It can be done at home, in privacy. Within 15 minutes it gives a result.
In the quiet arithmetic of public health, New South Wales confronts a paradox: a state that has nearly mastered the treatment of a known disease still cannot fully account for those who carry it unknowingly. The MyTest vending machine — placed in train stations and discreet public spaces across NSW — offers anonymous, fifteen-minute HIV testing to reach the estimated eight percent of people living with HIV who remain undiagnosed. It is a modest-looking device in service of an ambitious moral goal: that no one should be left outside the boundary of their own health knowledge. The machines represent a quiet acknowledgment that the path to eliminating HIV transmission by 2030 runs not through hospitals alone, but through the ordinary, unhurried moments of daily life.
- NSW has achieved a 99% treatment and viral suppression rate among diagnosed individuals — yet an estimated 8% of people living with HIV in the state still don't know they have it, quietly sustaining the chain of transmission.
- New HIV diagnoses are shifting beyond traditional demographics, rising among heterosexual and multicultural communities, with people acquiring the virus overseas and returning home through the ordinary movement of migration and family.
- Conventional clinics carry barriers — stigma, language, irregular hours, unfamiliarity — that quietly exclude the very people most at risk, leaving a gap that appointment-based healthcare cannot close on its own.
- MyTest machines offer a fingerprick test, complete privacy, and a result in fifteen minutes, with multilingual resources — deliberately placed to be findable without being conspicuous, designed to reach shift workers, recent arrivals, and the housing-insecure.
- Early data from existing sites shows the machines are working as intended: nearly 60% of users at one Kings Cross location came from high-prevalence countries, suggesting the technology is finding those traditional services miss.
- Each anonymous test result — reactive or not — moves NSW one person closer to the 2030 elimination target, shrinking the eight percent gap through small, private acts of self-knowledge.
New South Wales is deploying an unlikely instrument in its campaign to eliminate HIV transmission by 2030: a machine that resembles a vending unit but dispenses something far more consequential — knowledge about your own health. The MyTest device, now operating in St George and other locations across the state, allows anyone to perform an anonymous fingerprick HIV test in complete privacy and receive a result within fifteen minutes. No appointment, no receptionist, no waiting room.
The machines address a stubborn gap in an otherwise impressive public health record. Among people already diagnosed with HIV in NSW, 99 percent are on treatment and 99 percent of those have reached an undetectable viral load — the threshold at which the virus cannot be passed to others. But health authorities estimate that 8 percent of people living with HIV in the state remain undiagnosed, unaware of their status and their health trajectory. For a state targeting elimination, that gap is the problem.
Placement has been deliberate: discreet enough for privacy, visible enough to be found. Data from existing machines in Kings Cross showed that nearly 60 percent of users came from countries with higher HIV prevalence — evidence the devices are reaching people that traditional clinic hours and conventional healthcare settings tend to miss. Shift workers, people without stable housing, recent arrivals unfamiliar with the Australian health system, and those for whom entering a sexual health clinic carries stigma or fear are all part of the intended audience.
The epidemiology is also shifting. NSW recorded 211 new HIV diagnoses in 2025, down from 237 the previous year. While men who have sex with men still account for roughly 75 percent of diagnoses, heterosexual transmission is rising — particularly in multicultural communities, often linked to travel or migration from neighboring countries experiencing their own surges. Multilingual resources accompany each machine in recognition of this reality.
What the machines ultimately offer is permission — to test without suspicion, to know without shame. If a result is reactive, a well-functioning treatment system already exists to absorb that person. If it is non-reactive, the individual gains information to protect themselves and others. Either way, the eight percent gap narrows by one.
New South Wales is rolling out a deceptively simple tool in its bid to eliminate HIV transmission by 2030: a machine that looks like it belongs in a train station, but dispenses something far more consequential than a coffee or a snack.
The MyTest device has arrived in St George and other locations across the state, offering what amounts to anonymous, on-demand HIV testing. A person walks up, performs a fingerprick test in complete privacy, blots blood onto paper, and waits fifteen minutes for a result. No appointment. No receptionist. No waiting room where someone might recognize you. Phillip Read, who directs Sexual Health and Blood Borne Virus Services for NSW Health, describes it in deliberately plain terms: it works like a vending machine, except what it dispenses is knowledge about your own body.
The machines exist because of a stubborn gap in an otherwise strong public health picture. NSW has achieved something remarkable among people who know they have HIV: 99 percent are on treatment, and 99 percent of those have achieved an undetectable viral load—the threshold at which the virus cannot be transmitted to others. But that denominator matters. Health authorities estimate that only 92 percent of people living with HIV in New South Wales actually know their status. Eight percent remain in the dark, potentially unaware they carry a virus they might transmit, unaware of their own health trajectory. For a state aiming at elimination, that gap is the problem the machines are meant to close.
The placement of each device has been deliberate. Read notes they sit in locations that are discreet enough to protect privacy but visible enough to be found. The thinking draws from data collected at existing test sites in places like Kings Cross, where nearly 60 percent of people using the machines came from countries where HIV prevalence is higher. The machines, in other words, are reaching people that traditional healthcare hours and conventional clinics might miss—shift workers, people without stable housing, recent arrivals unfamiliar with the health system, people for whom walking into a sexual health clinic carries its own weight of stigma or fear.
The epidemiology itself is shifting. In 2025, NSW recorded 211 new HIV diagnoses, down from 237 the year before—a modest decline, but a decline nonetheless. The disease is no longer concentrated in a single demographic. While roughly 75 percent of diagnoses still occur among men who have sex with men, the proportion of heterosexual diagnoses is rising, particularly in multicultural communities. Read points to a pattern: people acquiring HIV overseas, in neighboring countries experiencing their own surges—Fiji, Papua New Guinea, parts of Southeast Asia—and returning home. The virus travels with migration, with family visits, with the ordinary movement of people across borders.
What the machines offer, then, is not just a test but a kind of permission. Read speaks about normalizing the act of testing itself, stripping away the assumption that getting tested means you have reason to suspect something. The multilingual resources available with each machine acknowledge another reality: the people most likely to use them may not be native English speakers, may come from healthcare systems vastly different from Australia's, may carry different assumptions about privacy, about disease, about what it means to know your status.
The path to elimination runs through these small moments of access. A person walks up to a machine in a discreet location. They perform a test in privacy. Fifteen minutes later, they know. If the result is reactive, they have a pathway to care that already exists and works—the 99 percent treatment rate suggests the system can absorb them. If the result is non-reactive, they have information that lets them protect themselves and others. Either way, the eight percent gap shrinks by one person.
Notable Quotes
It can be done at home, in privacy. It's got a needle and gives a fingerprick, then you blot on a piece of paper. Within 15 minutes it gives a reactive or non-reactive result.— Phillip Read, director of Sexual Health and Blood Borne Virus Services
People living with HIV do still experience stigma or discrimination, so we want to normalise testing.— Phillip Read, director of Sexual Health and Blood Borne Virus Services
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does a machine matter here? Couldn't people just book an appointment at a clinic?
They could, but many don't. The machines catch people who work odd hours, who live without stable addresses, who feel too much shame walking through a clinic door. The data from Kings Cross shows almost 60 percent of users came from countries with higher HIV prevalence—people the traditional system wasn't reaching.
So this is about removing friction.
Exactly. Friction in the form of appointments, opening hours, the feeling of being watched or judged. A machine in a discreet location removes all of that. You show up when you want, test in private, get a result in fifteen minutes.
And the eight percent gap—people who don't know their status—that's the real problem?
It is. NSW has nearly perfect treatment rates among people who know they're positive. But if you don't know, you can't treat. You might transmit. You might not manage your own health. That eight percent is what stands between the current state and elimination.
Who are these people in that eight percent?
Increasingly, they're not who people assume. Yes, some are men who have sex with men. But the proportion of heterosexual diagnoses is rising, especially in multicultural communities. People who acquired HIV overseas and came home. People for whom the health system feels foreign or unsafe.
Does the machine actually work? Are people using it?
The data from existing sites suggests yes. The machines are reaching diverse populations, catching people who wouldn't walk into a clinic. Whether that translates to the 2030 elimination goal depends on what happens after the test—whether people with reactive results actually link to care. But the first step is knowing.