Someone asked me at the Northcote Social Club last week whether running a record store in 2026 feels different from ten years ago. I said yes and no, which is the most unhelpful answer possible but also the most honest one. Some things have changed so much the shop would be unrecognisable to 2016 me. Other things haven’t moved a millimetre. Here’s my attempt at sorting out which is which.

What’s Changed: The Customers

The average age of my customers has dropped noticeably. Five years ago, the core customer base was people my age — late thirties to fifties, grew up with records, came back to them. They’re still here. But now there’s a solid contingent of people in their early twenties who grew up on streaming and are actively choosing vinyl as something different. Something physical and intentional.

They’re not “coming back” to records — they’re arriving for the first time. And they buy differently. Less browsing, more specific. They’ve heard something on a playlist, decided they want to own it properly, and come in looking for that title. The challenge is converting them from targeted buyers into browsers. Once they start flipping through racks, they’re hooked.

What’s Changed: The Economics

Vinyl prices have kept climbing. A standard new release LP was thirty to thirty-five dollars five years ago. Now it’s forty to fifty, and imports regularly push sixty or seventy. Manufacturing costs are real — pressing plant capacity is tight, raw materials have gone up, shipping hasn’t got any cheaper.

The downside is that impulse purchases have dropped. Nobody grabs three records on a whim when each one costs forty-eight bucks. They grab one and think about the other two for a week. Rent in Melbourne’s inner-north hasn’t got any cheaper either. Dead stock hurts more when your monthly rent could cover a deposit on a small car.

What’s Changed: Online Sales

When I started, online was a secondary channel at best. Now it’s a genuine chunk of revenue. Not the majority — the shop floor still does the heavy lifting — but enough that I can’t ignore it. Discogs, Bandcamp, and the store’s own website all contribute.

The weird thing about online sales is they’re almost entirely different stock from in-store sales. Online buyers tend to chase specific pressings, limited editions, imports. In-store buyers browse and discover. The two channels barely overlap. It’s almost like running two shops with different customers and different inventory strategies.

What’s Changed: Record Store Day

Record Store Day used to be the single biggest sales day of the year. It’s still big, but the hype has plateaued. Customers are more sceptical about exclusives. They’ve been burned by overpriced RSD releases they played once and shelved. The diehards still queue at 7am. The casual crowd has thinned.

What’s replaced that energy is smaller, more frequent in-store events. Listening parties. Local band performances. Tie-ins with venues like the Tote or the Curtin. Record Store Day is one big day. The rest of the year needs a different rhythm.

What Hasn’t Changed: Curation Is Everything

The single most important thing about running an independent record store is the same today as it was in 2004: you have to stock good records. Distributors will push you toward whatever has the biggest marketing spend. The temptation to fill your racks with safe, obvious stock is constant.

The shops that survive are the ones where someone has strong taste and isn’t afraid to back it. I’d rather have a smaller shop with a tightly curated selection than a warehouse full of everything. When every record in the new arrivals section is worth someone’s time, that’s trust. And trust is what brings them back.

What Hasn’t Changed: The Conversation

People still come in and talk about music. A bloke last week spent twenty minutes trying to convince me that “Screamadelica” is overrated. He was wrong, but the conversation was great.

No online platform replicates this. Comments sections aren’t conversations. Social media is performance. Standing in a record shop disagreeing passionately about something trivial — that’s irreplaceable. It’s why I opened the shop and it’s why I haven’t closed it.

What Hasn’t Changed: The Feeling

The best part of running a record store is still the same moment it’s always been. Someone walks in, spends twenty minutes browsing, picks up something they’ve never heard of, and you see the look on their face when they check it out at the counter. Half excitement, half uncertainty. They’re taking a chance on something. That’s the whole point. That hasn’t changed and it won’t.

The tools are different now. The prices are higher. The customers are younger. The rent is worse. But the core of it — good records, strong opinions, and a room full of music waiting for someone to find it — that’s exactly the same as it was twenty-two years ago when I signed the lease on my first shop. I wouldn’t have it any other way.