Me, 2016-ified
Fashion and shenanigans that altered my brain chemistry a decade ago.
Less than a month into January and I’m sure you’ve seen social media getting all nostalgic for 2016. Your mates and celebs are sharing their grainy snaps from the “golden era” of Instagram, when everything was Kylie lip kits, dog filters and fishnets under ripped jeans.
I wonder if this will now become a digital ritual every time we roll over into a new year. Reheating the internet’s slop from a decade ago as a kind of cultural comfort blanket. Then again, maybe it’s only reserved for 2016, a pretty poignant time in online history. You don’t have to dig too deep for memes and think pieces claiming this was the year everything started going to shit. And maybe we’re all sharing our best bits from 2016 as a distraction from the fact that, really, in the last ten years, everything and nothing has changed.
I don’t like always centering my articles around the most viral stuff happening right now. However, since I’m picking away at a much more thoughtful and emotional piece (which is taking a long time to form), to flex my typing fingers, I thought, okay, I’ll bite.
Revisiting myself ten years ago. 2016 was my last year in Melbourne before I headed to London, and I moved about the city with a kind of chaotic freedom afforded to someone newly single, unsure how to proceed with life, but too young to care.
I sifted through the boomerangs and thirst traps of my mostly-archived Instagram footprint to dredge up what I remember about that time, fashion and otherwise.
I moved into a five-person sharehouse in Brunswick, nicknamed The Velvet Tent. My housemate owned a black Great Dane x Retriever that would only ever eat underwear off the clothesline if it belonged to me and was of the super sexy, handwash-only ilk.
My friend Dani and I went to Japan. It was my birthday on the flight over, and a Jetstar attendant named Scott gifted me a takeaway coffee cup filled to the brim with vodka.
I saw Joel in Tokyo. He said he was there “with the boys,” but to this day, I believe he orchestrated the trip purely to run into me.
Everyone would come into the office tear-streaked and gulping for air. We were all reading A Little Life.
Being moved by Hayett McCarthy’s tribute to David Bowie at the Burberry menswear Fall 2016 show.
Gizz Fest was still a thing, and despite hating the material, I was enamoured by a velvet jumpsuit worn by the guitarist of Stonefield.
My personal uniform consisted primarily of Canadian tuxedos, anchored by a pair of Acne Studios skinny jeans that I’d only throw out years later when my tailor told me, after many butt repairs, it was time to let go. Though I didn’t just restrict myself to skinny jeans. I also wore black wide-leg pants I bought from Candy Stripper in Tokyo and two-toned flared jeans I found on a warehouse floor. Both items are still in my closet today.
Other wardrobe staples included tassled loafers, a choker with an evil eye charm, Stan Smiths (could 2026 be their comeback year?) and Comme des Garçons Play striped tees. It was also the year my origin story of obnoxiously large phone cases began. I mean, look at this fucking diabolical boomerang.
I met David Sedaris and he gave me a roll of candy that tasted like chalk.
I met Dita Von Teese backstage at a show. A few days later, she came to my work, a vision in a beautiful black skirt suit, gloves and stockings. I bought her a green tea.
I dyed my hair from Nicole Kidman’s Practical Magic ginger back to its natural raven shade. This change was to save money for my 2017 move, not inspired by my run-ins with Dita.
While I’ve maintained that I am not and never have been a Chanel girl, my Instagram showed me receipts that I was actually really into the Cat Emoticon double flap bag.
I was obsessed with Rihanna taking wine glasses everywhere.
I continued pole dancing, despite having peaked dance-wise in 2013 after mastering Jade Splits.
I spent time with a man whose dick featured in a relatively well-known fashion designer’s coffee table book.
I joined a skateboarding league called The Phoney Hawks. And by skateboarding league, I mean I met some friends in Carlton, and we would skate up and down a street, eating pizza and drinking wine. We actually avoided all skate parks because we were terrible and didn’t want the kids to laugh at us.
I took pottery classes and made a pot for Joel. He says he doesn't have it, but doesn’t think he would have thrown it away.
After a picnic, I went to a gay bar with a bottle of wine in my Mansur Gavriel bucket bag. As we shared it on the dancefloor, a flask came my way, and I took a sip, not realising it was poppers (Amyl and the Spitters?).
Marc Jacobs’ Spring 2016 campaign was on my moodboard. A display of opulent maximalism and Americana, shot by David Sims and starring a melting pot of celebs.
Thanks to everyone tuning into the first post of the year! Excited to share more steaming Haute Garbage in 2026.
We are so back