As I was walking my dog this morning, I looked into my local cafe and saw every single person wearing black puffers. For a moment, I thought about pulling my phone out to snap a photo. But then who would need evidence? This is Melbourne.
It’s the cliche Melbourne scene; people in black puffers queuing up for coffee. Outside, I stood in the cold wearing a cream-coloured jacket, a cream-coloured beanie and a mustard-yellow scarf. I was a vision in a sea of black.
Nearly five years after moving here, it made me wonder: When does someone become a legitimate Melburnian? A magic coffee is poured at Bowery to Williamsburg cafe. Credit: Eddie Jim I have done the quintessentially Melbourne things. I’ve queued along Russell Street for Lune croissants and at the Queen Vic for hot jam doughnuts.
I’ve walked around the Tan. I’ve dined at my fair share of hidden laneway eateries. I meet up with my friends under the clocks at Flinders Street Station.
I attend Philharmonic concerts at the Bowl during summer and bask in the illumination of the Royal Botanic Gardens’ Lightscape in the winter. But does all this make me a legit Melburnian? I don’t know. I can see the MCG clearly from my balcony, but I’m yet to watch a footy game there.
(Full disclosure: the last footy match I saw was in 1994 in Perth.) When guys on Hinge or Bumble asked me who I barrack for, I was stumped. I don’t have a footy team.
How do I even choose a team? When pressed to make a decision, I left the apps ins.