Laird Leatherman 2026 - Sir Z

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Laird Leatherman 2026 - Sir Z Laird Leatherman 2026, Melbourne Australia.

Join Melbourne’s finest leathermen at The Laird Hotel for a free evening celebrating BLUF.High protocol and strict BLUF ...
09/10/2026

Join Melbourne’s finest leathermen at The Laird Hotel for a free evening celebrating BLUF.

High protocol and strict BLUF dress code apply only in the designated b**r garden area.
All fe**sh gear welcome for rest of the venue.

BLUF-curious? Come inside, say hello and meet the community.

Social. Drink. Cruise. Play.
Free entry. Men only.

Don’t know what is BLUF? Check here: https://bluf.com/dresscode

23 KilosI recently travelled to Brisbane as a judge for a leather competition, and once again, I faced the eternal dilem...
01/10/2026

23 Kilos

I recently travelled to Brisbane as a judge for a leather competition, and once again, I faced the eternal dilemma, one that seems to be part of being a leatherman:

Leather is bloody heavy.

My checked luggage allowance was 23 kilos. By the time I'd packed three pairs of boots, two vests, leather pants, shirts, a jacket, a Muir cap and all the belts, gloves and accessories that apparently were ‘absolutely’ essential, I was getting dangerously close to the limit.

And that was before toiletries and casual clothes.

I stood there looking at the suitcase thinking, surely I don't need all of this for a few days in Brisbane?

Apparently, I did.

It made me laugh because I've written before that leather isn't measured in kilograms of cowhide. You don't need a wardrobe full of gear to be a leatherman. A wristband can be enough.

I still believe that. I'm just terrible at practising it when I travel!
While unpacking in Brisbane, I started thinking about why I'd brought so much.

The thing with leather gear is that everything has a purpose. One pair of boots works with one look but not another. Certain pants need certain shirts and vests. BLUF requires its own pieces. Then I NEED something more stylish, a bit of fashion leather to bring out another side of me. And of course there are the things you bring "just in case", which is how a perfectly reasonable packing list slowly turns into 23 kilos.

That's something I've noticed about leather over the years. Once you've collected gear for long enough, the pieces stop being interchangeable.

I have boots I reach for when I want a very clean BLUF look. Other pieces make me feel more relaxed and approachable. Some gear has been passed down to me and carries memories of other people. Some I've spent years looking for. And some stylish pieces simply change the way I stand.

So deciding what goes into the suitcase becomes deciding what version of myself I'm taking with me.

I wasn't simply going away for a weekend. I was travelling as Laird Leatherman and as a judge, to different events, different people and different expectations. At home, I'm surrounded by people who know me. In Brisbane, many were meeting me for the first time as "Sir Z" or "Laird Leatherman Melbourne 2026". Being invited to judge someone else's competition made me even more conscious of that.

You want to look the part, of course. But more importantly, you want to behave in a way that deserves the leather you're wearing.

That part weighs nothing at the airport.

Coming home, I unpacked the same suitcase again. Three pairs of boots back on their shelf, jacket and shirts back on their hangers. Muir cap back where it lives. The accessories had somehow multiplied, as they always do.

The suitcase became lighter with every piece I took out.

And perhaps that's the funny contradiction I've found myself in. I've spent a lot of time saying that you don't need much leather to be a leatherman, then travelled interstate with 23 kilos of it.
Both things can be true.

The gear matters to me. I enjoy it. I collect it. I care for it. Some of it carries history and some of it simply makes me feel bloody good when I put it on.

But eventually everything gets unpacked.
The 23 kilos goes back into the wardrobe.

What I brought home from Brisbane doesn't.

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Poster from Brisbane Leather Week
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The views shared here are my own, you might see things differently, and that’s perfectly okay. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to DM me or come find me at The Laird on Thursdays.

Mark the date…designated area for the finest Leathermen in Melbourne🖤
18/09/2026

Mark the date…designated area for the finest Leathermen in Melbourne🖤

Like many of you, I was deeply saddened to hear that we have lost John, Mr Rubber 2017.I didn't know John particularly w...
17/09/2026

Like many of you, I was deeply saddened to hear that we have lost John, Mr Rubber 2017.

I didn't know John particularly well. We only crossed paths a handful of times over the years, but every interaction I had with him left the same impression. He was warm, welcoming and generous with his time. The kind of person who made you feel comfortable simply by being around him.

One of the pieces in my collection is a rubber vest that John gave me. It means a little more to me now than it did a week ago.

I've written before about passed down leather, and how gear can carry the stories of the people who wore it before us. I think the same is true of rubber, and perhaps of every community we're part of. Sometimes what we pass on isn't just a jacket, a vest or a pair of boots. We pass on encouragement. We pass on confidence. We pass on the feeling that someone new is welcome here.

We remember the people who took a moment to say hello.
Who made space for us.
Who treated us with kindness when they didn't have to.

John was one of those people for me.

His passing is a reminder that we never really know what someone else is carrying, and that even the smallest acts of kindness can stay with another person for years. Looking after one another has always been one of the greatest strengths of our leather, rubber and kink communities. I hope we continue to honour John's memory by carrying that kindness forward.

Rest peacefully, John.

Thank you for making me feel welcome, and for leaving me with a small piece of your story to carry on.

Trigger Warning: Su***de, Self Harm

____


This is one of the most gut-wrenching posts we’ve ever had to make, and we’re so sorry to be the bearers of such awful news.

It is with immense sadness that we announce the passing of beloved community member John Cheshire. His beautiful family have asked that we break the news to his treasured kink and q***r community; and to let you know that John lost his battle with depression over the weekend.

It is truly an impossible feat to try to put into words the phenomenal person that John was, the epic life that he lived, and the people he touched with his kindness along the way. But we are going to try.

John lived his life out loud, with such pride, such authenticity and such a passion to see, do, experience, feel. He was absolutely effervescent, lighting up every room he was in, and he’d always be looking around to see who was on their own or which friend he hadn’t made yet. He was inimitable, a trail blazer, and wherever he was, he was always iconically John Cheshire.

You’d be driving down Smith Street on a Saturday afternoon and catch a fleeting look of someone in a latex shirt and a pair of jeans on the footpath and yep, of course, it’d be John. Our Melbourne Rubberman 2017 was rarely seen without something shiny on, always resplendent and dressed to impress, whether it was out at dinner, seeing a symphony, or attending a play. He wanted to share his love of rubber with the world and he’d always say it was the best way to make new friends! In a speech he made during Slick week earlier in September, he talked about how people sometimes think that wearing latex in public is scary, but in fact it made him feel so powerful, and it opened so many doors to new conversations and new friends. He was always building community and networks wherever he went. We called him the friend collector. He was known and loved by the staff in every bar up Brunswick Street (and down Smith Street!) where he’d often go out for a few cheeky cocktails somewhere and end up dancing on his own somewhere else until the place closed at 3am, and the next day he’d be telling us about all the new friends he’d made the night before. We often said to ourselves, when we’re his age, we hope we’re out partying and living our best lives as much as John does.

But while his partying was legendary, John was so much more than just a party animal. He was an incredible pianist, and he had a deep love for the orchestra that he adored sharing with others. He’d swell with emotion telling you about a symphony he had seen at Hamer Hall, and at home he had a record collection bigger than almost any we’ve ever seen. His father was a publisher and he was absolutely in love with books, often telling us of what his book club was reading that week, and we’d regularly share something we’d read and that we had enjoyed with each other.

He enjoyed a heartfelt and genuine conversation over a red w**e (so long as it wasn’t pinot!) or a single malt wh**ky, especially if it tasted like seaweed and smoke - Laphroaig was his favourite. He was as deep of a thinker as could be possibly imagined, a naturally profound and eloquent person with whip smart intelligence. His level of compassion for others was such a rare and beautiful quality within his impeccable character. He was a born performer, speaker, host, and an artist in every sense of the word. Every room he walked into became a stage, and because of these qualities, we called him “the walking pantomime”.

He was also an incredibly passionate advocate for Aboriginal communities, and he was extremely proud of the work he did in this space throughout his career. His love didn’t stop at humans either - he loved animals with all his heart, which is why he spent most of his life as a vegetarian, and in later years became a vegan and campaigned for animal rights.

Whatever you do and whoever you are in life, we reckon we should all aim to be just a bit more like John. Live loud, live proud, be authentically yourself, be passionate, and love, love, love with your whole heart.

Our thoughts are with his amazing family David, Mark, Frank, Pam, and his daughters Adelaide, Lillian, and Matilda.

Along with a group of some of John’s nearest and dearest, we are planning to put something together to celebrate his life with the community once we have begun to deal with the immediate grief we are going through. In time, details of such will be on our page and newsletter.

Let this be a reminder to all of us that sometimes even the most positive, smiling face in a room can be dealing with things under the surface. Check on your friends. Circle back. Tell them there’s never a time when you won’t be there for them if they need you. Make pacts. Make time. Be real with each other. Work on strategies and mantras to rise above any adversities you might face. Hold those you love extra close and tell them how much you love them.

John, we’re really gonna miss you mate.

If this news has brought anything up for you, help is available:

Emergency, police & ambulance (24 Hrs): 000
StandBy Support After Su***de: https://standbysupport.com.au/
Beyond Blue: 1300 22 4636 or through beyondblue.org.au
Switchboard: https://www.switchboard.org.au/
Griefline: https://griefline.org.au/
Sane: https://www.sane.org/
Connect with a lifeline crisis supporter (24 Hrs): 13 11 14
Su***de callback service (24 Hrs): 1300 659 467
13 YARN: 13 92 76
Mensline Australia: 1300 78 99 78
Access Hub: https://www.accesshub.gov.au/
Translating and Interpreting Service: https://www.tisnational.gov.au/
QLife: https://qlife.org.au/

04/09/2026
Nobody lookedI noticed something while I was in Amsterdam for WorldPride.I was walking through the city in leather, boot...
03/09/2026

Nobody looked

I noticed something while I was in Amsterdam for WorldPride.
I was walking through the city in leather, boots, leather pants, jacket, clearly not dressed for a quiet afternoon at the Rijksmuseum. I was expecting the usual glance. You probably know the one. Someone looks at you. Looks away. Then, a few seconds later, looks again.

Most of the time there is nothing hostile about it. Sometimes it's curiosity. Sometimes appreciation. Sometimes they're simply trying to work out what exactly they're looking at.

When you're visibly gay, visibly leather, or simply dressed differently from everyone around you, you become quite good at noticing those glances.

Walking into a café, I would automatically scan the room. Sitting outside in leather, I noticed who was passing. Walking beside another leatherman, somewhere in the back of my mind I was still reading people's faces.

In Amsterdam, I realised I wasn't getting much information back. Nobody seemed particularly interested.

Men were walking around in leather. Pride flags hung everywhere. Q***r couples held hands, kissed, drank coffee, caught trams, argued over directions and did all the wonderfully boring things couples do. And the city just carried on around them.

We often talk about visibility as something positive, and of course it is. Being visible matters. Pride matters. Seeing someone like yourself occupying public space confidently can mean a lot, especially if you've spent part of your life wondering whether there was a place for you in it.

But there's another kind of freedom that we talk about less. The freedom of not being noticed at all. Because nobody particularly cares.

There was something wonderfully ordinary about walking through Amsterdam in leather and slowly forgetting to check whether anyone was looking.

I didn't have to make a statement.
I didn't have to represent leather.
I didn't have to represent gay men.
I was just a man walking down the street wearing what he wanted to wear.

Of course, this was Amsterdam during WorldPride. The city was dressed for the occasion too. Pride flags were everywhere, q***r people had arrived from around the world, and leather and fe**sh were unusually visible. I'm not suggesting every q***r person experiences Amsterdam this way every day. But for a few days, I experienced what acceptance can feel like when it becomes normal.

We often imagine acceptance as applause. Someone telling us we're welcome. A rainbow flag in the window. A celebration, a parade, a declaration.

Those things matter. But perhaps the final destination is much more like when a leatherman walks into a café and the waiter only wants to know if he wanted oat milk.

Nobody stared.
Nobody whispered.
Nobody cared.
And for once, that felt wonderful.

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Photo by Tyler Tippet

Mark the date, event detail coming soon.📸 by Tyler Tippett Photography
21/08/2026

Mark the date, event detail coming soon.
📸 by Tyler Tippett Photography

Amsterdam is amazingly accepting for fe**sh, on the streets, in restaurants, I had the best time here. And so glad to me...
07/08/2026

Amsterdam is amazingly accepting for fe**sh, on the streets, in restaurants, I had the best time here. And so glad to meet all my European leather families here! Happy Pride all 🖤

BLUFThere’s a leather style that catches everyone’s attention before anything else.BLUF. Even people who don't wear BLUF...
16/07/2026

BLUF
There’s a leather style that catches everyone’s attention before anything else.

BLUF.

Even people who don't wear BLUF often admire it.

Took me years to build my own BLUF wardrobe. Finding the right boots. The right jacket. Hunting down pieces that fit exactly the way I wanted. To this day, putting on full BLUF still feels different from wearing any other outfit I own.
At first I thought it was simply about looking masculine. Now I think it's about something completely different.

Clarity.

BLUF leaves very little undecided. Nothing accidental. And there is something deeply satisfying about that.

Outside the leather bar, life rarely goes as planned. Then Thursday arrives.
You polish the boots.
You put on the Sam Browne.
You straighten the collar.
You tighten the last buckle.
For a little while, everything sits exactly where it belongs.

But please don’t assume uniforms erase individuality. It’s the opposite. Once the distractions disappear, personality becomes easier to see.

Two men can wear almost identical BLUF uniforms, yet one feels approachable, another authoritative, another feels playful, another quiet and cool.

The uniform doesn't hide the man. It reveals how he carries himself.

I've never seen BLUF as conformity. I see it as self-reflection - being the man I always strive to be.

Confidence without arrogance.
Strength without aggression.
Presence without needing attention.

BLUF simply becomes the language to express those ideas.

If you know me, you’ll know that I appreciate people who mix leather with fashion and other fe**sh wear. I do it myself, too. Some nights I leave the polished uniform at home. I wear bleacher jeans, a softer jacket, something unexpected and it lets me express who I am.

BLUF does something completely different to me. The discipline of creating order on the outside reminds me to look for it on the inside.

The boots eventually come off.
The jacket returns to its hanger.
The clean lines disappear.

What remains is the man who wore them.

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The views shared here are my own, you might see things differently, and that’s perfectly okay. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to DM me or come find me at The Laird on Thursdays.
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Photo by Tyler Tippet

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