MAKING ZINES Around the age of 14 or 15, I started going to Sticky Institute, the zine store underneath Flinders Street Station in Melbourne, and I just became obsessed. For my first zine, I went into the staff room at my high school and stole all of their late passes. I photocopied them and I made this zine about being late. The late passes are really cute. They say things like, “I was late to school because my bookcase fell over,” or, “I was late to school because the Pascoe Vale girls were too loud on the tram.” There’s something about a zine that feels so handcrafted. I love that somebody has taken it upon themselves to create a tiny beautiful story.
TRUSTING YOUR TATTOO ARTIST I got a tattoo in Berlin two years ago off Daisy Does Tattoos. She’s an incredible tattoo artist from Brisbane who now lives over there. I sent her a picture of [musician] Shaky Dave, ’cos I think he’s going to be my husband one day. I’ve never met him, I’m just obsessed with him. She said, “I’m not tattooing this guy on you, this is so bizarre.” So she drew me a picture of two hands holding each other and said, “I think this represents you better.” That tattoo is now on my arm. I realised that you go to a tattoo artist not because you want something specific, but because you want a piece of artwork by that tattoo artist.
NOT BEING DISGUSTING I have really low hygiene standards, but it’s mostly because I just don’t care. I get into the thing that I’m doing, and forget about cleaning my room, because I’m like, “No, no, I want to write this song.” But it just means I’m disgusting. Living in a sharehouse has been so good for that, because you can’t be disgusting in a sharehouse; it’s not nice for other people to live that way. I’m the perfect housemate, but it’s taken me years to get to that point. My bandmate, Elana [Stone], woke up in my bed one time, looked over at my bedside table and saw there was a toenail in a muffin. She was like, “I need to go home, I feel sick.” I’m not like that now.
BRINGING ON POSITIVE CHANGE I’ve recently tried to broaden my mind on what feminism is, and figure out what I can do in my everyday life to change things. For example, right now I work at Music New South Wales, which is a government organisation, and last year we started a program for women in electronic music. I think when a little boy is growing up and he starts playing with technology, he’s praised for that and given the tools to explore and make mistakes – but I don’t think that’s something that’s as dominant in young girls’ lives. This program is about giving girls those tools. So for me, change is about education for everybody, but also providing people opportunities to do stuff.
REGIONAL OP SHOPS When we started this band, nobody other than me particularly liked op-shopping. It was awful, ’cos we’d drive through regional Australia on our tours, and I’d be like, “Country town op shop! Pull over!” And they’d be like, “No, we’re not pulling over.” I’d chuck these big tantrums, saying, “Pull over! It’s a great one!” The band’s been going for four years, so now we’ve got a rule: one in every five op shops, we have to stop. We’ve all gotten way more into op-shopping and the vintage finds. Secondhand shops are where we find all our onstage outfits. It’s really fun to get to dress up for the shows, and we do co-ordinate. Sometimes someone’s wearing something that clashes. Then we’re like, “No, go back into the bedroom.”
This article first appeared in frankie magazine issue 77 (May/June 2017).