Curated guest lists, ‘consent angels', ‘female energy': How swinging's changed
On the night I begin researching what is known as The Lifestyle (a broader, catch-all term for the narrower colloquialism 'swinging'), well, let's just say I see some stuff.
Minutes after first entering this world, I see lingerie and leather, breasts and bottoms and – huh, that might be, yep, it is, definitely – two testicles and a triumphant, tumescent erection.
I'm inside Inflation nightclub, taken over for a ticketed event called Saints & Sinners Ball, a quarterly party that's been running in Melbourne for more than three decades. About 800 people have paid to come here (and to come here, boom tish) – to meet old friends and make new ones and generally be surrounded by sexuality and suggestion.
It's more than a bit confronting, not just to me, but also to the gawping 'newbies' nearby, most likely mustering the courage to make their first move. Others survey the action more keenly, even studiously, because voyeurism is actually allowed here (so long as it doesn't devolve into uncomfortable leering).
In that spirit, I watch upstairs as a 30-something redhead is strapped to a spanking bench and a man in latex wallops her swollen behind. Beyond them, I see two guys openly stroking their members while having an idle chat. I see a sex show in which a string of silicone objects is pulled from the anus of a happy fellow on all fours, and a 'contest' to see which kneeling lady can best fellate a strap-on dildo (as judged by audience cheers).
This is nothing compared to what's happening downstairs.
Inside the dungeon – set aside as the main space for guests of this bacchanal to 'play' – there must be 100 people having sex on the furniture and floor in one writhing, fleshy, subterranean throng that surely qualifies as an orgy.
I can smell the antiseptic aroma of the complimentary lubricant and condoms (safety first), and I can hear groans and grunts, squelches and sighs, and later, a group of women on the dance floor singing the words 'Give me give me give me a man after midnight', just after midnight.
I also remind myself – as I need to do throughout my reporting on this topic – not to yuck someone else's yum because, well, you do you, boo. After all, there's plenty of people here just dancing and prancing. Just socialising. Just having a drink and feeling utterly themselves. Most of us long for such comfort in our own skin, let alone while showing so much skin. You see, you have to 'dress down' to enter this party (and others), so that everyone feels equally vulnerable.
Many women in The Lifestyle adore the erotic anticipation that builds while planning their skimpy costumes, but what's a paunchy middle-aged bloke to do?
The theme tonight is 'cowboys and aliens', so my wife is wearing all-black boots, stockings, pleather shorts and a lace bra – plus a pink bandana with matching cowgirl hat. She's here because most events only allow couples or solo women ('unicorns') inside, and she's willing to take one for Team Journalism, so I can absorb the spectacle. She looks amazing.
I do not.
Many women in The Lifestyle adore the erotic anticipation that builds while planning their skimpy costumes for nights such as this one, but what's a paunchy middle-aged bloke to do? I wanted to cover my belly with a sleeveless denim shirt, for modesty's sake, but the cloakroom lady was staunch, albeit sympathetic.
'Sorry, mate. That'll have to come off.'
I can keep my boxer briefs, apparently, but not my dignity, so there I stand in Blundstones, Akubra and neckerchief – nothing but black undies on a pasty dadbod. This is the price of admission into a world most people don't realise still exists – but is, in fact, creeping back into fashion.
Tumbling taboos
The history of swinging is probably older than Exodus ('Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife', anyone?), but its beginnings as a modern movement are more sketchy. Some say it started in America in the 1940s with US Air Force pilots during WWII, whose families bonded emotionally – and sexually – the theory being that if one died at war, another could meet (all) the needs of his family. The practice next hit suburbia there in a secretive 1950s trickle, flourished in the free-love 1960s and the aptly named 'Swinging '70s' – people living the sexual revolution at music festivals and hippy communes and, eventually, middle-class key parties.
At this time, at least in Australia, The Lifestyle was largely hidden, swingers connecting mostly through 'contacts magazines' distributed in adult shops, as well as left-wing newspapers like Nation Review, which had very, shall we say, 'liberal' classifieds. In that analogue age, people would mail an explicit photo with a note ('Married couple looking for a third'), and hope their personal advertisement would prompt replies to a PO box. In the 1990s came gatherings like the Hellfire Club in Melbourne and Sydney, as well as mass party events, which is when the aforementioned Saints & Sinners was born.
'It was very underground, as was swinging itself,' says Di, who just turned 60 and runs the business these days. She went to her first party in 1999, when she was in her 30s and just coming out of a marriage with four kids. Having lived a shy and sheltered life until then, Di was stunned but invigorated. She started helping out in her 'naughty 40s', and never stopped. 'I've got adult children now – very straight and prudish and conservative – but they come and help me run the events,' she says. 'Technically, it's a family business.'
Existing in a legal grey area, erotic performers were allowed under an explicit adult entertainment licence, and as for the 'SOP' (sex on premises) issue, the sex wasn't in exchange for money, so it was policed like any tryst in a nightclub bathroom – which is to say, not at all. 'The cops used to come in all the time,' says Di. 'We were just accepted as a dance club where maybe some people were having sex.'
More mass events followed suit, emerging on the scene in the noughties, turbocharged by the internet. Private house parties multiplied, too, and new dating sites catering to nontraditional open encounters scrambled to meet demand.
The second Australian Study of Health and Relationships – a kind of sex census of 20,000 Australians conducted by the Kirby Institute in 2013 – found that 0.2 per cent of respondents reported being involved in swinging the year prior. That translated to a not insignificant 32,000 swingers nationally, and that figure is also just over a decade old. The latest numbers are coming soon, and are likely to rise given the seismic impact of the pandemic, as people began reassessing their values and researching their options.
As one small measure, users of the popular alternative relationships app RedHotPie grew by 50 per cent between 2020 and 2025, adding 1 million new Australian accounts alone in the past three years. 'People went into their devices when the world went into lockdown,' says director Mark Semaan, 'and when the world booted up again, The Lifestyle had shifted gear.'
Australia's celebrity sexologist Chantelle Otten began hearing countless tales from patients exploring the subculture, because YOLO. 'You only live once, right?' says Otten. 'People understood the fragility of life a little more, and they started saying, 'Let's go for it – let's have some f---ing fun.' '
Swinging was probably always on the radar of such people, she adds, but the practice suddenly felt less marginal with the societal embrace of buzzwords like 'ethical non-monogamy' and 'situationships'. The rise of highly explicit 'romantasy' books (aka 'cliterature') plus sex-positive TV shows (Michelle Williams in Dying for Sex) and kink on film (see Nicole Kidman in Babygirl) dovetail into the same pop-culture moment. This new zeitgeist altered The Lifestyle, too – newcomers demanding a more approachable, softer scene.
'It's more intentional and inclusive now, and more appealing to femmes,' says Otten. 'It's about this curated experience – not just a free-for-all.'
That's the driving ethos behind Sydney institution Our Secret Spot, which seems like any other bar on Parramatta Road until I sit down on a Chesterfield couch and hear the origin story from founder Jess Cattelly. She grew up in the inner west as a sporty teen ballerina, then retail operations manager, but this is her full-time job. The 32-year-old mother of a 'terrible two' has been swinging since she was 20 and is currently 'monogamish'. Cattelly had never been to a swingers club when she opened this one in 2014 with her former partner. 'There were older, seedier, grungier places – but we wanted somewhere with female energy, where consent was everything, and you could walk around in your lingerie feeling sexy.'
Entry costs $169 for a couple, $90 for a single female, and $105 for a single male, capped at five guys per event. (Cattelly learnt early that too many single men scare away the primary customer: couples.) They also faced a territorial backlash from established gatekeepers in The Lifestyle, then external mainstream attacks as 'horrible people destroying marriages and ruining lives and spreading disease' (as she puts it) after appearing on The Morning Show in 2019. 'But I didn't mind putting myself in the firing line and being this ball that got bounced around by everyone to use and abuse,' says Cattelly, 'because I believe in what we're doing.'
We take a tour, and she shows me 'the orgy room' (multiple beds), a 'voyeur room' (two-way mirror for viewers), plus private rooms and a BDSM space. Staff change sheets and towels throughout the night, and restock dispensers for condoms (regular, large and extra large) and lube.
People arrive clothed, then dress down to go upstairs or downstairs to play. Their typical guests would be a couple in their 30s. 'Well-educated. Financially comfortable. Emotionally mature,' she says. 'People who've been together a couple of years and want to explore their sexuality.'
Events started with about 20 people. Now they welcome 150 per night, four nights a week. The past two years have seen more queer, kink and young people entering the space, too. 'They ease into it without issues,' Cattelly says of those arrivals. 'We're seeing a lot more fluid humans coming through the door.' Cattelly also coaxes more trepidatious couples into the scene through 'mingles' held at local pubs, inviting the curious to drink and chat and interact in a neutral setting. They might start with a game of 'sexy bingo', for instance, where people have to ask others a few risqué questions such as 'Have you ever given a rim job?' to get them out of their comfort zone.
Toe-dipping events of this sort are increasingly popular. There's even a monthly 'social swinging' party in Melbourne named MINGLE, run by married couple 'CC and B', who in their 'vanilla' (mainstream) life are government workers with kids. They met in high school and, emerging from the pandemic, felt they might regret never having had any other sexual experiences. They joined an app and started by introducing another man – meaning B watching CC have sex. 'It was a cuckold experience, but not humiliating,' says B. 'It was a fantasy of mine – watching her get pleasured.'
The greater revelation was the thriving community of people who want to connect more deeply before diving into bed. Since 2023, they've held 22 'fun and flirty' gatherings for between 150-250 people, with a simple premise: 'We take the sex out of a sex party.'
It's not the only measure being taken to make people more comfortable. Many event organisers now invite volunteer 'consent angels' such as Carly Taylor, 43, to make sure patrons feel safe, seen and supported. She wears a lanyard and illuminated angel wings as a recognisable helper for others, though she's not a trained counsellor or security guard. 'If someone doesn't feel right,' says Taylor, 'or needs a water, or a friend to talk to, or a quiet place, we're that friendly face.'
'I've had clients whose lives have been derailed in these settings. Derailed.'
Chantelle Otten
Taylor found her way to the role through a bad experience at her first event – a kink and BDSM party – when someone took advantage of her and tried to put his penis in her mouth. 'Going into this new world I didn't know what happens, and I froze in the moment,' she says. 'I was very much violated. I'm glad I gave the scene another chance.'
It's worth discussing the dark side of The Lifestyle because, like any community, it has one. 'You can screen and vet, but can you see through everyone's motivations?' asks Chantelle Otten. 'Absolutely not. I've had clients whose lives have been derailed in these settings. Derailed.'
Isadora Van Camp, 48, understands. She organises one of the biggest parties in Melbourne, called PURR, with her former partner. 'Back in the day, you had to know someone who knew us,' she says. 'It was like a secret society.' Now she's a middle-aged mum and joins me after the school run with her toy cavoodle Rosie for a morning wander through their takeover venue, Chasers nightclub in South Yarra.
'As the night progresses, you might see a bottom or a splash of boobs. Everything's really beautiful in that pulsing light.'
Isadora Van Camp
'I really like to dance and feel sexy – with not a lot of clothes on – with my girlfriends, but you don't get to be overly sensual in a straight scene, so we took that and put it into PURR,' Van Camp says. 'As the night progresses, you might see a bottom or a splash of boobs. Everything's really beautiful in that pulsing light.'
Entry is by invitation only, after joining the online 'Kitty Kat Club' – a way for Van Camp to record people's details in case something goes wrong – or they do something wrong. Van Camp once helped take testimonies about a person since ostracised by the community, known for unwanted persistence and insistence, but also alleged coercion and worse. One woman reported being drugged, then raped while unconscious.
'This is in no way the norm,' assures Van Camp, 'but in any community, people have mental health problems and substance-abuse issues. If you add sex and relationships to that, some people just completely implode.'
Still, the scene is relatively self-policing, with bad actors quickly identified and shunned. And guests at mass party events enjoy a certain safety in numbers –including the chance to be anonymous wallflowers, feeling the energy of the room and then leaving undetected. Yet for others – in particular Gen Z newcomers to the scene – smaller, private, house parties are becoming preferable.
I meet one such couple – Charlotte and Troy (not their real names), a pair of attractive, well-dressed 20-somethings – at a Port Melbourne pub. 'The issue for us was that you get the confidence to go upstairs at a big event, but it's not a bedroom with eight people,' says Charlotte. 'All of a sudden you're in a nightclub room with 200 people, and they're all playing. That's cool, but it's not exactly 'easing in'.'
They were lying in bed one night after her shift in healthcare and his day on the road in industrial sales, and wondered if they could throw their own parties. Troy came up with a name: Behind Closed Doors.
'I couldn't shake the idea,' says Charlotte, 'so I stayed up way too late and created a website, got the Instagram handle and then sat on it while we brainstormed.'
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Their guest list is unashamedly 'very selective', limited to 30 per party, no single males, everyone under 40, and they vet for emotional intelligence through a detailed application form. 'If someone writes, 'Me and the misso just love sex,' we know those aren't the right people,' says Troy. 'We want people to be able to enter the room and click and converse, and you can't have that if you invite some guy that just really wants to f---.'
The age of entry to the scene is shifting, too. Zoomers and Millennials experiencing 'app fatigue' while trying to hook up can now find sex in a more transparent way. HarderFaster – a luxe party held in a private mansion for under-45s, with champagne and charcuterie on arrival – bluntly states their preferences: women under size 14, and men with a slim or athletic build.
Setting aesthetic standards is more kindness than cruelty. 'We want everyone to have a good time – and to feel included – and that can mean curating guests so that no one gets left out,' says Rebecca, one of the event's new owners. 'There are so many Lifestyle parties out there that are quite diverse, but we're an option catering to a particular niche: luxurious and led by the female gaze.'
Cheaper than a room
Out of the 55 female case studies gathered by journalist Alyx Gorman for her book on the pursuit of pleasure, All Women Want, a dozen of them had been to sex parties. Many were post-divorce, or on a journey of self-discovery with their husband after years of child-rearing. Gen X mums are a massive new demographic in the scene, too, and sex parties are a legitimate logistical convenience for parents with teenagers at home.
'Someone else has done the hard work of finding other people who are interested in group sex for you,' Gorman notes, 'and it's significantly cheaper to go to a sex party than it is to book a hotel room for a night. A couple might pay $140 for a sex party, and you cannot get a nice hotel room in Sydney for $140.'
Like me, Gorman herself went along as a reporter to an event – Killing Kittens in London – in which femmes make the first move. 'It was a white party and a masquerade. It's known for sometimes having celebrities and being 'the very fancy orgy',' she says. 'It was Eyes Wide Shut as hell.'
Of course, not all parties are glamorous affairs with a masked and tuxedoed Tom Cruise walking through a country estate filled with statuesque semi-naked beauties. Gorman can't shake the sobering cautionary words of one of the women she interviewed: 'You know how people are just generally awkward? They're awkward at sex parties, too.'
That can, however, be part of the appeal. Many women report a huge boost in body positivity and 'erotic self-focus', says Gorman, after being surrounded by so many everyday, normal, naked bodies. Their insecurities – about the way they're ageing, or being plus-sized – dissipate within the menagerie.
'A couple might pay $140 for a sex party, and you cannot get a nice hotel room in Sydney for $140.'
Alyx Gorman
Women are firmly in charge at Between Friends Wine Bar in Melbourne, according to its owner, Matt Chandler. 'It's a matriarchal community,' he says, 'and I love that. Women drive most of the conversations – and the decisions.'
It helps that Chandler walks all newcomers through a specific spiel: 'We are a wine bar, first and foremost,' he tells them. 'You can come in and socialise and have a great time, and yet, you are under no expectation to do anything that you do not feel comfortable doing. Period.' (He pauses to hammer that final point home.)
Chandler got into The Lifestyle 15 years ago when it was confined largely to secretive house parties, a few club events and occasional swingers' nights held in gay saunas. He thought a wine bar might be a better way, but kept dismissing that nagging earworm – 'If it was a good idea,' he kept thinking, 'someone would have done it by now' – until a SWOT analysis during the pandemic was too promising to ignore. 'Everyone had their little pet project during COVID lockdowns,' he tells me. 'Some people baked sourdough. Some people learnt a second language. I built a wine bar for swingers.'
This side hustle to his main hospitality businesses (cafes and bars) proved incredibly popular, so much so that he has another venue soon to open on the northern fringe of the city and plans for a third. He describes the market in terms of three rings: a small inner ring of people already in The Lifestyle and a larger outer ring of people who would recoil in horror without even considering the idea. 'But there's another ring in the middle – of people who are interested or maybe afraid to broach it,' he says, 'and that ring is big and getting bigger.'
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He's not the only one who thinks so. On a recent Friday morning, I walk through the debris of a former travel-agency call centre in South Melbourne – surrounded by jackhammers and exposed plumbing (insert bawdy sex joke here) – with Emanuel Cachia, 45, the owner of what is shortly to become Pineapples Lifestyle Bar.
Cachia and his wife of 22 years, Vicky, own a board-game cafe in Melbourne's west as well as a property renovation business, and joined The Lifestyle three years ago after many tantalising COVID-19 conversations – pillow talk made manifest. Their establishment – opening in a matter of weeks – will have its own ambience, they hope: one that's safe, fun, clean and welcoming. Vicky is in a wheelchair much of the time with primary progressive multiple sclerosis, so the venue is also a direct response to the question: 'What do you want to do while you're still walking?'
For them, it's about playing together in a group setting – but not with others – feeding their exhibitionist streak. 'We do our own thing,' says Cachia, 'and that little bit of sexiness is more than enough to keep the passion alive. If you want to hook up with as many people as possible, there's other places for that,' he continues. 'We're entry-level. We'll have a burlesque or vaudeville show or dancing downstairs – and then if you want to, you can play upstairs. Either way, you're gonna have an experience you wouldn't at the movies.'
Still, there was opposition from locals, including an unsuccessful appeal of their licence through the Victorian Civil and Administrative Tribunal, although Cachia says most neighbours came to understand that the new after-hours nightspot won't have much impact on the fairly industrial street. 'All the nearby businesses are closed when we will be open,' he says, 'except the pub, the brothel, the massage parlour and the service station.'
All this growth doesn't come without growing pains. The Lifestyle can be territorial, political and dramatic. One failed event recently led to an online skirmish between operators, with back-and-forth allegations of intellectual-property theft and intimidation. Di from Saints & Sinners says it sometimes feels like there's a new party launched every weekend, and wonders if the community is big enough yet to sustain the competition – and the egos.
'There's been a lot of infighting and bad behaviour. It can get really toxic,' she says. 'But I guess that happens in every community. It could be in the bowls club.'
There's also a big, wide world to go around. Chandler points out that his guests don't just come from suburban Melbourne but regional Victoria – as well as Adelaide, Canberra, Perth and Tasmania. South-east Queensland has the highest concentration of clubs in Australia not just because The Lifestyle is exploding up there, but because people from the south will travel to swing where they're less likely to run into someone they know.
'It's that school-gate philosophy,' says Chandler. 'You're afraid of meeting someone here, then bumping into them on Monday morning at drop-off. Although I guess technically you're both safe through mutually assured destruction.'
Of course, swinging isn't just interstate but international, too, through lavish Lifestyle cruises and package holidays. Cate, 40, started swinging 11 years ago in Sydney with her husband Darrell. They now live in the Netherlands, running Libertine Events and a dozen multi-day parties around the world each year – entire hotel takeovers in Miami and Montreal, France and Jamaica. The average day starts with a coffee mingle and maybe a noon, clothing-optional, pool party with DJs and dildo giveaways. It's also like a conference – with seminars on how to Magic Mike dance, or classes in boudoir photography – before parties at night.
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The cross-cultural differences are often vast. For instance, Cate has to remind her US and UK clients about consent norms in continental Europe, where you can freely touch someone and it's the responsibility of the receiver to say yes or no. 'It's an adjustment,' she says. 'You can't bring your Australian protocols and expectations to the south of France, and then get aggressive at them for what's standard operating procedure.'
There's no shortage of advice online for anyone curious about The Lifestyle. Although when 'Jack and Jill' (not their real names) started swinging 18 months ago, they had to fumble and feel their way through, which is why they just launched a podcast – The Lifestyle Lounge – in the hope that their journey might help others.
I meet them in the city, where they're bleary-eyed from attending a party the night prior. Both formerly married with kids, they now have their own 'Brady Bunch' in regional Victoria. Lifestyle parties are their night away from that household – and from his job in logistics and hers as a kindergarten teacher. 'My close friends live through me,' says Jill, laughing. ' 'What did you do on the weekend? Tell us everything!' '
Top tips? If you're too scared to ask your partner, says Jack, you're not ready. Also, if it takes you six months to ask, you might have to wait six months for an answer. And for those people on Reddit asking how to convince their partner to swing, the response is clear: 'If you have to try to convince them,' Jack says, 'it's not for you.'
This kind of experimentation, adds Jill, cannot come from a place of rupture. 'You have to be strong in your relationship already, because if you're having issues, it'll wreck it,' she says. 'We're not filling in any cracks. This is the cherry on top.'
Communication is key – they have constant conversations about what they want to do and with whom, and both hold veto rights over every player and scenario. Equally important is 'aftercare' – talking with one another following their fun, in an ongoing, non-negotiable debauchery debrief.
'The biggest thing? Practise your 'no'. It might sound silly, but say it to yourself in the mirror.'
Professional dominatrix Bella 'Valkyrie'
'It's complicated stuff,' says Chantelle Otten. 'You have to understand how to give and receive, offer and decline. But you make the rules. You can dip your toe in and then out. You can step fully in – and step fully out.'
The final piece of advice comes from a couple in the Victorian kink community, professional dominatrix Bella 'Valkyrie', 32, and her partner Tony 'The Bruise Factory', 35, who builds crosses and benches and paddles in their northern suburbs home. There's an increasing overlap between the kink and Lifestyle communities, and they work often with parties and events, sharing their expertise. For example, people frequently use the wrong candles for 'wax play'. Paraffin and soy are good, advises Tony, but beeswax is wrong because you can't regulate the temperature at which it melts, and people get burned.
'The biggest thing? Practise your 'no',' says Bella. 'It might sound silly, but say it to yourself in the mirror. Group sexual dynamics are complicated, so if it gets uncomfortable, it's important to know your 'no'.'
'And don't jump in too quick,' adds Tony. 'Pace yourself. You can get swallowed up.'
I'm not worried about that, but to round out the story I speak to Kate, a nurse in her mid-30s who wanted a prettier party than what was already out there – something more open, but with little pockets of privacy – and in 2023, hosted her first event under the Virtue & Vice banner. Held at the Melbourne Pavilion – usually rented for weddings and fashion shows – 300 people came to the first party, but the latest one drew 1200 souls. Including me.
The atmosphere is warm, with textile finishings. In one corner there's a performer demonstrating 'shibari' (Japanese rope bondage), and in another, a group of naked women having hot wax (hopefully paraffin or soy – I don't ask) dripped all over them.
Curious tourists such as myself are actually welcome. Most of the people here don't play at all, not until one night when this sort of scene no longer startles but becomes their norm. 'The way you were operating disappears,' Kate explains. 'You reach this place where it's like, 'We're all going to be a bit naked together and not judging one another, and it's going to be fine, it's going to be fun.' '
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There's a point in the evening when my mind goes there, too, when I've seen everything I need to see, and it's time to clock off, but instead of going immediately home I lead my wife to the dance floor. I'm in my trusty black undies, and she's in a baby doll with white stockings. She looks amazing, again. And yet again, I do not.
But we're dancing because we have nowhere else to be and nothing we need to do. We look right, out to the far edge of the dance floor, where a man is industriously thrusting into his partner. And we look left, where a woman is diligently going down on a guy through a glory hole.
We know we don't want to play out there, on those edges, so we stay in the centre for just a song, surrounded by sexy people, who are smiling and kissing and laughing and touching, who are enjoying this lifestyle, and I think I understand why.
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'We have a very complicated relationship with cats here,' says Jodie Stewart, a researcher who's writing the country's first cultural history of cats, with one of her two moggies, Poppy, curled up by her side. 'There's so much written about dogs, but we've always had a relationship with cats and there's never much been written about them.' Whether revered or reviled, cats have been purring by our sides from the earliest colonial times to today's heady heights, with photos and videos of them dominating the internet, explains Stewart. 'Their history has a real richness and depth to it, from heroism to hate. People like talking about the need for containment and the threat they pose to wildlife, but there's an awful lot more to them, and their relationship with us, than that.' Stewart, 49, lives in the NSW Bega Valley with her partner, who works in a cheese factory, of 27 years. She has dark hair framing an earnest face, a ready smile, and an excellent line in clothing featuring cats. While she grew up a dog lover (her grandfather had labradors), she switched affections when the youngest of her two daughters, Téah, 23, brought home a stray cat that instantly bonded with her. When she finished her PhD, on non-Indigenous responses to Aboriginal history, she gravitated towards studying cats. Stewart's exhaustive research will result in a book on the history of cats in Australia being published next April. 'Their history has a real richness and depth to it, from heroism to hate.' 'It might seem odd,' she says. 'But I have always been interested in the stories we tell about ourselves, and how these stories shape our identity and understanding of people and place. I want to produce a feline history that might generate more nuanced understandings of our human-feline past. It is so complex and is proving a wonderful field to study.' Today, there are more than 11 million cats in Australia, according to the Invasive Species Council, with up to 6 million of those living as ferals. Household cats number 5.3 million, and they're the second most popular pet after dogs. It's been a stellar surge in the 237 years since the first two cats arrived with the First Fleet in 1788. Back then, Mr Tom Puss and Miss Puss were brought over by the colony's chaplain Richard Johnson on the store ship, the Golden Grove. 'I'd always assumed they were ratters, but they were actually companion animals,' Stewart says. 'It really shows how much we all loved cats from the very beginning.' It wasn't too long after that Matthew Flinders' cat, Trim, stole the limelight as the country's most famous feline, accompanying the navigator and cartographer on voyages around the Australian coastline from 1801 to 1803. A year later Trim vanished, feared eaten by a hungry slave during Flinders' incarceration on the island of Mauritius. Many believed Asian cats might have arrived in the country earlier, brought here by Malaysian fishermen to northern Australia. However, Stewart found two research projects – one conducted in Frankfurt and the other at Queensland's Murdoch University – which charted the genomic markers of the current cat population. Both found the country's cats were descended from European ones, which arrived during settlement and spread rapidly. The numbers were supplemented by those from the many trading vessels that later called into Sydney with cats on board to help eradicate rats, which were a constant threat to food supplies and ropes. From the 1820s, stray cats turned feral and, being prolific breeders, their numbers skyrocketed. They were still valued for helping to keep down the number of rats, mice and snakes (one cat was acclaimed for killing 35 snakes in one day), as well as rabbits, after settler Thomas Austin released 13 of them for hunting purposes at his Barwon Park estate in Victoria in 1859 (after which rabbit numbers shot up). After Stewart fell head-over-heels for Poppy, she found she adored studying the lives of all cats and it became a labour of love. 'During the 2019-20 bushfires and then COVID, Poppy became my little shadow and would curl up in bed with me,' she says. 'I'd never felt a love like it; it was profound. She fundamentally changed my life. I have two dogs, too, a staffy called Toby and a bulldog, Luna, but with dogs, it's a very different type of love.' Stewart found many of our best writers shared a love of cats. Henry Lawson wrote the short story Bush Cats in 1894 and Banjo Paterson penned an essay, The Cat, in The Bulletin in 1902. 'Most people think that the cat is an unintelligent animal, fond of ease, and caring little for anything but mice and milk,' Paterson wrote. 'But a cat has really more character than most human beings, and gets a great deal more satisfaction out of life.' Much later, author Ruth Park wrote a children's book, The Ship's Cat, in 1961. But it was during the world wars that our furry friends wriggled their way into the nation's heart, says Stewart. 'By 1915, they'd become a fairly permanent part of our cities. The Australian print media became fascinated by them from that time. There were so many stories about cat oddities, like the cat Boots, who regularly swam at Sydney's Watsons Bay, and Tiny Tim, who ate ice-cream at the general store at Balmoral Beach. There were cats living in the trenches with 'our boys' … and veterans being cared for in convalescent homes with cats to bring them comfort.' Loading Nadia Crighton, spokesperson for Pet Insurance Australia, understands why. 'Research shows that cats can really provide emotional support,' she says. 'They often get unfairly labelled as aloof or solitary, especially compared to dogs, but any true cat person knows these incredible animals form deep bonds with their humans. Simply having a cat in the home can reduce stress, lower blood pressure and provide comfort, especially through tough times like lockdowns. They're emotional anchors.' Those cuddly companions have also played an important part in advertising and popular culture, Stewart notes – some say those cute cat videos spurred the social-media explosion. They've even been associated with sport, with star cricketer Don Bradman's cat displayed to the world in 1930 balancing on his tennis racquet, and Oli the cat known as a much-celebrated crew member of a yacht competing in the 2024 Sydney to Hobart. But there is a dark side. Cats that are allowed to roam free are condemned for their effect on wildlife. John Wamsley, founder of Australia's first listed conservation company, Earth Sanctuaries, famously wore a hat made from the pelt of a feral cat to the 1991 South Australian tourism awards to protest their role in biodiversity loss. 'Bringing [cats to Australia] was just one of the worst environmental blunders we've ever made … [for] the majority of our wildlife.' John Wamsley, founder of conservation company Earth Sanctuaries It's no secret where the loyalties of historian Guy Hull, author of The Dogs That Made Australia and The Ferals that Ate Australia, lie. When he's told there's a book coming out on cats' contribution to Australia, he guffaws. 'Bringing them [to Australia] was just one of the worst environmental blunders we've ever made,' he says. 'They're all over the world, but the problem in Australia is that the majority of our wildlife is nocturnal, ground-dwelling and small, and they're completely unable to defend themselves against an alien predator.' While he doesn't mind domestic cats kept indoors or in enclosed cat runs in gardens, he'd like to see the CSIRO come up with something like myxomatosis to kill feral cats. RSPCA Victoria recently launched a campaign to persuade cat owners to keep their pets inside. It says two in three cat owners have lost a pet from a roaming-related incident and that letting cats wander outside results in a 300 per cent increased risk of death and a 400 per cent increase in vet bills and visits, reducing a feline's life by 10 years. Loading TV vet Dr Katrina Warren supports the RSPCA's campaign. 'We know about the devastating effect on wildlife, with estimates that the average outdoor cat kills at least three Australian animals a week, which adds up to many millions each year – but many people still talk about a cat's right to roam,' says Warren, who has a giant Maine Coon called King Leo. 'That's nonsense. We don't let dogs or children roam, so why cats? But we are seeing that attitude slowly changing, and more people confining cats to their own property, with regulations in different parts of the country, such as in the ACT, forbidding cats from roaming.' The fact they kill so many native animals is a major challenge for Stewart in writing her book, she says. They're a species that can excite hatred – she's become used to people telling her that the only good cat is a dead cat. 'We've had such a long, complicated relationship with cats, but it is important to address that richness and depth and our history together,' says Stewart. 'I've not always been a cat lover, but they can really grow on you. I remember, as a child, my mother telling me that her cat was talking to her in 'cat', and cats do give us so much companionship, love, healing and comic relief. They deserve their place in history.'
Sydney Morning Herald
6 days ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘They're going to see who I am': Top shots from the National Photographic Portrait Prize
This story is part of the August 9 edition of Good Weekend. See all 13 stories. Our pick of National Photographic Portrait Prize finalists salutes the stoic, the stubborn, the singular and the strong. Megan's Place, 2024 Megan is my friend and neighbour. Her life blends the ordinary with the extraordinary. Against the backdrop of her traditional weatherboard house in regional Victoria, Megan stands stoically with one of her rescue camels while her daughter bounces energetically on the trampoline. This moment captures the elements of both domesticity and adventure that encapsulate her life. Rebecca Polonski Thelma Plum, 2024 I made this picture with Gamilaraay musician Thelma Plum on Wilyakali Country last winter. The image was taken using a Rolleicord camera on the Mundi Mundi Plains near Broken Hill, where I live. We spent three days photographing throughout far west NSW, making a series of shots for Plum's album I'm Sorry, Now Say It Back. Em Jensen Sonny Jane Wise, 2025 My work is often playful, but also aims to challenge. Sonny Jane is a queer, non-binary, disabled and neurodivergent advocate and writer, who says their 'defiant' tattoo is 'a commitment to resist systems that pathologise our minds, bodies and queerness. When people look at me, they're going to see who I am.' Bri Hammond Untitled #01 (Code Black/Riot), 2024 Code Black/Riot is a collaboration with First Nations youths in far north Queensland, which interrogates a system that targets and imprisons them from the age of 10. The youths prefer to conceal their faces to avoid being identified. Hoda Afshar The Sky, 2025 Grace Tame is extraordinary, devoting her life to advocating for survivors of child sexual abuse. There's so much more to this portrait; a ripple on an ocean beneath that holds far more than it reveals. Stuart Spence Britney and Kayleb, 2024 Kayleb paints up his partner, Britney, at the Waagan Galga Corroboree on Wonnarua Country [in the Hunter Valley, NSW]. Later, they dance together to display the depth of love and loss they have experienced. Culture is a powerful healer. Marcus Rowsell Diamond in the Sky, 2024 As part of my series Deep Heat, I took this portrait 'with' Antony Sinni, a non-binary friend and artist on Larrakia Land, Garramilla [in the Darwin region, NT]. I highlight 'with' because making an image like this is both individual and deeply collaborative: experiencing what it is to be within a moment of vulnerability, connected by the sand, sky and the lens. In the series I use photography to explore my complex relationship with gender and masculinity, creating an opportunity for healing and evolution. Matt Sav Self portrait collecting dust, 2025 This photo captures the intimate chaos of a life lived in one space, my childhood bedroom [in western Sydney], for 34 years. Surrounded by a tapestry of trinkets and the quiet clutter of everyday life, my self portrait reflects the intersection of nostalgia and the present. The disorder becomes a tangible reminder of time passing, of a personal history that clings to the space, the room itself as much a part of my identity as the person within it. Tom Zust The National Photographic Portrait Prize 2025 exhibition, featuring the 48 selected finalists, will be on display at the National Portrait Gallery in Canberra from August 16 to October 12.
