Black activewear. White crew socks hiked just so. Designer sunglasses, even if it’s overcast.
Bonus points if there’s a cross-body bag involved. And if your shorts aren’t at least flirting with indecency… are you even going to brunch?

It’s not a dress code.
It’s a vibe alignment protocol.

And look, I’m not above it. I’ve worn the uniform. I own the uniform. I am the uniform.
Sometimes I catch myself walking through Potts Point on a Sunday looking like I’ve just finished a Hyrox cultic ritual… despite the fact I haven’t trained today. I’ve just assumed the form.

Because in the Sydney gay bubble, this is camouflage. It says:

• “I know where the oat milk is at my local.”
• “I might be hungover but I’m still hot.”
• “I didn’t ask, but I know your body fat percentage.”
• “Yes, I am drinking a $7 iced latte in 12° weather.”

And somehow, despite how wildly predictable it is… I kind of love it.
It’s communal. It’s easy. It’s hot.
It’s performance and also, comfort.

So yes, we all look the same.
But there’s something comforting about knowing you can blend in and turn heads, just by showing a bit of quad.

Long live the uniform.
See you at the KX Markets B&E roll stand, bestie.