrobe and removal of old cultural flourishes suggest a new layer: authority. Albanese is no longer just trying to be relatable. He's trying to be taken seriously.
Whether the public or Parliament notices the change is another matter entirely. But in politics, as in life, the smallest details often say the most.
And for the record, Albo, I still have that GQ article buried in a box in the garage. If you want to reframe it… I'll see if I can find it.