Our story — Meet Jennifer
I spent nearly a decade working in corporate law in Sydney, mostly staring at contracts under bad fluorescent lights. It paid well, but by my early 30s, I was inching toward burnout without even realising it. A trip to the Mornington Peninsula in 2017 was meant to be a quick getaway, but I kept thinking about how much simpler everything felt down here. By 2018, I’d left my job, packed up my apartment, and moved south for good.
At first, I didn’t have a plan. I took odd jobs — cutting fruit at the Red Hill market, organising books at a second-hand shop in Sorrento — anything that didn’t involve a desk. I started tinkering at home with some old fabrics I found at the Tyabb Packing House, and it reminded me how much I used to love making things as a kid. That’s when the idea started forming, though it wasn’t a business yet.
I officially started Prism Goods in late 2020, running it out of my tiny rental in Rosebud. I taught myself the basics of running a business by watching YouTube videos and reading government guides, and found my first suppliers by emailing small-scale glass blowers and mills across Victoria. My first batch of products sold at the weekly Emu Plains market — I made $720 that day and cried in the car after. Silly now, but it felt huge at the time.
Today, Prism Goods is still based here on the Mornington Peninsula, now in a bigger workshop just outside Dromana. It’s still a small team, and I’m still learning every day. Most of our materials come from Australian suppliers, and every product we sell is something I’d want to use myself. Nothing too complicated, just good things made well.
— Thanks for being here — Jennifer, Jennifer Lee Segail
Journal
Why I Left Sydney for Knit Blankets
I spent more time with spreadsheets than sunlight — the blankets became a quiet way to fix that.
I used to work in a high-rise in Sydney. Floor-to-ceiling windows, but I barely noticed the view for years. Most of my days were spent staring at a screen, calculating risks or managing someone else's emergencies. I didn’t hate it exactly, but I never quite knew when my job became my entire personality.
When the burn-out finally caught up with me, I started knitting. It was just something to keep my hands busy on the weekends. The first blanket I made was full of holes and took me three months. But the process was calming — something about the rhythm, tangible progress row after row.
After moving to the Mornington Peninsula, I realised I wanted my work to feel like those blankets: deliberate, warm, and made with time instead of urgency. Now, I work with a small mill in Victoria to create the Koala Knit Throws. They’re spun from Australian wool and designed to feel soft but durable, something you can actually use.
The business started slow, mostly because I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m still learning — every new project feels like a small experiment. But standing in the sun while unpacking a shipment or photographing new colours on the grass beats conference calls any day.
I still have that first blanket, by the way. It’s useless and scratchy, but I can’t bring myself to throw it out. It’s a reminder that sometimes the messiest beginnings lead to something better.
How to Properly Care for Silk Sleep Masks
Silk can feel delicate, but it’s actually tougher than it looks. Here’s how I keep my sleep mask in shape.
The Silk Sleep Mask in Midnight Blue is my favourite product, mainly because I originally designed it for myself. I’m a terrible sleeper, and this was my experiment to see if I could trick my brain into relaxing at night. It works surprisingly well, but sometimes customers ask how to keep it clean without ruining the fabric.
Silk is strong, but it doesn’t like heat or harsh detergents. I hand-wash mine every two weeks, although some people prefer weekly. Use cold water and a tiny bit of neutral detergent — I’ve been using Ecostore’s wool & delicates wash for years. Work it through gently, rinse well, and don’t wring it out.
To dry, I press it between two clean towels to remove excess water. Then I lay it flat on a drying rack, making sure it’s out of direct sunlight. It dries quickly, usually in half a day. Silk hates UV, so it’s worth finding a shady spot.
As for storage, I keep mine in a small cotton bag when I’m not using it. It stops dust and oils from building up. People often ask about ironing silk — you can, but use the lowest setting and iron on the reverse side. I rarely bother, since the mask creases naturally when worn anyway.
At this point, my original prototype mask is over two years old and still going strong. With a bit of gentle care, silk holds up much better than you’d think. Plus, there’s something satisfying about keeping something for years instead of replacing it every season.
Where Our Bamboo Toothbrushes Are Made
Our bamboo toothbrushes come from a family-run workshop in Daylesford — they’re not mass-produced, and that’s deliberate.
I knew I wanted to offer toothbrushes early on. It sounds odd, but moving out of the city made me hyper-aware of the disposable plastic I used every day. Bamboo toothbrushes were my first swap, and they slowly replaced those little wasteful habits I rarely questioned before.
I work with a small family-run workshop in Daylesford to make the toothbrushes. Greg, the owner, sources the bamboo from local growers in Victoria. He’s been in the woodcraft business for over 30 years. We met at a farmers market, and I ended up driving back three times just to convince him to make brushes for Prism Goods.
The bamboo they use is a fast-growing variety called Phyllostachys edulis. It’s dense, naturally antibacterial, and holds up well in bathrooms (even mine, which is permanently damp no matter what I do). The handles are carved in small batches of around 200 at a time.
We don’t add any varnishes or unnecessary treatments. The bristles are made from castor oil-based nylon, which isn’t perfect but better than the alternative. I’ve tried natural bristles, but they tend to shed — not ideal when you’re brushing your teeth. The castor nylon strikes a balance between practicality and reducing plastic.
I drive out to Daylesford every couple of months to pick up the new stock. I still find it surreal that something so simple can feel so considered. They’re toothbrushes, after all. But knowing exactly who made them makes them feel less like products and more like… objects I can actually respect.
Autumn Colours on the Mornington Peninsula
This time of year reminds me why I moved here — everything slows down, even the trees.
April and May are my favourite months on the Mornington Peninsula. The air gets cooler, but it’s not freezing yet. You’ll still see people walking along the beach in light jumpers, and the sunsets somehow feel warmer, even when the temperature drops.
I spend a lot of autumn outside, mostly on the property. We have a small patch of silver birches near the edge of the garden, and their leaves turn this sharp, rusted yellow every year. We don’t have the dramatic autumns of Europe or Tasmania, but there’s enough colour to feel the season changing.
This is the time of year when the Koala Knit Throws start flying out the door. I think people instinctively want heavier textures when it gets colder. I’ve been experimenting with a new shade for next year, a deep burnt orange that matches the trees just before they drop their leaves.
I also notice customers buying more sleep masks in autumn. Maybe it’s the darker mornings or just wanting to feel more tucked in at night. Either way, I like the idea that products I make might be part of someone’s slower, cosier routine this time of year.
When the day’s done, I make a habit of sitting on the front porch with a cup of tea. No emails, no phone — just the sound of the wind picking up and the occasional magpie song. It’s a small ritual, but autumn feels like the right time to hold onto the quiet moments.
What I Learned Photographing Glass Vases
Glass might look simple, but photographing it is anything but. It took me 200 photos to get 5 usable ones.
The Aurora Glass Vase is one of my favourite designs, but also the hardest to photograph. It’s simple — clear glass, curved edges, subtle colours — which means there’s nowhere to hide when it comes to lighting. Every reflection, fingerprint, or odd glare shows up immediately.
I’m not a professional photographer, so I had a steep learning curve. For starters, daylight is both your best friend and worst enemy. Too much, and the glass looks blown out. Too little, and it just disappears into the background. I ended up taking most of the photos around 3 PM on overcast days — a happy medium.
Then there’s the background. I tried white poster board, but it reflected back into the glass and made it look cloudy. Darker colours made the vase pop more, but they also highlighted every speck of dust. In the end, I settled on a pale eucalyptus green fabric, which felt soft enough without competing with the vase.
The first photo shoot took three hours and resulted in 200 photos, most of which were terrible. I forgot to clean the glass properly, so every smudge was magnified. I also underestimated how quickly the light changes in winter — by the end of the shoot, everything looked grey and flat.
After many failed attempts, I now have a system: clean thoroughly, use diffused natural light, and work fast. I’m not sure I’ll ever enjoy photographing glass, but I do appreciate it more. It’s humbling, in a way — a reminder that even the smallest details deserve your full attention.
Why I Chose Recycled Packaging for Shipping
I’ve swapped all our shipping materials to recycled cardboard — not perfect, but a step better than plastic.
For a long time, I used standard bubble mailers to ship Prism Goods orders. They were cheap and reliable, but I hated how much plastic I was sending out into the world. Every time I saw the pile of discarded packaging in my own bin, I felt a bit sick.
Last month, I switched to 100% recycled cardboard boxes and paper tape. It’s not a revolutionary move — lots of small businesses are doing it now — but it felt like the smallest concrete step I could take without over-complicating things. The cost is about 20% higher, but it’s worth it.
I source the boxes from a small supplier in Bayswater, who uses Australian-made recycled materials. They’re sturdy enough to survive the post without needing any padding, which means less waste on both ends. The tape is water-activated, which took me a while to get used to, but it’s actually much stronger than plastic tape.
I know recycled doesn’t mean perfect. It still takes energy and resources to produce, and if people don’t recycle it properly, it can end up in landfill anyway. But for now, it feels like a better compromise than sending out more shiny, indestructible plastic mailers.
The upside is the packaging fits better with what I want Prism Goods to feel like — practical, useful, and a little more thoughtful. I don’t expect customers to notice the details, but I like knowing they’re there. Small changes matter, even if they’re just mine to notice.
Spring Cleaning: Freshening Up Your Favourites
Spring’s a good time to reset — here’s how I refresh my silk masks and wool throws for the season.
Spring on the Mornington Peninsula comes with smells. Freshly cut grass, wattle flowers, sea salt on the wind. It’s the season where I throw open the windows and shake the dust out, both literally and figuratively.
I use this time to refresh my own products. Wool throws like the Koala Knit Blanket need some air after a long winter. I drape mine over the clothesline for a couple of hours on a sunny day, which helps remove any mustiness. If your throw has picked up any stubborn odours, a plain old sprinkle of baking soda works wonders. Just vacuum it off after letting it sit for an hour or so.
Silk Sleep Masks also get a little TLC. A gentle hand wash with cold water and a few drops of detergent brings them back to life. I usually do this in the sink, then let them dry flat on a towel in the shade.
For storage, I keep wool in fabric bags with a couple of cedar blocks to ward off moths. Silk doesn’t need much, but I try to keep it away from direct sunlight to avoid fading. Spring sunlight is strong, and I’ve learned the hard way with a few ruined prototypes.
It’s a small ritual, like resetting for the months ahead. I don’t think you need to go overboard, but a bit of care here and there makes these pieces last longer. And honestly, there’s something satisfying about knowing the objects you use every day are clean and ready for a fresh season.
The Drive to Daylesford and Back Again
Driving to Daylesford for toothbrush stock has become one of my favourite small rituals in this business.
I drive up to Daylesford every couple of months to pick up bamboo toothbrushes from Greg’s workshop. It’s a two-hour trip each way, which sounds tiring, but I actually look forward to it. There’s something nice about stepping out of my usual routine for a day.
The route takes me through a mix of countryside and small towns. I usually stop in Ballan for coffee at a little place called The Tin Plate. It’s nothing fancy, but they do a great flat white and sell homemade sausage rolls. If I’m early, I’ll sit outside and watch the locals go by.
Greg’s workshop is tucked away behind his house. It’s small but perfectly organised — rows of bamboo rods cut to size, jigs ready to shape the handles, and a radio playing softly in the background. We make small talk while he loads up the car, mostly about the weather or how his footy team’s doing.
On the way back, I sometimes detour through Hepburn Springs. There’s a mineral spring there where you can fill up a bottle if you bring one. The water tastes slightly metallic, but I like the ritual of it. Plus, it’s free, which feels like a small win in a world that charges for everything.
By the time I’m home, it’s usually dark. The car smells vaguely of bamboo, and I’m tired, but it’s a satisfying kind of tired. Small businesses are full of these odd, repetitive trips. They don’t feel significant, but they quietly make up the bones of your work.