The countdown is on for SexEx Australia, the adult lifestyle expo set to return to Melbourne in early 2026, and for many Australians it feels less like a brand-new event than a long-overdue revival. For nearly three decades, SEXPO was a fixture of Australia’s cultural fringe: loud, cheeky, occasionally controversial, and unapologetically horny. Now, as SexEx prepares to open its doors, it is doing so in the long shadow of SEXPO’s legacy—one that says as much about changing attitudes to sex, bodies, and pleasure as it does about the adult industry itself.
SEXPO was born in the mid-1990s, first held in Melbourne in 1996, at a time when Australia was renegotiating its relationship with sex in public space. The AIDS crisis had forced frank conversations about sexual health, feminist debates about agency and objectification were colliding in the mainstream, and the adult retail industry was stepping out from behind the beaded curtain. SEXPO arrived as a hybrid: part trade fair, part carnival, part sex education forum. It combined sex toys, lingerie, and wellness products with live stage shows, workshops on everything from tantra to kink safety, and appearances by porn stars, sex workers, and relationship educators.
For many first-time visitors, SEXPO was a revelation. It wasn’t just about titillation—though there was plenty of that—but about visibility. Couples wandered the aisles hand in hand, queer communities claimed space, and women increasingly became the core consumer base rather than silent companions. In an Australian cultural context that values irreverence and informality, SEXPO leaned into a larrikin (cheeky rule-breaker) energy. It was sex without the whispering, pleasure without the apology. As Aussies might say, it told shame to “rack off” (go away).
At its peak, SEXPO toured regularly through Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane, and Perth, drawing tens of thousands of visitors each year. It also exported the concept overseas, proving that an Australian-born adult expo could travel. But over time, the cracks showed. Rising venue costs, changing regulations, shifting online retail habits, and the COVID-era disruption all took their toll. By the mid-2020s, the original Australian SEXPO brand had entered liquidation, leaving a noticeable gap in the adult lifestyle calendar.
Enter SexEx. Promoted by figures closely associated with SEXPO’s earlier years, SexEx positions itself not as a nostalgic rerun but as a reboot for a different era. The organisers promise an inclusive, modern adult lifestyle expo that reflects contemporary conversations around consent, gender diversity, sex positivity, and mental wellbeing—while still keeping the fun front and centre. In classic Australian fashion, the tone is “no worries, but let’s do it properly”: pleasure with professionalism, education without preachiness.
The timing matters. Australia has seen a noticeable mainstreaming of sex-positive culture in recent years, from the boom in boutique sex shops and retreats to open discussions of non-monogamy, kink, and menopause sex in major media outlets. Younger audiences expect inclusivity as a baseline, not a bonus, while older visitors are often returning with a more confident sense of what they want. SexEx arrives into this landscape aiming to be less sideshow and more cultural mirror.
Yet the DNA of SEXPO is unmistakable. The emphasis on live entertainment, the mix of shopping and learning, and the idea that sexuality belongs in shared public space rather than behind closed doors all echo its predecessor. What has changed is the framing. Where SEXPO once shocked simply by existing, SexEx must now justify itself through values: safety, diversity, and respect alongside spectacle.
For many Australians, that evolution feels right. SEXPO was a product of its time—bold, messy, sometimes problematic, but undeniably important. SexEx inherits that legacy with the task of updating it for a generation that still loves a good time but expects accountability along with excitement. Or, in plain Aussie terms, it’s about having a bloody good time without being a dick about it.
I’m packing. Properly packing. Not just throwing a lipstick and righteous indignation into a tote, but actually choosing shoes I can stand in for hours, something stretchy enough for long conversations, and an outfit that says “curious auntie” rather than “undercover cop.” Because SexEx is coming, and curiosity—sweet, stubborn curiosity—is my mantra.
Let’s be honest: I’ve seen a lot. I’ve marched, debated, facilitated workshops where everyone pretended not to blush, and sat through panels where men explained women’s bodies to women. So no, I’m not heading to an adult lifestyle expo clutching my pearls. I’m going because I want to see what people are talking about now, what pleasure looks like in public space in 2026, and how far we’ve come since the SEXPO days when half the crowd came to gawk and the other half came to learn something they were never taught at school.
SEXPO, for all its flaws, cracked something open in Australia. It said sex could be discussed out loud, with humour, with awkward questions, with bodies of all shapes wandering around without apology. SexEx promises to be its shinier, more self-aware descendant, and frankly, I’m curious to see if it delivers. Less boys’ club, more grown-up conversation. Less shock for shock’s sake, more “oh, that’s interesting—I didn’t know that.”
And yes, I might even learn a new thing or two. At my age, that’s a gift. Learning means I’m still alive to surprise, still open to being wrong, still capable of adjusting my feminism when the world shifts. Maybe I’ll hear younger people talk about pleasure in ways that make me rethink old binaries. Maybe I’ll pick up a new term, a new practice, or just a better way of explaining consent that doesn’t sound like a legal disclaimer.
I’m also going to observe. Who feels welcome? Who doesn’t? Whose bodies are celebrated, whose are still side-eyed? Australia likes to think of itself as laid-back and progressive, but put sex in the room and suddenly everyone shows their tells. SexEx, for me, is a cultural mirror as much as a playground.
So yes, I’m packing. With curiosity, with affection, with a healthy dose of scepticism. I’ll wander the aisles, chat to strangers, probably roll my eyes at least once, and hopefully smile more than that. If I come home having learned nothing new, fine—I’ll still have confirmed what we already know. But if I walk out thinking differently, feeling braver, or just a bit more generous about how people seek pleasure, then it’ll have been worth the trip.
After all, curiosity keeps us young. And Auntie is not done yet.