The Rise of the Local

After living in Sydney’s Inner West for a whole eighteen years (minus time spent overseas) I think I can officially call myself a local. An elusive title, The Local seems to have formed into a breed of its own. There are varying degrees and sub-categories of Sydney locals; as the Two Thousand and blogspot generation, we’ve put labels on everything, and being a local of a particular suburb has become almost like being in a particular scene or clique. 

Whether people unconsciously mould to their surroundings, or purposely buy their way into the vibes of a particular suburb, there are the obvious differences between locals and non-locals.
For example, the Eastern Suburbs. After a brief foray with a tanned Rose Bay (born and bred) ex-Cranbrook boy, it occurred to me just how much I’ve dug my heels into my local surroundings. Not to say I don’t get wanderlust every now and again, but whilst Nameless Boy and me were together, it became blatantly obvious just how different our two area codes were- and more surprisingly, how dependent our mindsets were on these areas. Just to clarify- there are exceptions to every rule. I’m sure Inner West-Eastern Suburbs relationships can be fantastic, we aren’t separate colonies, but this particular experience just reinforced how things in Sydney really do differ from suburb to suburb. For a start- everything was clean. We walked down the main street in Rose Bay, amid rushing businessmen, BMWS lazily cruising, and nannies walking yapping daschunds, and all I could think was: Where is the litter? I could see no cigarette butts squished into the pavement, cans of coke rolling at the base of overflowing bins. Does the Rose Bay city council have superior hygiene and waste facilities to the rest of us? Or are we, in areas like Newtown and Annandale, just slobs? The air feels different out there. The nights are quieter. People are more reserved; they look at their feet as they walk, not out around them. I couldn’t tell whether it was just my particular experience, or whether there really are unwritten “cultural” differences between suburbs with less than fifteen minutes distance between them.

Introducing our English friends to a few Sydney localities- namely, goon.

              An impromptu house party during Newtown Festival, with the band Sticky Fingers  

Which brings me to my next point: What makes a local? Our parents are local- more local than us. They’ve lived here longer than us, know how to drive anywhere in Sydney in under twenty minutes and (usually) don’t have to use a GPS. They can say with authority, “Kings Cross was never that dodgy when I was younger! Things used to be safer around here!” etc, etc.
However, when you think of an Inner West local, your mind doesn’t automatically jump to the Baby Boomer generation. You think of someone young, trendy, and possibly with a hipster beard. Someone with an intricate knowledge of markets, concept stores, underground concerts and amazing cafes. You think of the people you see on the streets of Surry Hills, riding blue bicycles and carrying shopping bags from Cream. They truly seem like they own the area. The very pavement is theirs; they wave jauntily at café owners and know where hidden wine bars are. But do people look at us, and think the same? How can you determine whether you’re a local? Does it just depend on where you live, or how immersed you are in that community? Does it depend on whether you can wave to your neighbours or whether you only just moved from Adelaide? 

Being a local is also dependant on your institution- where you work, where you go to school or university is just as important as where you live. You begin to feel, with an undeserved sense of pride, that you represent that suburb. After spending years 11 and 12 at school in Glebe- we all felt as if Glebe was ours. It became a patchwork of memories for us. We became oddly possessive, our bus-stops, our cafes. Everyone else, even the residents, were outsiders. No matter where we caught the bus or train home, we were Glebe locals, our uniform a badge of locality that we flaunted relentlessly. Is this attitude, that we’ve all felt, snobbery or participation in our local community? Is it simply, a feeling of home and familiarity, or something deeper? More akin to the primitive marking of territory? Of owning turf, and having your own space.

I think being a local is about your knowledge, not just your address. Not in a way of superiority, just how you make your own environment yours. The secret tree houses and marks in the pavement. The way you walk home. Your favourite clothes stores, the bus you catch home. Not everyone can be a local, it takes dedication. Being a local has become an ideal and an image. Every suburb has a stereotype you should be promoting, but I think it relates more to how your surroundings become exactly that- your surroundings. Something you can wake up to every day and enjoy regardless. 

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Snapped for Myer's Sydney Street Style

Hyde Park- before school

On that note, as a self-professed Sydney local, here are my recommendations for where to start:

Step One: Coffee at Sappho’s. You can smoke in the Courtyard and buy second hand sci fi

For dumplings ready made by Kylie Kwong, or breakfast by Neil Perry-

Eveleigh Street Markets

Granted, I can almost never buy things from here, but they are delicious for looking around!-

Bloodorange Boutique and The Corner Store

Samauri in Balmain for Japanese (always a reliable option), Bar Italia in Leichhardt for Italian and Hannibal's in Surrey Hills for Lebanese.

And of course, Sydney would not be Sydney without Jet Cafe!