Two Sides
Winifred makes jewelry she can’t sell. She’s nineteen, from Perth, and the pieces just accumulate because she can’t bring herself to part with them. She tried the logical approach—make more, flood the system, maybe exhaust the attachment. It didn’t work. A few pieces have been given away as gifts but the rest stay. That attachment to your own work, the pull to keep it close—I get that.
She describes two characters in her head: Wini, organized and planned, and Fred, who just wants to party. They’re constantly at odds, but she’s learned to let both coexist. That split between control and chaos, between the version of yourself that wants order and the one that wants noise—it’s real, and she doesn’t hide from it.
Perth’s almost always sunny except winter, which is her favorite season. Australia’s getting more fashion-conscious, but there’s always been something Australian about wearing what feels right without overthinking it. No apology.
She spends hours looking at materials—just texture and color and possibility. Old clothes become new things. She designs jewelry, plush toys, iPod sleeves. The blogs matter to her: Lookbook, Chictopia, Street Peeper, and deeper in, The Sartorialist, Face Hunter, Jak & Jil, Copenhagen Street Style. Hours disappear watching how strangers in other cities put themselves together.
Music has to move her. Indie, rock, pop, R&B—whatever makes something shift. She reads magazines, mostly free online ones now (NEET, Attitude, Lula) but also Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, Frankie. Watches everything: old films, cartoons, romance, action. No hierarchy, just whatever catches.
Jewelry design and fashion design—that’s where she’s headed. She wants to sell her work eventually, but there’s no rush. For now she’s just making things, reading about how strangers dress in cities she hasn’t been to yet, building a world. Holding onto the pieces that matter too much to release. Waiting to see what comes next.