
EXCLUSIVE The shocking act Christian Wilkins admits he would do to make it big in Hollywood
Speaking exclusively to Daily Mail Australia at Australian Fashion Week, Christian, who moved to LA in 2023 to pursue his acting career, said he would shave his luscious locks for a movie role.
'Yeah, I mean Anne Hathaway won an Oscar for doing that [for Les Misérables],' he said.
'Only if I can win an Oscar, that's where I am!
'I love my hair... I feel it is such a big part of my identity, but to be able to chase your dreams and do something you really love, of course.'
Christian previously starred alongside Babygirl actress Sophie Wilde and Samuel Johnson in the 2021 Stan Original Series Eden.
The fashion icon, who effortlessly pushes the boundaries of style and gender-normative conventions in the world of fashion, sat down for an exclusive interview with Daily Mail Australia amid the chaos of Carriageworks.
He used his five-minute breather between shows to share all the details of his beauty and exercise regime.
The Sydney-born star said to achieve the perfect blowout he swears by the Shark FlexStyle which he uses 'all the time'.
'It's really rare that you get to work with brands that you genuinely love,' he said of the appliance company, praising their innovation.
And as for how he keeps his hair healthy, Christian narrows it down to one thing - genetics.
'People ask me all the time what I do. I do take supplements and collagen and stuff like that, but I think it's really genetics [and Shark beauty],' he said with a wink.
When it comes to his skin, the actor and LGBTQIA+ activist relies on a new Hollywood go-to to keep his face fresh and glowy.
The Sydney-born star said to achieve the perfect blowout he swears by the Shark FlexStyle which he uses 'all the time'
'I have a really simple skincare routine. I use collagen peptides and then beef tallow,' Christian adds.
'In the States, it's huge at the moment. People are using beef tallow for their healthcare, for their skincare.'
Beef tallow, a new viral skincare product, is a type of fat rendered from cow meat or mutton suet.
The model also leans on the Mediterranean diet to keep his body in shape, going back to his roots when filling up a plate.
'My mum is Greek and cooking healthy foods and proteins and vegetables was always what I grew up on,' he revealed.
'I was that kid that went to school with falafel and hummus and fresh zucchini.'
It's no surprise Christian's physical splendour is down to a passion for fitness and a love of lifting weights, but perhaps what is more touching is the care and softness he feels towards his body as he ages and his new life outlook after turning 30.
'My body has changed quite a bit,' he shared.
'I used to find it easy to be slender. Now, I'm putting on more muscle and I'm liking coming into my new body... really proud of that.'
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


The Independent
2 minutes ago
- The Independent
Anthony Albanese channels Gen Z in parliament with ‘delulu' jab at Australian coalition
Resurfaced footage shows Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese using the Gen Z slang word "delulu" in parliament. Mr Albanese used the phrase "delulu with no solulu" to describe the Coalition's energy and economic plan, fulfilling a dare from the Happy Hour with Lucy and Nikki Podcast in March 2025. His use of the term prompted a mix of laughs and cheers from the parliamentary chamber. The word "delulu", a play on delusion, was officially added to the Cambridge Dictionary on Monday, 18 August, as part of a significant update. Watch the video in full above.


The Guardian
33 minutes ago
- The Guardian
Birmingham owner's vision could transform city but football clubs are not just balance sheets
I grew up in a Britain coloured grey. During the 1970s, even though memories of the war had faded into the distance and rationing had long ended, scarcity still hung in the air. Clothes were handed down, treats were rare and the country felt smaller and more muted than the one talked about in history books. Geoff Dyer's memoir, Homework, captures it perfectly, a postwar Britain where Airfix models seemed exciting and front rooms kept 'for best' epitomised a place looking inwards, slightly embarrassed about its ambitions and potential. America existed for me in a weekly burst of Technicolor on TV. When Entertainment USA arrived in the 1980s it brought news of Disneyland, Hollywood, pizzas the size of tabletops, Pelé playing for New York Cosmos, and skies that seemed permanently blue. It appealed to all the appetites of a teenage boy in Grimsby. Later, discovering Jack Kerouac, the lure deepened – open roads and adventure felt a world away, but I had to get there. One afternoon, aged 16 in the local library, I found a book on scholarships, sent out 100 letters, and received 99 rejections. That one positive reply eventually sent me to high school as an exchange student and began a lifetime of transatlantic travel that continues to this day. Over the next three decades I crossed the ocean for work, meeting bosses, pitching to investors and building businesses with an American footprint. I have always admired the optimism, scale and willingness to take a punt that seems hard-wired into the US mindset. It was with that relationship in mind that I sat down to watch the new Birmingham City documentary on Amazon. I wanted to like it. Tom Brady is, without question, one of the greatest athletes of all time, disciplined, relentless and the embodiment of a winning mindset. I want success for Birmingham fans as I do for all English clubs, but there were moments that made me wince: the co-owner Tom Wagner giving his own team talk on the Wembley steps, Brady talking about 'shit teams' they should have beaten, and a moment when Wayne Rooney mentions getting to the ground for 9am, only for Brady to flex that his day starts at 6am. It had the swagger of Welcome to Wrexham without the same charm. Winning League One after spending £15m on a single player in a league where many clubs' entire budgets are a fraction of that feels the epitome of what Dr Pippa Grange calls 'winning shallow'. City's ownership is split between Birmingham Sports Holdings, which retains just over half the club, and Shelby Companies Limited, controlled by the US-based Knighthead Capital Management, which owns about 46%. Wagner, Knighthead's co-founder, is the driving force, backed by significant institutional capital, while Brady holds a token minority stake but serves as the public face. His role is not governance or strategy; it is brand, visibility and ambition. Part of that brand has been a deliberate leaning into Birmingham's global image shaped by Peaky Blinders and the fictional Shelby family. The moody visuals, the references to toughness and grit, the aesthetic of flat caps and hard stares play into a narrative of the club as an embodiment of the city's 'hardness'. The real Peaky Blinders were a violent street gang in the late 19th and early 20th century, products of industrial poverty and social fracture. Today, that history has been polished into an exportable cultural commodity, a sharp suit and even sharper turn of phrase where there was once real hardship. The documentary reinforces this framing. It is only five episodes long, yet one is devoted to the Birmingham Zulu Warriors, the club's notorious hooligan firm from the 1980s. I do not want to sanitise the past, those stories are part of the club's and the city's history, but centring them so prominently is its own calling card. It tells you which values the storytellers and owners want to project. There is a difference between acknowledging a history and building a club's modern identity around it. Football clubs thrive when they reflect the whole of their community, not just the most marketable slice of its mythology. Knighthead's ambitions are big, a multibillion-pound 'Sports Quarter' with a new stadium and regeneration. That kind of vision could transform parts of Birmingham. But it will be telling to see how a profit-driven approach collides with the new independent regulator for English football, whose job is to protect the interests of fans and the long-term health of the game. In a city that declared bankruptcy in 2023, it is easy to see the appeal for a private equity investor spotting what it believes is, in the language of markets, a 'distressed asset', undervalued, with scope for a turnaround and significant upside if managed aggressively. That logic works on a spreadsheet, but football clubs are not just balance sheets, and I am wary when investors want to be so much a part of the story themselves. It is not quite Michael Knighton juggling a ball on the pitch at Old Trafford, but Wagner's recent interview in the Observer, saying, 'I care more about Birmingham than I do about anything else,' does prompt the question – why? I work with and admire US private equity and have seen the benefits of the discipline, capital and operational focus it can bring to businesses. But I do not believe it is a natural fit for football clubs. The model depends on delivering strong returns in a set timeframe and then moving the asset on. Football, by contrast, is both a business and a long-term civic endeavour. With unpredictable results, deep emotional ties and obligations to communities, doing best by all stakeholders will be a challenge. Sign up to Football Daily Kick off your evenings with the Guardian's take on the world of football after newsletter promotion The best of America has always been about believing anything is possible, the scale of ambition, the optimism to keep trying, and the courage to take risks others would avoid. In business, those qualities can unlock extraordinary value. But football is not just a market to be tapped or a brand to be scaled. It is a living part of a community, with roots, rituals and relationships that cannot be accelerated to meet the expectations of investors. The challenge for Birmingham's custodians is whether they can take the best of that American confidence and combine it with the patience and care football demands. If they can, they will create something that lasts. If they cannot, all the money, swagger and narrative in the world will not be enough. Jason Stockwood is the co-owner of Grimsby Town


Daily Mail
an hour ago
- Daily Mail
Popular Aussie fitness influencer makes shock drug admission on social media: 'Just did it to fit in'
An Australian fitness influencer has confessed to trying 'party drugs'. Ashy Bines, who rose to fame after launching her 12-week online bikini body challenge, replied to a fan's question on her Instagram story on Tuesday which asked how long she had been sober for. 'I haven't been drunk in well over six or seven years!' she wrote in response. 'I've had a few sips here and there but haven't had a full drink in the longest time.' She then added: 'I did try party drugs in my early 20s and they also were not for me. I just did it to fit in and try it because everyone around me was doing them regularly. Just made me so anxious!' The 36-year-old went on to say she hated the taste of alcohol and would rather spend money on other things that aligned more with her values. 'Also never want my kids growing up seeing me intoxicated or think it's "normal to drink for fun and connection or to turn to it for stress. So I wanted to break the cycle,' the mum-of-two said. The influencer didn't specify which 'party drugs' she had taken in the past. Ashy recently came under fire from fans and followers after posting a 'dangerous' act to her social media. Taking to TikTok in February, the controversial influencer posted a clip of herself hanging out of the window of a moving car. Appearing not to have a seat belt on, Ashy, who was a passenger in the vehicle, stuck her head through the open window before leaning out backwards at shoulder height. The caption on the clip, which has since been deleted, read: 'POV: You don't need to prove anything to yourself or others'. While it is not clear where the video was shot, Ashy is based on Queensland's Gold Coast. Queensland Police confirmed to The Gold Coast Bulletin that 'motorists and passengers hanging out of a moving vehicle is not only dangerous but also illegal'. Taking to TikTok in February, the controversial influencer posted a clip of herself hanging out of the window of a moving car 'Those caught hanging out of a car window or sunroof could face fines exceeding $1200, with additional penalties for drivers who allow this behaviour,' a statement from Queensland Police read. 'Police urge all road users to prioritise safety and report any dangerous driving incidents to authorities,' it continued. Viewers of the deleted clip were not amused by what they saw, with several comments condemning the act. 'Normally I'd just think "idiot" but if she has a million followers, it's really poor form to influence those who are vulnerable to copying such stupidity,' one person said. 'My old babysitter's son died by doing ths; I'll never understand how some people truly think they're invincible,' one more wrote. 'I know of someone who got beheaded doing something similar,' added another.