Papa Nui: The Atoll of Memory, Military History and the Making of John Tesoriero.

Most objects enter our lives quietly.

They are bought, carried, worn and eventually replaced, their significance measured largely by utility or fashion. Yet every so often an object refuses such an ordinary existence. It absorbs the marks of its owner, becoming less a possession than a companion. The softened brim of a favourite cap, the polished edge of a pocket knife, the hand-stitched repair on a jacket sleeve - these are not imperfections but evidence. They reveal where a person has been, what they have valued and, perhaps most importantly, what they have chosen to keep.

Long before archaeologists uncovered temples or historians pieced together chronicles, it was everyday artefacts that offered the clearest insight into human civilisation. Pottery fragments, worn leather sandals, navigational instruments and tools have always spoken with surprising clarity because they record life as it was lived rather than as it was intended to be remembered. Objects have an unusual honesty. They cannot embellish their own stories. They simply bear witness to them.

Fashion occasionally reaches this same territory, although rarely through fashion itself.

The garments that have endured across generations were seldom conceived as style. They were responses to landscape, labour, conflict and climate. Their proportions were determined by necessity; their beauty emerged later, almost accidentally. In time they became icons, not because they sought admiration, but because they solved problems with uncommon intelligence. Endurance, rather than novelty, became their defining quality.

This distinction feels increasingly significant.

Modern consumption often encourages us to mistake freshness for originality and abundance for choice. We speak constantly of innovation, yet some of the most thoughtful makers continue to look in the opposite direction, not in pursuit of nostalgia, but in search of enduring principles. They ask why certain ideas remain relevant, why particular objects continue to invite affection decades after they were first conceived, and what craftsmanship really means once marketing language has been stripped away.

It is within this quieter conversation that John Tesoriero has spent much of his life.

Through Papa Nui, he has assembled something that sits comfortably beyond the conventional boundaries of apparel. Military history, Pacific exploration, Japanese craftsmanship, Australian ingenuity and the deeply human impulse to personalise the things we own converge into a body of work that feels less like a fashion label than an evolving study of memory, place and identity. Each piece carries traces of these influences without becoming captive to any single one of them.

Perhaps that perspective could only emerge from Australia's edge of the Pacific.

Distance has long shaped the country's creative imagination. Removed from the established centres of fashion and design, Australian makers have often developed an instinctive independence, learning to trust observation over consensus and curiosity over convention. Isolation, while frequently viewed as a limitation, has also been a remarkable incubator for original thought. It rewards those willing to pursue ideas patiently, without waiting for permission or validation.

There is another influence running quietly through Papa Nui's story: Japan.

Some people saw Peter Sellers' wearing a dusty pink cap. John Tesoriero saw a story worth preserving.

Few cultures have cultivated a deeper appreciation for the relationship between utility and beauty. The notion that an object should become more meaningful through use rather than less is woven into Japanese craft traditions, where time is not considered an adversary but an essential collaborator. It is a philosophy that resonates throughout John's work. His garments are not intended to remain pristine. They are designed to accumulate character, to be repaired, adapted and ultimately shaped by the people who live in them.

It becomes clear, then, that Papa Nui is not really about clothing at all.

The garments are simply the visible artefacts of a much broader inquiry into curiosity, memory and the enduring dialogue between people and the objects they choose to carry through life. They invite us to look beyond appearance and consider what our possessions might one day reveal about us, long after they have outlasted the trends that first surrounded them.

Our conversation with John Tesoriero explores precisely that landscape. It is an exploration of history without nostalgia, craftsmanship without romanticism and independence without affectation. Above all, it is a reminder that the most compelling stories are seldom found in the extraordinary. More often, they reside quietly within the ordinary things that accompany us every day.

Looking back over the journey, do you feel that Papa Nui was something you consciously built, or something you gradually uncovered?

John Tesoriero: I honestly think I uncovered it.

When I first started, I thought I was simply making caps inspired by military history. Looking back now, I realise I was slowly excavating something that had been part of me for most of my life. Every war film I watched with my dad, every book I devoured, every vintage garment I handled, every conversation with collectors or veterans added another layer to what eventually became Papa Nui.

It has never really been about deciding what comes next. It's more like following a trail of breadcrumbs. Every collection answers one question only to create another five, sending me off on a completely different tangent.

In many ways, the metaphorical Atoll always existed. It simply took me nearly thirty years to accept where it was leading. Growing up in Australia shapes you in ways you don't fully appreciate until much later. On one hand, you live in one of the most extraordinary places on earth. On the other, you eventually realise just how isolated you are.

That distance forces you to develop ideas at your own pace. There isn't the constant noise or influence that comes from living in Europe or America. You're largely left alone with your thoughts, and that means creativity becomes a gradual process of discovery rather than something carefully planned from the outset.

Looking back, Papa Nui wasn't something I invented. It was something I slowly uncovered.

Papa Nui draws deeply from history, yet it never feels nostalgic in the conventional sense. What is it about the past that continues to capture your attention? Are you searching for lessons, aesthetics, stories, or something more elusive?

John Tesoriero: I'm not interested in recreating the past. Plenty of companies are already doing that, and for me it rarely adds anything new.

What interests me is understanding why something was made the way it was. Once you understand that, the obvious question becomes: if I had the opportunity to make it today, what would I contribute?

When you study wartime equipment, you quickly realise that necessity produces remarkably honest design. Every stitch, every pocket and every choice of material existed for a reason. But what fascinates me just as much is what happened afterwards.

Some of my favourite discoveries are old wartime photographs showing soldiers who had personalised their equipment - sewing on patches, modifying pockets, repairing garments or simply adapting things to suit themselves. Those small acts transformed standard issue into something deeply personal.

That idea sits right at the heart of Papa Nui. I make the object, but I want the owner to finish the story. Patch it. Repair it. Badge it. Wear it until it reflects your own life rather than mine.

We're surrounded by products that try very hard to appear authentic, but authenticity can't be manufactured. The originals never set out to become iconic. They simply solved problems exceptionally well.

Their beauty is a consequence of purpose, not the objective.

That's what keeps drawing me back. History continually reminds me that the most enduring design rarely begins with aesthetics. It begins with function, and over time it acquires character.

Your father's wartime experiences in the Pacific sit near the foundation of the Atoll. How has your understanding of those stories changed over the years? Has age brought new perspectives to the memories that originally inspired the project?

John Tesoriero: Absolutely.

When I was younger, I saw the adventure, and I think Dad did too. Unlike many veterans, he never carried bitterness about the war. In many respects, it became his escape from what he felt was a fairly restricted upbringing as the son of immigrant parents. Leaving Australia from the same docks where he'd arrived as a child was something he spoke about often.

But the lesson he carried with him wasn't really about conflict. It was about mateship and shared experience. The young men he served alongside remained close friends for the rest of his life.

As I've grown older, I've come to appreciate a very different side of those stories.

Dad was only eighteen when he enlisted. Reading his diary today, I'm struck by how young he really was. His entries aren't filled with heroics. They're full of the same hopes, worries and insecurities you'd expect from any teenager. What continues to fascinate me is how an entire generation was asked to grow up under extraordinary circumstances.

He often spoke about the Pacific campaign with a sense of adventure, but beneath those stories sat another reality - the relentless heat, disease, endless waiting and uncertainty of jungle warfare. As I've aged, I've become less interested in the mythology of war and much more interested in its humanity.

There are photographs of Dad on the beaches of Bougainville during quieter moments that have stayed with me for years. Palm trees, vintage swimwear, an Australian slouch hat - those images probably capture the visual language of Papa Nui more than anything else.

Over time, the project has become less about commemorating the Second World War and more about understanding the people who lived through it.

History isn't made by legends. It's made by ordinary people whose lives, decisions and experiences quietly shape everything that follows.

Papa Nui exists in a space between military history, Japanese craft philosophy, Pacific geography and contemporary menswear. How do you personally hold all of those references together without it becoming pastiche?

John Tesoriero: I don’t really think of them as separate things.

They’re all connected through lived experience, observation and curiosity. I’ve never approached it like a design exercise where I’m pulling references from different places to build a collection. It’s more that I’ve spent a lifetime collecting ideas, objects, books, photographs and stories, and over time they’ve naturally formed a kind of internal map.

The Atoll is really just a way of organising that map.

It’s not a literal place, obviously. It’s a mental landscape where all of those influences can exist without needing to be forced into a trend cycle or a seasonal narrative. One day I might be looking at a Japanese naval photograph from the 1930s, the next it could be a piece of Australian wartime kit or a piece of vintage American workwear. I don’t separate them in my mind because they all speak to the same underlying thing - how people adapt to their environment.

What I try to avoid is decoration for its own sake.

If something doesn’t have a reason to exist, it usually doesn’t make it through the process. I’m far more interested in the logic behind an object than how it looks on a mood board.

Once you understand why something existed, the form usually follows quite naturally.

That’s what keeps it from becoming pastiche. It’s not about copying aesthetics. It’s about understanding function and context first, and letting the design emerge from that.

You’ve often referenced Japan and its approach to utility and imperfection. How has that philosophy shaped your own understanding of making?

John Tesoriero: Japan gave me language for things I already felt but hadn’t articulated.

When I first started travelling there and studying their approach to objects, I was struck by how much respect there is for use. Things aren’t meant to stay perfect. They’re meant to be handled, repaired, worn and lived with. There’s a dignity in that.

In Western consumer culture, we’re often taught to see wear as deterioration. In Japan, particularly through craft traditions, wear is part of the story. It’s not something to hide - it’s something to acknowledge.

That idea changed how I think about my own work.

I don’t design things to remain untouched. I design them to age. To evolve. To gather marks that I could never predict at the point of creation.

There’s also a humility in Japanese craft that I really admire. The maker isn’t trying to impose themselves on the object. They’re trying to understand the material, understand its limits, and work within those boundaries.

That approach resonates with me deeply.

It’s very similar to how I think about Papa Nui. I’m not trying to control every outcome. I’m trying to set something in motion and allow it to develop its own character over time.

Australia sits in an interesting position culturally - geographically distant from traditional fashion centres but creatively independent in its own way. Has that distance influenced how you built Papa Nui?

John Tesoriero: Without question.

Growing up in Australia, you’re always aware that you’re a long way from the places where a lot of these conversations originate. That can feel like a disadvantage when you’re younger, but over time you realise it gives you a kind of freedom.

You’re not constantly reacting to what’s happening elsewhere because by the time it reaches you, it’s already filtered through distance.

That means you have to develop your own instincts.

You can’t rely on proximity or access in the same way. You end up reading more, looking more closely at things, and forming opinions based on observation rather than influence.

Papa Nui could only have come out of that environment.

It’s not trying to compete with anyone. It’s not trying to sit within a system. It’s more personal than that. It’s the result of someone following a very specific set of interests over a long period of time without really asking whether they fit into a broader category.

And I think that’s important.

Because once you start designing for categories, you stop designing from curiosity.

For me, curiosity has always been the only constant.

There is a strong sense of narrative embedded in Papa Nui - almost as if each piece belongs to a wider world. Do you see yourself as a designer, or something closer to a storyteller working through objects?

John Tesoriero: I’ve never really been comfortable with the word designer.

It suggests a level of control and finality that doesn’t quite reflect how I work. I don’t start with a fixed outcome in mind. I start with an idea, a photograph, a piece of history, or sometimes just a question, and I let it unfold from there.

Storytelling feels closer to it, but even that isn’t quite right.

I think of it more as assembling fragments. Each object carries a piece of a much larger narrative, but that narrative is never complete. It keeps evolving as people wear and use the pieces.

Once something leaves my hands, it stops being mine in any meaningful sense.

That’s the part I find most interesting - when the object starts developing its own life through the people who interact with it.

The Atoll has become central to the language of Papa Nui. How should people understand it - is it a place, a philosophy, or something more abstract?

John Tesoriero: It’s not a place in any literal sense.

It started as a way of making sense of all the different influences I was working with, but over time it became something more like a framework for thinking.

An atoll is interesting because it’s formed over time through accumulation. It’s not built in one moment. It’s the result of countless small contributions that eventually create something visible.

That idea really resonates with me.

The Atoll in Papa Nui is the same. It’s built from fragments of history, memory, geography, objects and ideas. It’s not fixed. It shifts as I discover new things.

In a way, it’s a reflection of how I see the world. Nothing exists in isolation. Everything is connected, even if those connections aren’t immediately obvious.

Many of the references in your work come from military archives and historical imagery. How do you approach using such material without turning it into nostalgia or repetition?

John Tesoriero: I try to avoid treating history as something to be recreated.

For me, the value of archives isn’t in copying them. It’s in understanding the conditions they came from. What was actually happening at the time? What constraints were people working within? What problems were they trying to solve?

Once you understand that, you can start to see patterns that still apply today.

I’m far more interested in those underlying principles than the surface aesthetics.

Nostalgia can be a trap. It tends to flatten everything into a single emotional tone. But history is never like that. It’s messy, practical, and often quite ordinary.

If you respect that ordinariness, you avoid turning it into a costume.

Finally, after decades of building Papa Nui, what keeps you returning to it? What is still unresolved for you?

John Tesoriero: Curiosity, mainly.

I still feel like I’m only just scratching the surface of what I’m interested in. Every time I think I understand something, I come across another photograph, another object, another story that changes my perspective slightly.

That’s what keeps it alive for me.

There’s no final version of Papa Nui. There’s no point where it’s finished.

It just keeps unfolding.

And I think that’s how it should be.

If it ever felt complete, I’d probably stop.

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Words and questions by AW.

Photo of Peter Sellers playing the character Aldo Vanucci (who poses as the glamorous film director "Federico Fabrizi") - a promotional production still taken during the filming of the 1966 Italian-American comedy movie After the Fox (Caccia alla volpe), courtesy of United Artists.