Let’s Thursday Like We Friday


editorial Writing / Interviews / Creative Writing

Kingbrown is West Australian slang for a longneck beer — a 40oz.

Sitting somewhere between a book, a magazine and an art zine, Kingbrown is a super limited edition periodical, wrapped in a silk screened brown bag, just like a good 40 should. Each issue is handcrafted and curated by some of the world's leading innovators of photography, illustration and urban and skateboard art and design.

Inside Kingbrown you will find profiles and interviews that take you on a twisted journey inside the studios and minds of some of our very talented friends, with the aim of keeping you inspired and connected to the subcultures we love most. Printed with quality in mind, each page is a collectable item, individually sealed and packaged.


New York > Perth > New York

By Melita Masters

My stint in New York City feels just like yesterday. Unlike Perth, a city which greets you with all the trepidation of a young, doe-eyed virgin whilst offering endless days of summer and perfect waves – New York and all its dark, textured, unrivaled glory creeps under your skin like a habit you just never want to kick. It's a hard city to shake off. It's where everything comes branded and delivered – even the weed. And it's not the guns that kill people, it's the Philly cheese steaks and bacon-wrapped hot dogs that do. New York is a city of millions – crammed on top of each other on one, tiny island.


On the flip side, Perth is a smattering of people sprawled out on the edge of one giant island. If you're lying on the sidewalk here, people will actually check your pulse. New York's dog population alone is nearly the same size as our city's people population.

We're two cities, worlds apart. Although, our motley crew at Cottesloe does bear a striking resemblance to the cast of Jersey Shore (albeit with a better view).

Living in New York is to deal with constant turbulence. When you're down, you're yelling obscenities at the old man in a trench coat who likes to play with his junk while calling you a faggot as you walk past him each day. When you're up, you're walking fifteen dogs a day through Central Park; you're having a beer with Julien Stranger and John Cardiel; you're swilling beer at rooftop parties with interesting strangers who dance at Juliard; or you're squabbling over semantics in television shows with a Jewish professor while sitting at your favourite dog park. Or getting a marriage proprosal from said Jewish professor. Shit just happens there; you come across some fairly fascinating people, all with a story to tell.

Back in Perth, the closest thing to crazy is a restaurant closing at 10pm. Yet in this sleepy little city, there's opportunities to be found. The scene is small, but it's strong. And while most go on to places like New York to seek the greener stuff, it can never be denied that Perth offers a pretty good head start.

That's where the two cities dovetail. There are little pockets of goodness in each of them – moments of unbelievable talent – if you really just look. It's the fools who can't see.

There are exactly twelve hours' difference in time between the two cities. Which means, that if I dig a hole deep enough, I won't end up in China, I'd probably end up in Times Square. And maybe next time I won't turn back.