Doodad & Fandango

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There have been far too many sad goodbyes this week, but this one really got me. 🄲I first encountered Yayoi Kusama’s wor...
27/08/2026

There have been far too many sad goodbyes this week, but this one really got me. 🄲

I first encountered Yayoi Kusama’s work while living in Japan in the late 90s, but seeing Mirrored Years at the MCA in Sydney in 2009 completely slapped me in the face.
Until then, I think I’d always slightly belittled my own visual instincts as too simple, too graphic, too much colour, too much repetition. Kusama gave me permission to see those instincts differently. She made me think: maybe I can actually be …an… artist…..?

My very first Doodad and Fandango design was ā€˜Yayoi’s Tears’: black-and-white cartoon eyes that I repeated throughout my first collection and used as a logo for over a decade. She inspired so many of my favourite designs and I saw her work whenever I had the chance in a bunch of different cities. I dressed as a Kusama pumpkin for Halloween in 2018. In 2024, I attended the National Gallery of Victoria Gala for the opening of Yayoi Kusama. It was an art fashion dream event come true, dressed in the fabulous Miki Miki another true artist with absolutely no interest in the beige confines of fashion trends. Naturally, I made myself a little Yayoi bag charm for the occasion.

And I’ve only just realised something rather perfectly poignant: that little Yayoi portrait became the last accessory design I ever sold commercially as Doodad and Fandango.
….Yayoi at the beginning. Yayoi at the end. 🄹

A fascinating, complicated, occasionally questionable human being, and an artist whose absolute commitment to her own visual language gave me the confidence to find mine.

Thank you, Yayoi. For the dots, the colour, the repetition, the pumpkins, and the permission. šŸŸ ā¤ļøšŸ”µšŸ’›šŸŸ¢
Sayonara, Yayoi Kusama.

Saturday reminded me why community matters.Standing with a couple of thousand people, surrounded by love, grief, hope, a...
26/07/2026

Saturday reminded me why community matters.
Standing with a couple of thousand people, surrounded by love, grief, hope, anger, laughter and determination, was incredibly energising. There were tears, there were hugs, there were brilliant speeches, and there was a powerful reminder that people care deeply about the kind of city we want to live in.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the Sydney I moved to in the early 90s.
I know I’m channeling nostalgia, but it really was a different city.
Back then, it felt like every pub had live music on a Friday and Saturday night. Every second person I knew was either in a band or sleeping with someone in a band. Most of us had bu**er all money. We were students, artists, on the dole, working casual jobs. But somehow that didn’t matter. We spent our weekends going to each other’s gigs, putting on shows, dancing all night, making art, meeting people and building community.
It wasn’t about spending money. What label our clothes were. It was about participating.
Then, little by little, that city started disappearing.
Rising rents squeezed independent venues. Poker machines replaced stages in countless pubs. Later, the lockout laws dealt another devastating blow to Sydney’s nightlife. Piece by piece, many of the places where culture was made,not just consumed, but made, began to vanish.

Today, too much of our city feels sanitised, expensive and increasingly dominated by corporate hospitality. Creative spaces are harder to find, harder to afford and harder to keep alive.
What makes me saddest is how our idea of a Friday or Saturday night has changed. It used to be gathering around live music, tiny bars, independent clubs, warehouse parties and creative spaces with your friends. Now it often feels like the default is booking a table at the latest gastropub or celebrity-chef restaurant and dropping a small fortune on dinner. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying a great meal, but somewhere along the way we’ve confused consuming culture with creating it. We used to go out to be part of something. Now we’re more often paying to be served.
That’s why what happened to Divine Playhouse matters.

This isn’t just about one venue, an

15/07/2026

I’ve thought long and hard about whether to make this video.

For the past week I’ve mostly stayed quiet, listened, and watched.

I decided to speak because I was there.

What I witnessed was a team responding immediately when concerns were raised. Less than 24 hours before opening, the venue was completely rebranded from Unholy Playhouse to Divine Playhouse. I know that because I was the designer responsible for the interior signage, and I was literally installing the new sign less than an hour before the doors opened.

Like many people, I thought that would be the end of the story.

Instead, just days later, Divine Playhouse has been forced to close while it explores its legal options.

For me, this has become about something much bigger than one name.

Sydney is losing independent cultural spaces at an alarming rate. Places where artists perform, audiences gather, friendships are formed, and communities are built don’t appear overnight. They take enormous amounts of time, money, passion and risk to create. Losing them affects far more than the people who own them.

Whether or not you agreed with the original name is your decision, and I respect that people hold different views.

But I also think it’s important that the full story is told, including what happened after those concerns were raised.

The footage in this video also features my beautiful bestie Monica from ā¤ļø She came down to help me install the replacement signage, despite the fact that we were both sick as dogs. I honestly couldn’t have done it without her.

If you’d like to support Divine Playhouse, you’ll find links to both the fundraiser and the petition in my bio.

ā¤ļø

HeapsGay

02/03/2026

ASMR with and the best earrings I ever made

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