It’s tough living in a chic city like Melbourne

Sometimes living in a city like Melbourne can be exhausting. Being vigilantly hip can take its toll on even the most fashionable, literary, cultured city-sider. I do not consider myself any of those three things, so keeping my finger on the ever-changing pulse of this place is tough. While some fads have come and gone, I have learned several things which remain constantly ‘cool’ in our loveable, sea-side city.

Black is certainly up there. While Melbournians occasionally dabble in colours and prints when the summer heat becomes too unbearable, once winter descends everyone sighs a collective sigh of relief as our fave black, angular numbers make a comeback for the remaining 7 months of the year and our non-perscription glasses seem less contrived.

Melbournians also love any bar where you can sit on crates. For some reason sitting on crates, or anything remotely industrial is ‘trendy’. Even though crates are often uncomfortable, plastic and let’s face it…they’re CRATES… for some reason as soon as I see crates I feel calm.

Melbournians also love creating their own charities, collectives and ‘zines’. Doesn’t it surprise you that you know at least 5 people who are starting their own enterprise selling organic babywears with trees and bird graphics printed on them, or are starting their own charity for Africa or even their own avant garde ‘anti-pop culture zine (which they eventually hope will garner enough corportate interest to fund their coffee drinking lifestyle).

Another constant here is our religious obsession with coffee. We like talking about it, sipping it, criticising it, buying it and when possible, making it as a means to get through our performing arts degrees. Chai tea rates a mention but only if home-brewed by you or your swami.

Melbournians also love to ‘rough it’, they love to talk about their weekends away where they put on their vintage blundstones, leave their blow dryer at home and ‘get back to nature’.  Short stints away give us a taste of nature but remind us that proper I-phone reception is only dependable when you’re back in the big smoke.

I, myself, like all of these things and am happy that my kind (that is, the pseudo-hipster breed) are not persecuted for our vain attempts to follow the trends, but are embraced, celebrated or promoted to a plum ministerial position promoting women’s health or the arts.

It’s what makes this place great.

Popular bar 'Section 8' is made from an old shipping container. So hip.

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