It’s strange reporting on someone you once knew, someone who existed in an entirely different context before they became a headline.
That’s exactly how it has felt watching the downfall of the young woman now dubbed ‘Melbourne‘s meth queen’: Tess Rowlatt.
To me, she wasn’t always that person.
We grew up in Melbourne in that cliquey south-eastern suburbs ecosystem of private schools, public schools, and the social overlap that comes with both.
She went to Canterbury Girls’ Secondary College. I was at Methodist Ladies’ College.
Different schools, but the same house parties and later nightclubs.
While we were never close, we drank at the same ‘gatherings’ – the kind where teenagers canoodled around the side of the house and the hosts’ parents would peer out the window to ‘keep an eye on things’.
If you’re a Millennial, you’ll probably remember these sorts of parties: girls in miniskirts and singlets in the middle of winter, drinking Passion Pop and smoking – or, more accurately, coughing on – Marlboro Lights.
Melbourne party girl Tess Rowlatt has pleaded guilty to trafficking meth. A Corrections Victoria support worker described her in court as ‘quite middle-class’, unlike others in prison
I remember the nickname some girls at my school had for Rowlatt: ‘Food-in-Braces Tess’
In her early university days, she re-emerged with a ‘glow-up’ that attracted attention, driven by drastic weight loss that was widely thought to be an eating disorder
I remember the nickname some girls at my school had for Rowlatt: ‘Food-in-Braces Tess’. It wasn’t especially clever, but it would have cut deep for an insecure teenage girl whose whole world revolved around how she looked.
In her early university days, she re-emerged with a ‘glow-up’ that attracted attention, driven by drastic weight loss that was widely thought to be an eating disorder.
One friend described the ‘super toxic’ pressure Rowlatt exerted on her inner circle as she encouraged them to eat less, like she did, and criticised perfectly healthy bodies.
‘Tess was manipulative and controlling,’ she told me.
And then there was the partying.
She was a party girl going back to the era when endless photo albums were uploaded to Facebook the morning after a forgettable Saturday night at the club.
Rowlatt was always front and centre, glass in hand, pupils as big as saucers.
We crossed paths in the same ‘high-end’ but drug‑soaked clubs – QBar, Prince, Seven, Boutique – during those fun, chaotic nights before any of us had real responsibilities like full‑time jobs or rent.
Like many, she dabbled in party drugs. It was hardly a secret, nor scandalous. But unlike most, she didn’t stop. She escalated from pingers to harder drugs.
She was a party girl going back to the era when endless photo albums were uploaded to Facebook the morning after a forgettable Saturday night at the club
She was a regular at St Kilda club Prince’s ‘side bar’, often found dancing behind the DJ
Tess is pictured in the QBar nightclub bathrooms on a Thursday night
Am I surprised that her drug use descended to a life of crime? Absolutely.
Plenty of us flirted with that lifestyle; most of us grew out of it.
We were all reckless at 19, but none of us wound up running a drug operation or fleeing from a bikie-linked vehicle in the middle of the night carrying bags of meth.
And yet, that’s exactly where Rowlatt has landed.
I never imagined that someone I knew, someone from a loving, upper-middle-class family who grew up in suburban Canterbury would spiral into meth addiction, let alone build a reputation as a serious drug trafficker.
But I’m reminded that meth doesn’t discriminate, even against those from good families with all the opportunities we were given.
In the years since, we’ve remained connected through social media.
There were stretches when she disappeared – in jail, as I would later learn – and then reappeared, posting as if nothing had happened.
I suspect she doesn’t entirely hate the attention that now surrounds her.
Last year, I read that she had been forced out of a rehabilitation centre after being caught vaping, intimidating other patients, and refusing to participate – basically trying to play the queen bee all over again, just like she had tried to do in high school.
We crossed paths in the same ‘high-end’ but drug‑soaked clubs – QBar, Prince, Seven, Boutique – during those fun, chaotic nights before any of us had real responsibilities
Rowlatt grew up in well-heeled Canterbury. The family home was sold after she left high school and her parents no longer live there
And after her drug use and offending became widely known, I couldn’t help but notice how she presented herself online: racy outfits, nights out at upmarket restaurants.
Something didn’t add up.
Now 36, Rowlatt recently fronted the Melbourne County Court after being caught bolting from a black BMW X5 in Southbank just before 1am on August 16 last year.
Police had flagged the vehicle due to its links to someone with a firearm prohibition order and outlaw motorcycle gang associations. When officers attempted to pull it over, the car stopped and Rowlatt fled.
Police didn’t chase the car. They chased her instead, and she didn’t get far.
Caught near Southside Tower on Sturt Street, she was arrested carrying more than 100g of meth in her handbag, along with 1,4-butanediol (a solvent that converts into the party drug GHB), $750 in cash and bank cards in other people’s names.
The court heard Rowlatt had a 17-year history of drug abuse which began when she was 19. Rowlatt graduated from Canterbury Girls school in 2007 (right, as a school girl)
Rowlatt is seen left, alongside a friend, in a public Facebook upload from May 2024
Later, the court heard she had a 17-year history of drug abuse, beginning at just 19.
Her prior offending is extensive – including running a drug operation across 16 Melbourne Airbnbs in 2021. She moved between properties using fake IDs, allegedly facilitating deals worth tens of thousands of dollars.
She would serve just 419 days in jail.
Even more astonishing is what followed.
After a February 2024 sentencing, she was assessed as being at low risk of reoffending. She completed just a single day of rehabilitation. Her 400 hours of community service were allowed to be done from home.
During her most recent day in court, Judge Duncan Allen acknowledged the ‘abject failure’ of the system that had allowed Rowlatt to relapse into drugs and offending.
Having pleaded guilty to trafficking meth and dealing with the proceeds of crime, she is now behind bars at the Dame Phyllis Frost Centre – the same women’s prison that houses mushroom‑killer Erin Patterson – and has spent more than 200 days there, including stretches under lockdown because of staff shortages.
Last week, a Corrections Victoria support worker told the court that ‘middle-class’ Rowlatt seemed more serious than ever about rehabilitation.
But even that came with doubt, given the same worker also admitted that Rowlatt had previously lied to psychologists about her drug use.
As I read the latest updates, I couldn’t help but think back to the Noughties: Tess the awkward teenager with too much bronzer. A textbook Millennial party girl. The nasty nickname. Her toxic influence on friends. The disordered eating.
None of it seemed particularly extraordinary at the time.
And yet, somewhere along the way, something went very wrong.
The girl from those suburban house parties is now a criminal facing serious time. Her matter returns to court on April 30, when it will be decided if her future is in prison or a drug rehabilitation facility.
