Jessica Yung has fallen out with fashion.
A once hot designer now stuck in a rut, she visits the Creative Chaos Collective on the recommendation of a dear friend. She’s heard the stories yet doubts that a shop could ever change her life.
But on her first day off in forever, after tripping over a very old dog sleeping where she shouldn’t, her designs will never be the same…
The air-conditioning on the train was blasting so cold Jessica Yung pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders hoping to fend off the goosebumps that had begun to form. She only had two more stops, then she’d be back out in the summer heat. But that was Sydney for you. You’d be hot most of the time but at some point during in the day, you might still need a jacket. She was glad she’d thrown it in her bag at the last minute. It was a cute, soft sea-shell shade of pink she had hand stitched crochet flowers onto during the winter.
She looked down at the sketchbook on her lap and the half-drawn design for a dress. “Terrible.” She scribbled over the page, then closed it, shoving it forcefully back in her bag. Pulling her phone from her pocket she scrolled through her calendar and frowned. There were so many meetings and appointments she had to attend to tomorrow.
Jessica had taken the day off work, which she never did. Perhaps that was why she could feel a growing headache. “What am I doing?” she sighed, putting away her phone, rubbing her temples with her fingers. “I’m going mad.”
The train pulled into Marrickville Station, and Jessica was instantly assaulted by the scorching summer heat. She yanked off her cardigan as she walked down the platform.
It was hot. No, it was claustrophobically hot, she thought. Why hadn’t she checked the weather forecast before taking today off? No matter, she had made her plans, so she was sticking to them.
She punched in the address into her maps app and began the walk toward the Creative Chaos Collective. Tamara had sworn to her that it was the place she needed to visit. After all, she credited the place with reigniting her connection to writing. How much she believed that, Jessica wasn’t sure. Yet nothing was inspiring her of late, so why not see what Tamara was on about.
A new clothing collection won’t design itself. And if she didn’t, then they’d find someone who could. It didn’t matter she’d been working for the brand for fifteen years. There was always someone new and fresh – and younger – to take her place.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t design clothes anymore, not exactly. Just that everything she designed felt flat, uninspired and if she was honest with herself… not her. When she’d been brought on all those years ago, she’d been the fresh and hot new talent with her quirky and fun designs. But as time passed everyone seemed to be pairing back, simplifying, going minimalistic. And she hated it. But it was what the brand wanted, and the market would sell it. She felt lost in a sea of endless beige cotton and boring silhouettes.
Worse still, the pressure she felt to design something stunning for an upcoming show was getting to her.
Down a graffitied side street Jessica spotted the wood sign swinging in the breeze blazed with Creative Chaos Collective in bright, bold letters. It made her smile. The door was open, so she entered, and immediately tumbled to the floor, the contents of her bag spilling everywhere.
“What the hell?” she grunted. Rolling onto her bottom she came to be eye level with a very old looking dog she had very much so tripped over.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” a woman’s voice fretted, “I’m so sorry. Margs, go to bed, you know the doorway is not a good place to nap.” The dog whined, looked at Jessica, then slunk off behind the counter.
Jessica spluttered, “It’s fine,” then started collecting her things.
“Here, let me help,” the woman replied. “Again, I am so sorry about her. Are you sure you’re okay?” She handed Jessica her notebook and some of the pens that had scattered about.
Jessica stood, adjusting her bag and clothes. “Yes, I’m fine. I should’ve looked where I was walking.” It was then Jess took a proper look at the woman and was pleasantly surprised by her style.
She wore an old blue apron, embroidered with the name Emily. Under it was a brightly coloured dress covered in a patchwork of fabrics that somehow worked together. The electric blue eyeglasses seemed to match her blue teardrop earrings, made of beaded felt.
“I love your outfit,” she said with a smile. “Who designed it?”
Emily looked down at herself. “Oh… I have no idea. I got it an op shop years ago. There’s no tag on it anymore. But thanks. It’s a favourite of mine.” She smiled so wide Jessica would normally have thought it fake, but the woman truly seemed genuine.
She was disappointed by the lack of a name to put to the dress, but she nodded regardless. Thrifting fashion pieces that last was such a high compliment to a designer in her opinion. That someone loved a piece so much to give someone else the chance to enjoy it meant something. And this dress was such a fun piece, it was exciting to imagine the collection it came from.
“So, what brings you to Triple C today? Anything I can help with?” Emily continued cheerily.
“Oh, my friend Tamara recommended the place,” Jessica replied, looking around at the countless shelves of supplies for any and all art practices it seemed. “I told her how I was feeling less than inspired lately and she suggested I come here.”
Emily’s brow creased, then she smiled. “Tamara Elliot, the author? Her next book is going to be amazing! Well, thank you for visiting. Are you also a writer?”
Jessica snorted, “God no, I can’t write at all. She’s incredible at it frankly. No, I am a fashion designer.”
“Ah, so that’s why you asked about my dress,” Emily grinned. “That must be such a fun job.”
“It used to be,” Jessica grimaced. “Anyway, I can’t seem to design anything decent lately, so Tamara said I should come here and get some notebooks or pens or something to see if that helped.” Not that she was convinced this shop over any other art supply store would make a difference to her life.
“Ah,” Emily nodded with understanding. “Well, we certainly have some things I can show you.” She led Jessica over to the notebooks first. “These are our bestsellers, though if you’re designing clothing, I’d recommended anything from this shelf. The paper is the most versatile for most mediums like markers, pens, ink, paint, and the gsm means it shouldn’t bleed through the pages.”
Jessica picked up one with a green cloth cover embellished with gold stars. She rubbed the paper between her fingers. “The texture is nice. I mostly illustrate with markers so this should work well.”
“Great choice,” Emily smiled. “Anything else you need?”
Jessica looked around the store. “Honestly, I have no idea,” she sighed heavily.
“Seems like you’ve got a lot on your plate,” Emily said gently.
Jessica half smiled. “Just a lot of pressure. I took today off in the hope that this visit will help me reset a bit, but honestly, I don’t think anything can help me. I think I might just be done with fashion.”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t believe anyone is ever done with their art. They might lose touch, have a break for a while. But there’s almost always a way to get back to it. It’s not busy, why don’t you join me for a cup of tea, tell me what’s going on…”
“Jessica,” she replied hastily, realising Emily wanted to know her name. “I don’t want to interrupt your day with my issues,” she continued, trying to refuse.
“Oh nonsense,” Emily said with a wave of her hand. “I offered, and you have a free day. So, what tea do you drink, or would you prefer iced tea?”
“Alright,” Jessica huffed a laugh, “I’ll have an iced tea if that’s okay.”
Emily nodded, then showed Jessica to a table in the workshop space at the back of the warehouse. When she returned to the table, Emily carried a wooden tray over, with a pitcher of iced tea, two glasses, and a small plate of biscuits. Margs plodded along behind her, stopping to sit by Emily. “Sorry to yell at you, pup, but you have to stop lying in the doorway,” she fussed over the dog.
“She’s very gentle,” Jessica said, giving the dog a pat. “Sorry I tripped over you, Margs.”
Emily poured Jessica a glass, then leaned back in her chair. “I swear on hot days like this, iced tea is the way to go. I wouldn’t normally but it really helps.”
Jessica nodded as she sipped on her drink, the cold liquid helping bring down her body temperature and anxiety a touch. When was the last time she just sat and had a drink with someone without it being business or part of a packed schedule?
“So, you feel like you can’t design clothes anymore,” Emily said, getting straight to the heart of the issue. “Why?”
Jessica sighed, scratching her neck. “I don’t know. I just seem to hate everything I draw. It’s all so…depressing. All anyone wants, whether it’s the brand I work for, or the industry, is simple or clean, with boring colour palates and shapes that only look good because the model is skinny as hell and I don’t want that. And don’t get me started on the shit fabrics they say we have to work with to make the profit margins work.”
“It sounds less like you hate your designs and more you hate the parameters the business you work for has given you.” Emily pointed out.
Jessica sat there for a long moment. “Well, yes. I do hate it. But it’s my job, and I worked so hard for it. I don’t want to throw that all away after fifteen years because I can’t get over my aversion to cream and that god awful unfinished hem trend that seems to be everywhere at the moment. I have to design a new collection for them; we have a show coming up. And I have only three dresses so far.”
Emily sipped on her iced tea. “Do you want to continue designing for them?”
Jessica stared at Emily like she’d grown a second head. What a thing to ask? Of course she wanted to, didn’t she?
She’d loved how her designs had helped put the brand on the map, then the freedom she’d been given to evolve over time. But as it became more successful, the owners wanted it to be more mainstream, more commercial, more…the same as every other fashion brand in Sydney that seemed to be getting the attention of the social media generation.
“No.”
It surprised her when the two-letter word slipped out. “No, I really don’t.” Jessica’s shoulders slumped.
But in admitting it, she felt a weight of pressure come off her taught body. Because she was tense, always somewhat stressed about this job that once made her so incredibly happy but now just made her miserable because the restrictions on her felt suffocating.
Emily squeezed her hand. “What do you want to do?”
“I—” Jessica bit into a biscuit, chewing over her thoughts. “I want to design for myself,” she eventually replied. “I always wanted to run my own label, you know. That was my dream once upon a time. I guess I got comfortable working for someone else.
“But I don’t know if I can design anything anymore, even if I decided to go out on my own,” Jessica continued. She was somewhat amazed by her admission that she wanted to go out on her own. The thought had been one she’d shoved aside and buried away for years now. But after slogging it out for so long, doing all the work but for someone else, perhaps she owed it to herself to try.
“Might I suggest something?” Emily offered.
“Sure.”
“Tamara needed something different to her novel when she visited, I wonder if you need something different to the brand you work for,” Emily continued.
“I don’t follow,” Jessica replied, shaking her head.
“Well, rather than designing from scratch, what if— as an exercise— you reimaged some designs. Take my outfit, for example. You can see it, but how would you put your twist on it? How would you change it?”
Jessica leaned back in her chair absorbing Emily’s words. “I guess I could try that, but I don’t know if it’ll work.” She pulled out her old sketchbook and the markers she brought with her. “Do you mind standing so I can take a photo of it? I wouldn’t want to keep you from other customers,” she continued, noting that another person had just walked into the shop to browse the art books.
“Not a problem at all,” Emily smiled, standing so Jessica could snap a quick picture on her phone. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go see if they need some help.” With that she wandered over to the man, and they began chatting away.
With the photo beside her notebook, she started sketching out the silhouette of the dress, then blocked out sections for the patterns of the fabrics. It was a lovely, colourful dress. But how would she make it her own?
She stared at it for several long minutes when a wet nose sniffed at the table’s edge near her elbow. Margs was searching for a biscuit. Jessica laughed.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to have these, old girl,” she chuckled, giving Margs a scratch. She saw the medallion on her collar and laughed. “Margherita, huh? Now that’s a name.”
Margs’s tail swished back and forth, still hoping for a stray biscuit to come her way, but instead settled then stretched across the timber flooring to nap by Jessica’s feet.
Watching the dogs tail swishing about it gave Jessica an idea. With flourishing strokes and gliding lines, she changed the flow of the skirt. With the first change, the next came easier. Using a green and yellow marker, she sketched in placements for some beadwork to accentuate the patterns on the torso.
Emily returned, with the other customer in tow. “I spoke to Paul here, and he’d be happy for you to take his photo to redesign his outfit too,” Emily beamed.
“Oh, really?” Jessica stuttered.
“Sure thing,” Paul replied, striking a pose for Jessica. All three burst into laughter. Jessica quickly took a more normal photo, thanking Paul before he left with his shopping.
Turning to a new page, Jessica sketched the basics of his outfit. Paul had worn a khaki green t-shirt and beige shorts that didn’t seem to have any pockets. Unusual for menswear. Grabbing more coloured markers from her bag she quickly got to redesigning the outfit. Unable to pinpoint when it happened, Jessica realised she was smiling as she put the finishing flourish on some panels she added to the shorts with a bright fabric pattern.
Once upon a time she’d designed her own fabrics for the collections she put together. Something she hadn’t done in years. She poured herself another glass of tea, the ice long melted.
As customers came and went from Triple C, Emily approached them all, explaining the exercise Jessica was undertaking. Initially it was somewhat embarrassing, but everyone was rather enthusiastic when asked if they wanted their picture taken and their outfit redesigned. Some even stuck around to see what Jessica would come up with.
“Would you mind if I grabbed some other materials to work with?” Jessica asked Emily. “I’ll pay for them, of course,” she hurried to assure her.
“Grab what you need, we can sort it out before you leave,” Emily said casually as she restocked buckets of clay and carving tools. “I’ve also got some patterned paper over there, if you want something different to work with.”
“Thanks!” Jessica replied eagerly, running about the shop retrieving pens, markers, and the patterned paper block. Basically, whatever was speaking to her for the outfit she was redesigning, she took. The bill would be a big one, but she didn’t care. This was the freest she’d felt drawing and creating in what felt like forever.
Tamara had been right. There was something about this place. Or more specifically, about Emily, she thought.
Emily brought over more iced tea and a sandwich, joining her for some lunch when the store closed for an hour. Jessica showed her what she designed. “These are wonderful,” Emily beamed. “I love the colours on this one. Oh, the shapes here are so interesting.” She flicked through the pages, eyes glittering while they ate lunch together.
“You really think so?” Jessica asked nervously. God, why was she nervous? She was an experienced fashion designer; she’d never been afraid to share her designs with someone before. Why was she feeling it now?
Emily nodded. “Look, I’m no fashion expert or anything, but these just feel…fun, you know. It’s like you captured something in the person you photographed and translated it into their clothing. We look more like…ourselves.”
Jessica smiled to herself, trying not to cry. Why did she want to cry? We look more like ourselves. Emily said it so casually, but it slammed into her chest, knocking her senses.
It was why she’d fallen in love with fashion as a teenager. She started designing clothes that she wanted to wear. Because it was the only way she knew to make herself feel more…her. Where else could she buy a patchworked denim shirt or dress covered in hand painted green beetles?
With a deep breath she composed herself. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Post lunch, Emily reopened the store, and it became much busier. There were art students from the nearby university, hobby painters, photographers, sculptors, illustrators. Jessica chatted briefly with whoever Emily brought over to her table, taking their photo and finding out a little of their chosen craft.
She drew and drew and drew all afternoon, commanding colour and patterned paper on page after page. The table was littered with materials and her sketch book notably thicker with used pages by the time she decided to call it a day. For she had been there all day, and it was rude of her to keep Emily from closing.
Packing up her own things, she took the supplies she had used from the shop to the counter, along with the notebook she’d chosen in the morning. “Thank you for today, Emily,” she beamed, “I really needed this.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, putting her purchases through the cash register. “Do you still think your done with fashion?”
Jessica chuckled. “No, I don’t think I am.” She couldn’t give it up, not when the rush of fun today had brought back memories of why she started designing in the first place. Emily had been right. It is hard to simply walk away forever from your art. “But I think I need to change my relationship with it.”
With every redesign she did today, every stroke of bold colour or outrageous shaping, one thought became louder and louder.
“I hope you figure it out,” Emily replied, handing over a brown paper bag with all of Jessica’s new items. “Your designs are fun. I think the world needs a bit more fun these days.”
“Agreed,” Jessica smiled, properly happy.
Tissue paper bundle under one arm, iced latte in hand, and a lightness in her step, Jessica knocked on the bright yellow door of the Creative Chaos Collective, careful not to trip over a sleeping dog as she opened the door.
“Hello,” she called out, stepping inside, noting that Margs was not in the doorway this time. There was a slight coolness from a portable air conditioner working overtime, hence the closed door. Emily waved from across the warehouse where she was helping a customer.
Jessica placed the parcel on the countertop and sipped on her drink. Margs came plodding from behind it, smooching up against Jessica’s leg. She bent down and gave the dog a cuddle and a head scratch.
“How’s it going?” Emily beamed, joining them at the front of the store. “It’s been a while.”
“Good, yeah,” Jessica replied. “Busy, but good.”
“How can I help today?” Emily asked. Her eyes were drawn to the parcel on her counter. “Oh, what’s this?”
“A gift,” Jessica answered cheerfully. “A little thank you for helping me.”
“I didn’t really do anything,” Emily fussed.
“You, me and Tamara know that is a lie,” Jessica laughed.
Emily smiled coyly, a tinge of red staining her already flushed cheeks. “Well, I was worried I made a mistake interfering in your life when Tamara called me last week saying you’d quit your job.”
Jessica shrugged. “Let’s be honest, I hated it and had wanted to leave for a long time. I just needed someone to make me say it out loud, which you did,” she explained. “I designed the dull collection they wanted, handed in my notice, and now I’m a free woman.”
“That’s so brave,” Emily chuckled. “But incredible!”
“I’ve got so much annual leave, and long service leave, I figured I’d take it all, take a break, and then start my own label. I want to design fun clothes that help people express their personalities. No more boring!” she expressed in a burst of animated hand gestures and excitement. “Now, open my gift.”
“Alright,” Emily laughed, looking at her quizzically. Carefully unwrapping the paper, she gasped as she brushed her fingers across the fine yellow fabric, “did you make this?”
“Of course,” Jessica beamed proudly as Emily lifted the item out of the wrapping and held it up against her chest. “I noticed your apron was looking a little worn, so I wanted to make you one as a thank you.”
Emily let loose a little squeal. “It’s so me!” she beamed, quickly taking off her old one, slipping the loop of the handmade apron over her head. Embroidered across the top right was her name in beautiful stitching – a bright, almost electric blue. It popped against the warm yellow of the fabric, not too dissimilar to the front door of her store. Adorned across the fabric was a beautifully designed, almost painterly, patchwork design using what appeared to be hand-painted and stitched patterns.
“This is too much,” Emily said softly, running her hands over the fabric, over the intricate stitchwork. “God, I better not get it dirty. I do get rather messy sometimes.”
Jessica laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s all super washable. It’s fashion and function. I added some pockets too.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Emily replied, truly at a loss for words. It was such a wonderful gift. Practical, but beautiful, in a way that made her feel much more her, much more a part of the world she was trying to create in her humble shop.
Margs moved from around the counter, tail wagging, tongue lolling out the side of her open mouth. She gave Jessica a soft bark of approval. That she too seemed to like the new apron Emily had put on.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you Margs,” Jessica laughed, bending down to eye level with the old thing. She pulled out a matching yellow and blue bandana. Margs sniffed at in eagerly, barking excitedly as Jessica fastened it loosely around her neck. “You look very smart Margs.”
“Very nice,” Emily admired. “We’re twins, pup!” Margs barked happily, pawing at Emily’s side. “I am never going to be able to get that off her now,” she laughed, scratching the top of the dog’s head. “She’ll be showing it off to everyone who visits.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Jessica smiled, adjusting the bag over her shoulder. “I hope it’s the start of a bit more fun in my designs.”
“I’m sure it is, I’ll tell everyone it was made by you,” Emily beamed proudly, unable to look away from the craftmanship that had gone into the garment. “This is really lovely. Genuinely. What will you do now?”
“Anything I want,” Jessica answered, feeling truly relaxed about the decision. “I don’t have a calendar to keep, or a boss to report to, or deadline after deadline. I’m just going to take a long overdue holiday, then start designing for me, start designing for fun again. Because that was what fashion was in the beginning. Fun and expressive. I need to reconnect with myself to figure out what that means now for me all these years later, you know?”
“I think I understand,” Emily said with a quiet smile. “I hope you figure it out and find what you’re looking for.”
Jessica nodded, heading for the door. “I am starting to.” With that she said a quick goodbye, venturing back out into the sweaty heat. She called for a taxi to pick her up on the main street.
While she waited, she scrolled through flights to Queenstown, New Zealand. She’d often thought about going over the years, but she’d never taken a proper holiday break despite always maintaining her passport, always saying, “Next year I’ll take a month off and travel overseas.”
She’d never been. The weather was less unpleasant than Sydney at this time of year. And there seemed to be a sale. All signs pointed to yes, as Tamara would often say to her.
Without overthinking it she booked a flight for the end of the week. She had all the time in the world, and it was time she reconnected with herself and had a little fun.
Summer at the Creative Chaos Collective: A New Pattern by Catherine Gunther. First published here on January 26, 2026.