Let me set the scene. Sydney, 1993, when our beautiful city was gayer than Kylie’s fabulous gold hot pants. There were less anti-fun laws and a “lockout” just meant your trashy flatmate had lost your house keys… yet again!
I didn’t sleep a wink that month before my first Mardi Gras Party. Of course, I was obsessed with what I was going to wear. In the early ’90s you didn’t just throw on a pair of board shorts or your favourite hipster jeans like the “kids” can get away with these days. It was the height of the “big and camp” dance party culture and you were never blasé about your choice of costume (as my older, or should I say “seasoned” neighbour informed me while chain-smoking and sewing together his own outrageous rainbow-flavoured, feathered, hot-pants on his trusty Singer sewing machine).