REVIEW: Brand New Dress
- Victoria Luxton (she/her)
- 3 days ago
- 3 min read
I saw Brand New Dress on Monday evening at The Loading Dock Theatre, and it announced itself immediately, loudly, cheekily, and with pink and blue balloons.
Andy burst onto the stage in black briefs, clutching pastel balloons in an almost frantic attempt to “cover” themselves, swapping pink for blue, blue for pink, as if the right colour might finally satisfy the world’s obsession with sorting people into pink or blue. And then, with perfect comedic timing, the reveal: tape across the front reading “none of your business!”
It set the tone with a bang. A wink. A dare. A declaration that this hour would not just explore gender, but our obsession with it and, most importantly, take us on a tour of Andy.
From there, Andy’s vivacity never dipped. Flaming red hair flying in glorious hairography, lithe leaps across the stage, they commanded the space with spunk and precision. Their comedy is razor sharp, enough tongue twisters to have your knickers in a knot. Gosh, they can really write. The articulation is dazzling. The audience leaned in, hungry. You could feel the collective appetite for whatever they would do next.
The bedtime story fantasies were deliciously theatrical. A diva purple dragon in pants. A mysterious, sexy hat wearing figure glimpsed on MTV in 2004, an awakening rendered with humour and reverence. Behind a boudoir room divider came titillating costume changes and Dungeons and Dragons alter egos. At one point Andy seemed to transform entirely, a cartoon hero with might and pizzazz, conjured through sheer physicality and charm.
And then there is that voice. That unmistakably Adeladien timbre. The way they glide over the mountainous notes they have written for themselves, not cautiously but triumphantly. The piano anchors the show, but their voice makes it soar.
Midway through, I drifted into a lull of beautiful music and storytelling. Andy recalled a
family wedding, a moment when they had told themselves they were sick of contorting into
something palatable and would just be themselves. Then came the uncle’s preface, “You
know what I reckon…?”
The audience braced.
Why did we brace? Why did so many of us expect something jarring, uncomfortable,
diminishing? Perhaps because many queer people know that tightening in the chest. The
calculation before a relative finishes a sentence. The memory of going home from your
Sydney life and navigating the quiet negotiations of family dynamics.
But the uncle said, “I reckon somewhere in your family history there was someone just like
you.”
The relief in the room was palpable. A soft, collective exhale. A revelation of joy.
A song followed, a roll call of family names, and I found myself unexpectedly emotional. Reflecting on my own lineage. How special it is to be one of the only queer people in your visible family history. How special, and how grounding, it would be to know you were not the first. But how would we ever know? How many stories were swallowed by time, by silence, by survival?
That moment felt expansive. It turned queerness from something isolated into something ancestral.
Then came the story of the trans person at the public pool, the scrutiny, the media noise, the rules about how bodies are allowed to present. It shifted the temperature of the room again. I felt frustrated. Deeply saddened. And a question rose up in me, unfiltered.
Why shouldn’t Andy just be Andy?
They are magnificent, in sheer stockings and a rock chick tee, red hair ablaze, in all their splendour. Why must there be commentary? Regulation? Debate?
Brand New Dress seduces you with comedy and fantasy, with dragons, balloons and boudoir screens, and then gently, sometimes sharply, reminds you what is at stake.
By the end, the dresses feel less like costumes and more like reclamation. Like history
rewritten in real time. Like someone choosing, deliberately and joyfully, to take up space.
I left feeling tender. Energised. A little raw. And fiercely protective.
Andy is magnificent. This show is for everyone, for the queer kids, the cautious uncles, the ones still figuring it out, and the ones who think they already have.
For more information on tickets click here
