How AUST on Abbot Kinney Changed My Escort Wardrobe
When you think of Rome, you probably picture marble, Vespas and women in fitted dresses who glide rather than walk. That was me. My wardrobe was all structure and ceremony: silk blouses that never saw daylight, heels that hated cobblestones, lingerie that could have started small wars.
Then I went to Venice.
Not that Venice. Venice, Los Angeles. Abbot Kinney Boulevard, palm trees, murals – and tucked along it, a little slice of Australian cool called AUST.
I went in a Roman escort and came out… well, still an escort, but with a completely different idea of how I should dress for my clients.
Stumbling into AUST on Abbot Kinney
It was one of those jet-lag afternoons when you feel like you’ve been tumble-dried. I’d finished with a regular client in Santa Monica – an Italian businessman who insists on seeing “the real Rome” even when he’s thousands of miles away – and I had a few hours to kill before dinner.
Someone had told me, “Go to Abbot Kinney. It’s where people who are trying not to look rich go shopping.” That sounded exactly like my sort of anthropology.
Among the juice bars and scented skincare, I saw a sign: AUST. Australian fashion, in Venice, California. Inside, it felt like walking into a beautifully edited Instagram feed that had somehow become three-dimensional. Light wood, racks spaced just far enough apart, and that easy, coastal confidence you can’t fake.
Later, I learned the boutique had started in a tiny space hidden behind a flower shop down a garden path, throwing infamous courtyard parties before moving into a larger street-front space. At the time, all I knew was that I’d found trouble for my credit card.
What Made AUST Different
I’ve shopped in all the usual capitals – Milan, Paris, London – but AUST felt like someone had taken that world and tilted it 10 degrees towards the beach.
The focus was on Australian labels you rarely see in Europe: brands like Zimmermann, Ksubi, Zanerobe and a rotating cast of designers with names that sounded like indie bands. There were pieces that could go straight to a rooftop bar, and pieces that clearly belonged on a yacht, ideally with someone else paying for the fuel.
The thing that struck me first was the ease of it all. Structured jackets, yes, but in fabrics that moved. Dresses that skimmed rather than strangled. Prints that looked like they’d been inspired by sunsets rather than boardrooms.
One of the owners, Hannah – tiny, unstoppable, with the sort of personal style you can’t fake – explained how everything was curated: exclusively Australian fashion, the best of homegrown labels edited down for the Venice crowd. No filler, no “just in case” items. Every rail felt intentional.
I left that first day with:
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A linen playsuit that scandalised my inner Catholic but delighted my outer hedonist
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A perfectly cut white blazer that somehow made denim shorts look sophisticated
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Swimwear I was absolutely never going to get wet
And I realised something important: I’d been dressing for the idea of my work, not the reality of the people booking me.
How AUST Changed the Way I Dress for Bookings
Back in Rome, most of my clients fall into two camps:
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Classic Romans, who want the fantasy of the elegant, put-together companion
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International travellers, who book escorts from Rome because they want sophistication without feeling like they’ve hired a museum piece
Before AUST, I catered almost entirely to the first group. Think tight dresses, razor-sharp heels, lingerie that belonged in a film about bad decisions.
After AUST, I started experimenting. I realised that clothing for bookings doesn’t have to scream “this is for sex” to be effective. In fact, it’s often better when it doesn’t.
Here’s what shifted.
From Costume to Wardrobe
I stopped buying “escort clothes” and started buying clothes I would actually wear to brunch, to a gallery, on a plane. Clients noticed. They’d say things like:
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“You look like you just walked out of a magazine, not a club.”
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“You’re the first woman I’ve met who looks expensive and comfortable.”
That second line? That’s AUST all over.
Playing with Contrast
AUST taught me the power of contrasts:
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Soft silk camisole with sharp, tailored trousers
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Bold Australian print under a very Roman trench coat
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Minimalist one-piece swimsuit styled with jewellery and a linen shirt for “accidentally” bumping into someone at the hotel pool
It stopped being about showing as much skin as possible and became about suggestion – glimpses of lace, a low back, a high slit that only reveals itself when I move.
Dressing for the Whole Booking, Not Just the First Ten Minutes
In my early days, I dressed for the moment the door opens. Pow. Impact. But what about three hours later, when we’re on dessert and his feet hurt more than mine?
AUST pieces are designed to move: to sit, to walk, to dance, to hop between an Uber and a bar without losing their shape. That changed how I plan outfits for bookings:
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Soft separates for long dinner dates
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Clever layering for “date plus hotel bar plus whatever happens after”
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Footwear that looks intimidating but secretly feels like slippers
It sounds like a small thing, but comfort changes your energy. If I’m not thinking about my bra strap slowly sawing my shoulder off, I’m more present. Clients feel that.
The Day I Found Out AUST Had Closed
I went back to Venice a few years later, fully prepared to do damage at AUST again.
The address was still there. The palm trees, the yoga mats, the moisturised dogs… but AUST itself was gone. Just another “permanently closed” boutique, another independent shop swallowed by rent increases and changing habits.
I stood outside the old space with a coffee I didn’t need, feeling unexpectedly bereft. It wasn’t just a shop closing. It was a little ecosystem where a certain kind of woman – and a certain kind of man – could see fashion differently.
AUST had introduced LA to Australian labels in a way that felt intimate and personal: gatherings in courtyards, champagne in hand, stories about the designers and the lives behind the clothes. It wasn’t fast fashion, it was considered fashion.
As an escort, I’m used to things being temporary: hotel rooms, crushes, favourite bars that suddenly become too crowded. But AUST closing hit me harder than I expected. It felt like a friend moving away without leaving a forwarding address.
What I Took Home to Rome
AUST may be gone, but it left fingerprints all over my wardrobe – and my bookings.
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I build outfits now, rather than costumes.
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I buy fewer pieces, but each one has to earn its place.
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I think about fabric, movement and story, not just cleavage.
And my clients? They notice. The seasoned travellers who book high-end escorts from Rome are the first to comment. They’ve seen the body-con dresses in every city. What they’re hungry for is something that feels effortless, modern, international – the kind of look you’d see on a woman who knows the best cocktail bar in every time zone.
That’s what AUST gave me: permission to blend Roman polish with Australian ease, to let my clothes suggest a life that exists beyond the booking.
The boutique may have closed its doors on Abbot Kinney, but every time I button an airy blazer over good lingerie, or choose a soft dress that will survive three courses and a midnight walk by the Tiber, I’m back in that Venice dressing room, jet-lagged and happy, watching myself become just a little bit more… myself.