Issue 9.
The Row’s reckoning, Sydney’s top chefs’ spite store energy, trad sons, and does anyone even post on Instagram anymore?
The roof is coming off at the temple for the religion known as The Row
For a brand defined by restraint, their place in the cultural zeitgeist is anything but.
Founded by Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen in 2006, The Row built its reputation on sharp tailoring and an indifference to trends or flashiness.
(I do, however, side-eye the “quality”. The only item I’ve ever bought from The Row — a pair of heeled sandals — the leather flaked and peeled after one wear. Maybe I got a dud. Maybe my feet need Ozempic.)
In recent years, the brand’s cultural clout has dominated luxury fashion, with influencers and celebrities gushing about it so much they might need a broom to sweep up all the name drops.
Not to mention the eye-watering price for the “shoe of the summer”—a pair of red rubber flip-flops that could easily be mistaken for the kind sold at a local Amcal pharmacy.
At this point, The Row’s omnipresence risks making it look like Zara with four-digit price tags, which isn’t entirely their fault: the recent, nauseating ‘quiet luxury’ aesthetic, which took classic, timeless pieces and diluted them into Temu TikTok trends, helped fuel the brand’s pared-back look.
This past week, The Row found itself on the receiving end of numerous critiques firing from all directions:
These included questions about the spectacle of their recent sample sale in New York, creators spoofing influencer “haul” videos from the event, and an in-depth essay from Neelam Ahooja, whose entire online identity revolved around her devotion to the brand, publicly announcing her decision to step back from her association with them.
“You tried to control me, to dictate my work, to downplay what I’d built, and all the while, you profited from my efforts. But the hardest part was that you became increasingly (and unforgivably) rude.”
It’ll be interesting to see where The Row goes from here. If things don’t work out, the Olsens can always return to the big screen, the people deserve Holiday in the Sun 2.
Is anyone alive out there?
Is it just me, or has Instagram become a wasteland for anything that isn’t AI, influencer reels, memes, or ads?
No one posts anymore! At this rate, I’ll have to dig through people’s 2012 Europe trip albums on Facebook for a good old stalk.
Starting Shallow has been the high point of my year. Creating social posts for it? Easily, the low. I dread the weekly cadence I’ve chained myself to—rewarded only with five pity likes (thank you, you know who you are).
I’d love nothing more than to not post at all. But unless fax machines make a comeback, anyone trying to build a brand or business in 2025 doesn’t have a choice — and there’s no end in sight to the slump.
“Engagement’s been circling the drain for years. Some have retreated to Stories, terrified their grid posts will flop; others hide their likes.
Conversely—who gives a f--k? We owe Instagram, and its capricious algorithms, absolutely zero purchase on our sense of self-worth.”
Amen.
Trad Sons are on the rise
It’s up for debate whether ‘Trad Sons’ — a new trend of young men who don’t work and stay home to handle domestic duties — are living the dream or giving serious Norman Bates vibes.
Vanity Fair asked Luke Jonathan Parkhurst, a stay-at-home son with over 12,000 TikTok followers, to detail a day in his life:
“A typical day starts with going to the gym while she (his mother) walks his dog. He’ll then use her Costco card to get groceries, head home, and cook lunch. After that, the afternoon agenda consists of lying by the pool, doing chores, and watching his nieces and nephews play soccer.”
After a quick scroll through Luke’s TikTok, his content seems harmless enough, and I’d love to see him have a long lunch with Hannah Neeleman of Ballerina Farm or Nara Smith to pick up some branding notes. But something tells me he won’t be doing this forever…
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Game of Tongs: Sydney Spite Store Era
Sydney is a city that has no shame when it comes to a new restaurant opening, we just can’t help ourselves, can we? Along with knowing we’ve all been taken for mugs by our mortgage brokers, we share a kinship for our hospitality scene.
Melbourne can have their vapes and Adelaide their grapes. In Sydney, the only currency that really counts is how quickly it took you to test out the latest “ it restaurant”.
It’s easy to spot someone who has. You’ll see it in the flick of their hair when you ask what they’re doing tonight: “Oh, we’re trying out the new ***.”
It’s in the subtle location tag of their Instagram Story.
It’s in the quick-flash feature in their “day in the life” TikTok reel.
And it’s in their shocked response when they ask if you’ve been yet and you say, “No.”
But this Game of Thrones approach to food appears to have taken a toll on the heartbeat of our dining scene. The chefs and owners who put their blood, money, and life on the line so we can scoff burrata and tuna tartare.
An alarming trend of chef v chef v owner has been playing out online over the past couple of months, and I’m worried about the impact it’s having on this endangered species. We must protect these people at all costs.
In August, Neil Perry (AM, please) rebranded his embattled Cantonese restaurant Songbird in Double Bay into Gran Torino, a modern Italian eatery. A move that didn’t appear to sit well with Eddie Levy, the owner of Matteo, an Italian restaurant across the road.
Levy left a comment on a Gran Torino Instagram post, which was picked up online before being deleted.
No response from Neil, but I doubt he’s had much time for an idle scroll lately. This past weekend, the Qantas Food & Beverage Director opened the doors to Café Margaret, a rebrand of his casual eatery Next Door, that now offers a takeaway menu including sandwiches, a menu item that may draw a raised brow from his neighbours and former partners, Mia and Mike Russell of Baker Bleu.
Perry announced the sale of his shares in the business in September, stating his wish to focus solely on his restaurants. I don’t doubt this to be true, but when I stopped by Neil’s new venture on the weekend and noticed it wasn’t Baker Bleu supplying the cellulite and calories, but AP Bakery, my brain wandered into some dark territory.
Could Sydney be on the precipice of a spite store epidemic?!
A concept blessed upon this earth courtesy of Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm, where Larry starts his own café, Latte Larry’s, to spite the owner of the coffee shop next door, Mocha Joe’s, as payback for being banned from the venue after complaining about the food.
What other suitors could a spite store be on the cards for?
Perhaps Phil Wood, the chef behind Ursula’s and Café Cressida, and “Big” Sam Young, the chef behind Young’s Palace.
In September, the pair were engaged in social media furor after Young posted a photo of a meal from Café Cressida on his Instagram story, questioning the expensive price point, which led to Wood posting to his Instagram profile with a lengthy caption defending the price and explaining the context and reasons behind it.
Neil Perry and Luke Mangan showed their support for Phil in the comments.
If this bloodbath continues and these spite stores become a reality, I’m worried it might involve us — the city’s residents — getting stuck in the crossfire and being forced to take sides.
A decision I never want to make. My stomach and wallet are people pleasers that like to spread their wings fairly and far.
I don’t want a weekend that involves running between Phil’s Palace, Café Sam, Grand Levy, and Neiltteo.
And for god’s sake, let’s not get Justin Hemmes and Merivale involved. You know how it will end.
F#ck you, Mocha Joe!!
Great read Haz