Juanita Page

I didn’t set out to design menswear because I saw a gap in the market. I was drawn to it because it felt like an open field. I liked that there weren’t many of my peers pursuing that category. So much fashion – especially in Australia – is defined through womenswear. It’s where most of the attention, investment and cultural weight lives. Menswear, by contrast, felt less like a crowded room and more like a blank canvas. And to me, that was exciting.

As a First Nations designer, I’m always interested in storytelling and cultural identity when designing. In the Australian menswear space, that conversation is still very much in its early stages. We don’t have a globally recognised “menswear look” in this country. Local menswear consumers are often dressing through the lens of European or American aesthetics. And while there’s nothing wrong with looking outward, I do wonder: what would happen if we looked inward instead?

Because, if we’re being honest, a lot of Australian men’s style is defined by understatement. It’s quiet, safe and functional. And that makes sense – it reflects our broader cultural values of staying relaxed, not making a fuss and blending in. There’s a kind of humility baked into it, and in many ways, it’s practical. But I also wonder what gets lost in that restraint. Clothing is one of the most immediate tools we have for self-expression, and if the unwritten rule is to keep things muted or minimal, where does that leave room for personal style?

Are we giving men in this country the same cultural permission to explore, experiment or dress emotionally, the way we more readily allow women to? I think that subtle double standard shapes everything from what’s offered in stores to how fashion is talked about in media. When men do take risks with clothing – whether it’s colour, silhouette or something more conceptual – they’re often framed as “bold” or “eccentric,” whereas for women, that same move might be considered simply stylish or expressive.

There’s an opportunity here to widen the narrative; to encourage a version of Australian menswear that’s still grounded and wearable, but more open. What might emerge if we gave Australian menswear the same energy, rigour and reverence that we give womenswear? Could we build something new here? Something that speaks to the textures, identities and contradictions of this place?

Launching Joseph & James in 2021 felt a bit like stepping onto a stage that hadn’t quite been built yet. There’s a quiet but persistent challenge in building a menswear label in Australia: not just the work of designing and producing, but of constantly proving that there’s an appetite for what you’re doing.

When we reach out to local retailers, the responses are often warm – but cautious. Many are looking for brands with established international followings or instantly recognisable aesthetics. That’s understandable, especially in a small market. But it creates a cycle that’s hard to break: you need visibility to get stocked, but often you need to be stocked to gain visibility.

What that says to me isn’t that there’s no interest in menswear here – it’s that the support systems around it are still catching up. We have a few brilliant exceptions – labels like Song for the Mute, PAM, and Commas have shown what’s possible – but there’s still not the same level of runway opportunity, media attention or cultural capital invested in men’s fashion as there is in women’s. Business of Fashion echoed this sentiment globally, noting that even at the top, menswear still receives a fraction of the resources and coverage compared to womenswear.

There’s so much talent in this country. I’ve met designers, stylists, photographers and garment techs doing extraordinary work in menswear. We have something uniquely Australian to express – a perspective shaped by our attitude, our environment, and our way of life. But what’s still missing is a cohesive culture that brings it all together.

I think Australian menswear has the potential to thrive in its own lane. We’re not trying to be Milan or Tokyo. Our strength lies in the ease and informality that defines so much of how we live here. There’s a real opportunity to lead in laid-back sophistication – clothes that feel elevated but not overworked, confident without being loud. That might mean garments that reflect our climate: natural fibres, soft tailoring, relaxed silhouettes that move with you. It might mean embracing play – colour, print, texture – in ways that still feel grounded.

Because menswear can be expressive. It can be elegant, political, emotional – all the things we allow womenswear to be. And we’re seeing local designers lean into that. Strateas Carlucci and Erik Yvon, for example, are creating work that is both conceptual and wearable, reshaping ideas around masculinity and identity. There’s also a wave of First Nations designers, like House of Darwin, coming through bringing cultural narrative into the fold – not as a theme, but as a design lens. That’s powerful. That’s where things start to shift.

To build on that momentum, we need more than just brands. We need media coverage, retail partnerships, government investment and cultural conversation. We need customers to back the brands they believe in – not just when they’re trendy, but while they’re still building. We need buyers to take considered risks. We need an ecosystem that values ideas, not just metrics.

As we prepare for our debut solo runway show at Australian Fashion Week next week, I’m not just excited about showcasing a new collection, I’m excited about participating in a conversation about the potential this industry holds. Because menswear is worth showing up for.

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