WE'RE SUPPORTING

I’ve been a huge fan of Brooklyn illustrator Rachel Domm’s work since we went to school together and she would painstakingly paint and silkscreen all of her images. It’s since evolved into beautiful, textured, smartly layered graphic images, but with the printmaking influence still clearly evident.

WE'RE TRAVELLING TO

As a non-coffee drinker, I’m not going to rant about the coffee. I’ve heard, though, that the coffee is damn good. But I am going to talk about something else: food. Oh. My. God. Sydney’s Single Origin cafe have this awesome meatloaf sandwich and a raft of sourdoughs and prosciutto and roast lamb and chevre and chunky steak pies and yogurt with compote and four-cheese toasties and baked beans and … oh! Don’t forget Karlie’s special homemade lemonade! Karlie is always in the house so you know that it doesn’t come from a can and arrives at your table with that sour tang that reminds you of the annual Royal Easter Show. Everything they serve is created ethically and organically. Add the constant grinding aroma of coffee beans wafting through the air and, well, is there any other place to be? [photo by Daniel Boud]

WE'RE WEARING

From this artist selection of t-shirts comes this Mydeadpony illustrated t-shirt, silkscreened on a limited edition tee, and distributed in a vinyl sleeve, with a biography of the artist on the back of the sleeve. Every t-shirt is numbered and signed by the artist, and comes in organic cotton.

WE'RE THINKING

The limited and ripe deluxe booklet — The Bearded Lady — is the latest fruits of a collaboration between artists Sune Ehlers (Duudle to his friends and family) and Henrik Drescher.

WE'RE READING

Good Magazine is all about ideas, connecting people and claiming back the media airwaves that have evaporated our creativity and momentum to see change made on our own terms. Read more

The Liars were in the Netherlands recently and we came across some kids doing this dance. It’s really bizarre to watch. Read more

WE'RE LISTENING TO

You know that band you’ve always wanted to form, the one with the little-girl-lost singer with the mischevious eyes and the propulsive beats that drive bass hooks so catchy you want to bottle them up and sell them to Sting? That’s right, that fictional band that lingers just that little deeper in your imagination every time you saunter down Bedford Avenue, surrounded by girls in neon tights and guys in ruffed up converse. You know the one? Well, guess what, you’re too late. It’s arrived. It’s French. And it’s so damn good.