After work (yes I am working through the Christmas holidays) we headed towards Geelong in search of a sandy beach to enjoy the open ocean and pulled over for our first stop just past Geelong, before reaching Queenscliff.
The beach was quiet as people left for the day, so we enjoyed an uncrowded stretch. Shoes off immediately. The kids ran ahead, straight to the water, shrieking at how cold it was while daring each other to go just a little deeper. I stayed back for a moment, breathing in that unmistakable coastal air — salt, seaweed, and space. The kind of stop that resets everyone without trying. A reminder of the beauty nature provides free of charge.
From there, we continued to Queenscliff Harbour as the day softened into evening. The marina felt calm and steady, boats rocking gently as if the day itself was winding down. The kids leaned over the railings, counting boats and asking where they might be heading next. There’s something about harbours that invites curiosity. A reminder that every vessel has a story, a departure, a return.
Opened my phone and googled away. Queenscliff is known as the historic guardian of Port Phillip Heads, once a strategic military and quarantine town guarding the entrance to the bay. We drove past the fort (which i plan to revisit during openjng hours) and you can still feel that layered history in the historical buildings and wide streets.
As the sun set, we took a leisurely walk down the pier. It was the perfect lighting for photos, and a nice, relaxing gear shift for the chaotic last week of Christmas and Hmong New Year. While it wasn’t a big trip or a packed itinerary, it was perfect for unwinding. Just a beach stop, a harbour, and an evening walk together. But those are often the moments that linger the longest — simple, shared, and quietly full.
Fashion has always been more than clothing for me. It is memory, inheritance, and question all at once. This year marks the first year I decided to design my first official collection and showcase at the 2025 Hmong New Year, and I am calling it “VANG: Between Threads“
I wanted to create a space where tradition meets choice, where culture is not fixed in the past but actively lived, negotiated, and reimagined.
As a Hmong Australian, I work with an awareness that our cultural expressions are often misunderstood, simplified, or expected to remain static. Yet Hmong identity, like all living cultures, has always adapted across borders, generations, and circumstances. The garments I entered in the Fashion competition explore that tension:
What we inherit, verses What we carry, verses What we choose to transform.
Grounded in Indigo: May & James
Indigo is central to this collection because it has long been foundational to Hmong textile practice. Hand-dyed indigo cloth—woven, dyed, and patterned through slow, labour-intensive processes—formed the basis of everyday and ceremonial dress. It speaks to endurance, connection to land, and the quiet strength of women’s work passed through generations.
May’s design honours this lineage through a structured bodice and flowing high-low skirt. Traditional geometry meets contemporary femininity, allowing movement and lightness while remaining anchored in craft. This piece is an homage, but not a replication—it reflects how tradition can remain present while evolving in form.
James’ look reinterprets Hmong menswear through modern proportion. Balloon-style trousers reference garments historically designed for movement—farming, travel, ceremony—now refined with cuffed legs and minimalist layering. The focus remains on the indigo textile itself, positioning heritage not as spectacle, but as lived continuity.
Together, these pieces speak to grounding—what holds us steady.
Red as Threshold: Kevin
Red is not a dominant colour in everyday Hmong dress, and it is essential to say that clearly. Unlike in other Asian cultures, where red is widely celebratory or decorative, Hmong use of red is spiritual, rare, and deliberate.
My inspiration comes from a specific spiritual context: the red mask worn by Hmong shamans during ritual practice. In this space, red signals protection, transformation, and the ability to move between worlds. It is not about celebration—it is about spiritual authority and liminality.
Kevin’s design explores red in this charged way. Japanese-inspired overcoat forms and wide-leg proportions create restraint, balance, and stillness. Within that calm structure, bold Hmong motifs are intentionally framed along the edges and in the panels where meaning is concentrated. Red becomes an interruption, an invocation, a presence.
This garment exists between realms: spiritual and material, inherited and reimagined.
The Future Speaks Back: Helena
If the earlier looks are about grounding and threshold, Helena’s design is about voice.
This piece reflects a generational shift—where heritage is no longer something worn only in prescribed ways, but something actively reshaped by youth. The cropped top and mini pleated skirt are unapologetically modern. They signal autonomy, visibility, and confidence.
This is not a tradition being abandoned. It is a tradition that is claimed differently.
Helena’s look asks an important question: What does it mean to honour culture when its old forms no longer bind you? The answer here is not rejection, but ownership.
Between Threads
Across all four designs, the idea of between remains constant:
between generations
between ceremony and everyday life
between inherited form and personal expression
This collection does not attempt to preserve culture through replication. Instead, it explores continuity through adaptation. The garments are not costumes or recreations—they are contemporary expressions shaped by lived identity.
I walked away from my $200K+ salary, annual bonus, and retention package — not because I could earn it elsewhere, but because it wasn’t the life I wanted anymore.
People say it’s honourable but not logical. But here’s the truth:
I didn’t make a financial decision. I made a values-led decision.
Because while money can buy a comfortable life, I can’t buy time back with my kids. And it definitely can’t buy the feeling of building a life that is mine, if earning it means being trapped in a world that challenges my values.
So I chose me.
And today, as I settle the papers on my new commercial property, I’m reminded exactly why I walked away:
✨ To build foundations, not just careers ✨ To create businesses I’m excited to wake up for ✨ To spend more time doing what lights me up — not drains me ✨ To work with incredible clients who energise me, not exhaust me ✨ To be closer to my passions — cars, creativity, and collecting Pokémon cards with my kids ✨ To design a life where my work reflects my values, not my fears
Walking away from six figures wasn’t the loss. Staying would’ve been.
Because I don’t want a life that’s “supposed to make sense” to other people.
I want a life that feels true to me.
And I’m finally living it. One decision, one building, one adventure at a time.
Here’s to foundations that I’m building brick by brick. Not for logic, but for legacy.
I’m pacing down the footpath, a dog lead in one hand and tissues in the other — because yes, spring hayfever does not care about life choices. My eyes are watering… partly allergies, partly gratitude.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m walking the dog.
Not rushing out the door for a 7am meeting. Not glued to a screen answering urgent emails. Not living life in the small cracks between stress and exhaustion.
Just walking. Just breathing. Just… being here.
Minnie trots ahead, proudly showing off her summer coat, shiny, soft, and completely unaware she’s become the mascot of my comeback to living. Three years have slipped by since I’ve done something as simple and sacred as this daily ritual of movement.
And as I watch the kids run ahead, laughing over who gets to hold the ball next, something hits me: I feel like I am part of my own life again.
I’m seeing moments I used to scroll past. I’m hearing the conversations I used to tune out. I’m rediscovering the man walking beside me, my husband, not as a co-parent in survival mode, but as my person.
This isn’t about slowing down. It’s about finally moving forward.
Leaving that high-stress job wasn’t a loss, it was a homecoming. A return to the parts of me that were buried under deadlines, performance reviews, and the constant pressure to be “on.”
Now, the most important thing I show up for is right here on this evening walk:
✨ My family. ✨ My health. ✨ The little joyful things. ✨ The dog with the gorgeous summer coat who reminds me to enjoy the sun too.
Spring may set off my allergies, but it’s also giving me a season of renewal.
And as the breeze carries a mix of pollen and possibility, I can finally say:
I’m back. I’m here. I’m living my own life again, one dog walk at a time.
