Finding the Thread
(Thoughts on ‘Campaign’ for Merak: Act 1.)
Clothes were never something I thought too deeply about growing up. The way I was raised, you wore what you had — a hand-me-down hoodie, a market find, a tee you probably should’ve retired ages ago. They weren’t polished, but they felt like part of the story, these are just some thoughts looking back.
That’s the same feel I want for this first ‘campaign’ it feels like a fkn wank talking like that but I say it cos otherwise it’s too long to say something else. Nothing over-styled, nothing that feels like a set. Just us, moving through a day, a showcase of where I’m from and the characters that make it. The first shoot for Merak isn’t about sets, runways, or staged lights. It’s about the people who make up the west, the places we pass through every day, and the clothes that tie us together.
We’re kicking off early — before the sun’s even up. The day starts with doors unlocking, lights flicking on, and steam curling from a coffee machine. It’s the quiet part of the morning, when only a few are around, already working while most are still asleep. From there, the streets of Footscray come alive. The trams pass, cafés open their doors, and we stop in for coffees, greeting familiar faces. These are the everyday rituals — nothing grand, just the small routines that set the rhythm of the day.
Next stop is Lewdawggz Vintage, where Lewy’s rolling up the shutter, setting racks, and letting the first customers filter in. His shop feels like an archive of stories, each piece left behind by someone else, ready to be lived in again. That mix of grit and memory is exactly what Merak stands for. By late morning, we’re with Llewy out on waste duty — bins, trucks, the kind of heavy work that most of us walk past without thinking twice. It’s real, unpolished, and part of the backbone of the neighbourhood. The afternoon belongs to Bojan in the dump truck, moving through streets, carrying loads, tipping rubble. His shots are about weight and movement, the grind that never really slows down.
As the sun starts to drop, everything comes together in a montage. Golden light hits the west, and each character folds into the frame: Lewy with his shop, Llewy with the bins, Bojan with the truck, and the rest of us moving through the same ground. The hoodie’s there throughout — not as a product on a hanger, but as something being lived in, worked in, carried through the day. We close with a single frame. Just the piece itself, stripped back, sitting in clean light. Because at the end of all the motion, Merak is simple: clothes built for the everyday, tied to the people and the stories that wear them.
Below are some visuals that GPT scarily put together after hitting it with some details about what I envisioned for this whole thing:
