Ch'lita Collins
A SURPLUS OF CH'LITA
15 October 2026 I've been shipped over to Sydney, Australia, for a multi-day streetwear and culture bonanza hosted by Nike and the Supply Store. I'm here to offer a female perspective in a male-dominated space. A fish-out-of-water account of the Surplus event as lived in real time. I'm from Wellington, New Zealand. I moved to London four years ago and have since built a successful career in fashion as a stylist and fashion editor at i-D magazine, where I do my part in trying to shape culture and highlight who and what I think is cool and culturally relevant by photographing them in designer clothes. I'm here at Surplus to offer my perspective of culture that surrounds … the consumption of sneakers?
"I'm about to come face to face with the ghosts of my own hypebeast past."
I've come straight from Paris Fashion Week, where I darted around to every major fashion show and appointments with our advertisers and got shin splints from wearing heels 24/7. I imagine here in Sydney I'll be like Joan Didion in Haight-Ashbury, reporting on hippies █████████████ ████████. I'll stomp around in my stilettos, taking notes, standing against a halfpipe in oversized sunglasses and a belted trench coat, reporting on straight male fashion culture. Little do I know, I'm about to come face to face with the ghosts of my own hypebeast past.
The epicentre of my universe for the week is the Ace Hotel. I imagine it will become the Chateau Marmont of Sydney. Every time I walk in, there's a new band loading gear in. Pop stars whisk in and out of the lift. I feel a familiar trauma response flaring up in my body. This feels like being at a music festival. I'm jet-lagged and ████████ from the 25-hour flight. I need coffee to stay awake, but the coffee makes me jittery. I have no choice but to push through. My first activity is a femmes-only dinner hosted by Emma Rogue, of Instagram Reels fame. I suspect this is Nike's attempt to make the event feel a little less male-centred by segregating us ladies at the Ace Hotel's rooftop restaurant. As an act of good faith, I'm wearing my new Nike First Sight Shadow sneakers that look like HR Giger aliens on my feet, with no socks. Paired with a lovely dress designed by local Sydney brand SIR, because I am a fashion person.
Sitting next to me is the most beautiful girl, with the sweetest face and ███████ buff arms. It's nice Nike has casted such attractive characters for the processions. I ask her point-blank why she's so buff. She tells me she's a rock climber. I flirtatiously ask if she's any good at it. She retorts that she climbs for the England team. We don't speak again that night. Diya Joukani arrives an hour late with her entourage. I'm seething with jealousy over her rock 'n' roll lateness and grand entrance. After the entrées of tomato, strawberry jalapeño salad, sweet rolls with smoked brown butter and tuna tartare served with nori waffle are served, I start missing the company of men, so I slip down to the lobby to begin my duties of hosting the opening party. I'm certain it's the hottest party in Sydney that night. Real models, hot skaters and fashion people are stuffed like sardines into the Ace Hotel's lobby bar.
Something happens that foreshadows an underlying theme for the week for me: ghosts of my past. The veil between the heaven of my current life and the hell of my oceanic past hath lifted. I'm having a great time catching up with old friends, models I've worked with and past, present and future business associates. I introduce these people to one another so I can talk to as many people as possible. I notice I haven't sat down all night, my feet don't even hurt. Shout out to sneakers, I see why people wear them.
