VIOLETLEBEAUX.COM

It’s hard to believe she was once a green-haired hard core punk swathed in black.

Violet’s hair is a glorious puff of white blonde and pastel pink, springing from her head like fairy floss. She looks like a doll that’s just been taken out of the box, shiny and magical and smelling of strawberries. She’s the frosting on the cupcake, the sweetest of the sweet; it’s hard to believe she was once a green-haired hardcore punk swathed in black. She laughs as she talks about the phases she’s been through, comfortable she’s reached her destination. Her favourite colour is pink, but she likes blue too… the entire rainbow, actually.

Cupcakes and tea parties aside, Violet is an astute businesswoman who now runs her site ‘Violet LeBeaux – Tales of an Ingénue’ full time, usually while listening to korean pop. She’s famous for her sugary-sweet tutorials which showcase her marvellous ability to turn the ordinary into the extraordinary, served always with a smile. Press play and you’re greeted with a tinkling pink and yellow cartoon intro, and Violet, cute as a button, the happiest teacher.

With a repertoire so vast, it’s hard to choose a favourite hair style. She purses her pink lips before revealing the answer. A one-sided bouffant, with curls coming down. “You know,” she smiles sweetly, “like Marie Antoinette’s”. Oh, of course.

OHJAMIE.COM

He talks about the styles he’s sported over the years: mohawks, undercuts and quiffs.

Jamie moves like a shadow in black draped leather and beaten silver accessories. The smell of mystery shrouds him, like a cloak with pockets full of secrets. With his dark aesthetic and brooding looks, he’s carved a niche for himself in Melbourne as a photographer with an edge. There’s a shyness that lies beneath, hidden amongst layers of leather and intrigue. He laughs and says he’s not as dark as people think, his smile a brilliant flash of light.

Jamie wears an elaborate leather trench with bottomless pockets, custom-made by a designer friend. He hand picked the skins himself and the two collaborated on the design, resulting in a one-off piece he’s rarely without. On his fingers are an assortment of rings, twisted silver stories. He plays with them as he speaks, reflecting on the origins of the blog he started as a 17-year old kid.

Jamie has recently replaced his trademark topknot for a sleek buzz, a change that took his followers by surprise. Adjusting his beanie, he talks about the styles he’s sported over the years: mohawks, undercuts and quiffs; an aesthetic explorer. Driven by the allure of the unknown, he’s inspired by transformation, revelling in the opportunity to experiment in uncharted territories. His fascination with black-and-white photos emerged during a darker period of his life, a filter of self-expression that’s challenged the way he takes shots ever since. He’s started to add pops of brightness; it satiates his colour-thirsty readers. Ask him why everyone’s poring over his photos and

SABOSKIRT.BLOGSPOT.COM

It’s hard to believe they’re not sisters. Long legs and dark, flowing hair aren’t the only things these two girls have in common. Friends for over 8 years, it’s hard to distinguish where one ends and the other begins. They blend into one another like watercolours, two pieces of a puzzle, the prettiest picture.

Thessy and Yiota’s foray into fashion started in high school, harmlessly at first. They discovered magazines and – as teenage girls do – spent hours flicking through them, the same pop songs playing on repeat. They cut things out and stuck them places, pictures of dresses they couldn’t afford. The stickytape tore the paint from their bedroom walls and made their parents angry. But it was too late, they were hooked.

It wasn’t until Thessy and Yiota were at University, both studying marketing, that they realised they could make a living from all their dreaming. As a late night study session trickled into the early hours of the morning, they began to formulate a plan.

The result is Sabo Skirt, a blog and online store, flourishing faster than they ever imagined. Vintage pieces, sourced from America, are styled with the latest trends – they say there’s something for everyone. Thessy and Yiota model the store’s clothes themselves and none of the images are retouched. It’s refreshingly authentic. Their hair, balayaged, is styled to match every shot and always looks effortlessly perfect. Thessy laughs and confesses she can’t style her own hair, that Yiota does it for her. “Never one without the other,” they say. It couldn’t be truer.

FRIENDINFASHION.BLOGSPOT.COM

She’ll tell you that a bad hair day is a bad day, full stop. On the flipside, a good one is to die for.

Jasmin is striking, her exotic looks rivalling those of the Disney princess who shares her name. Her gentle disposition lends itself easily to her classic style; she’s a lover of the 40s and 50s, inspired by feminine pieces and immaculate tailoring. She credits her mother for her obsession with fashion, and refers to a photo she found recently in a dusty family album. In it, a 5 year-old Jasmin sits proudly on the car bonnet, a pigtail at each ear. She wears a pleated skirt, freshly ironed, but it’s what she’s holding towards the camera that captured Jasmin’s attention. Clutched in a chubby fist is her prized possession, a tiny leather handbag, the first of many.

Her hair is a ripple of rich chocolate waves, tousled and deliciously luxe. Ask her about bad hair days and she’ll tell you they ruin everything, that a bad hair day is a bad day, full stop. On the flipside, a good one is to die for. She laughs freely and admits she’s caught herself strutting out of the salon on more than one occasion. Jasmin’s blog, ‘Friend in Fashion’ is somewhat of a personal look-book, an enticing peek into the wardrobe of the girl with a glorious collection of things.

It’s handbags that make her melt, the childhood photo a true testament to the longevity of her adoration. For Jasmin, they occupy a special place in both wardrobe and heart. Jasmin speaks passionately about her favourite, a vintage Louis Vuitton, pilfered from her mother’s closet. She finds herself in there every time she’s over to visit. “To be honest,” she whispers earnestly, “I’m not sure how it happens.”