#262 – Padlocks

28 10 2014

Adrift in an endless galactic sea, the bogan can sometimes feel so small. Not even bicep curls and a gigantic house can lend the bogan a sufficient sense of scale. Then there’s the minor problem of eternity. 24 months interest free is baaasically forever, but what about after that? What about month 25, bogan?

I mean… sure, the bogan can go and get another wrist tattoo. Sweet, sweet permanency. Even the Chinese symbol for “eternity” is an option. The tattoo could also represent the bogan being tribal for eternity, or in love with its current mating partner for eternity. But, despite the best efforts of the Australian and Thai health systems, the bogan will eventually die, and its skin wither.

“How can I leave my mark forever?”, mused the female bogan as it shuffled down the BBQ aisle at Bunnings, intending to replace the other giant BBQ which it had not used in the previous three years. Lost in its thoughts, its nose collided with a vertical display of brass padlocks hung from one of the shelves. The flash of snout-pain was also a flash of inspiration.

“I’m totally going to uninstall Tinder. Promise.”

Some years earlier, on the bogan’s repeat Contiki tours of Europe, it had seen bridge railings covered in padlocks. Pure romance. Dutifully, the bogan placed  padlocks on the ironwork to symbolise the undying nature of its love for bus companions Jackson (’07), Troy (’12), and Jakcson (’12 – week two), respectively. It was European, it was classic. Just like the chic sophistication of the wok burner on the $899 barbecue. $906 later, the bogan had purchased its new padlock, and was fully equipped to confront its own mortality.

On the drive home, Twitter was informed that “I’ve dumped 3 loser guys this month, but @Trizzzztan69 is the one #yolo”.

While Tristan was somewhat surprised to hear his new fuck buddy speak so emphatically, his reluctance to burn his sexual bridges resulted in him consenting to the visit to the nearby physical bridge. Hopefully for sex. Following a thirty second recital of Taylor Swift lyrics, the padlock was snapped closed around the bridge’s railing, and Tristan’s future was sealed. Tears were shed. Tristan feared that the tears would delay sex. He was right to fear this.

Quick, what’s the Twitter handle for the United Nations War Crimes Commission?!

Although the bogan has generally negative feelings about China, the padlocking craze can actually be traced back to here, before rearing its head in Europe in the 1980s. So it’s European. It’s a trend that appeals strongly to the bogan, because of its drama and exhibitionism. Nothing can exist for the bogan unless it is acted out in public.

But by bringing this craze to Australia, the bogan has delivered a new challenge to local councils nationwide. Spooked by reports of European bridges collapsing under the weight of thousands of steel padlocks, council workers with boltcutters are tasked with routinely depriving the bogan of its constitutional rights AND its one big shot at transcending all of existence.

But that’s ok, it stops the bogan from needing to find a new bridge railing next month. And Bunnings doesn’t mind.

#224 – Zara

27 04 2011

The bogan is widely travelled. Having been as far as both Bali and Phuket, it also has fond memories of its Contiki tour across seventeen European countries over two weeks back in ’06. While the South East Asian trips are full of blurry memories of buckets of vodka, Red Bull and ladyboys, the bogan can remember precisely what it managed to extract from its Euro-jaunt: class. Merely by attending such a storied, classy land full of cigarette-smoking, baguette-eating, beret-toting, cheese eating surrender monkeys, the bogan arrived home flush with the belief that it had been imbued with the very thing it robbed from much of Europe.

Of course, upon returning, the bogan immediately began complaining about how ‘uncultured’ its homeland was, pining for the sophistication it reveled in while vomiting behind a bush as the Eiffel Tower glittered in the Parisian twilight. Usually, the bogan can spend money on things that confer upon it the requisite cachet. When it came to European cool, however, it was stumped. Scanning the Australian retail landscape, it saw a wasteland of local companies – Witchery, Sportsgirl, Cue, Myer, David Jones, Country Road, Suzanne and Dotti – who wouldn’t know their escargot from their escargot pants.

Ordinarily, the bogan will vocally advocate the purchasing of Australian products (Thai manufacturing notwithstanding), as a means of stroking its throbbing nationalism gland and providing Australians with jobs. But, having returned from somewhere so classy, so goddamned cultured, the bogan simply cannot be satisfied with local clothing providers any longer. It needs style. Cosmopolitan style. Like the magazine. For years, this yearning has gone unfulfilled.

Until now. The entrance of Spanish fashion behemoth Zara into the Australian market comes at a time when bogans are Doing It Tough.  Yet even flagging bogan fashion spending doesn’t prevent our economy outstripping all other developed countries’. For years, foreign fashion lines have avoided antipodean shores, ostensibly because it was a small market, when in fact it was an acknowledgement that convincing bogans to buy furreners’ wares was foolish. Now, with Australia the only economically viable country in the free world, Zara has taken a gamble which, in retrospect, was no gamble at all. Offered the prospect of cladding itself in the Eurostylz, the bogan has quite nearly dropped a lung in excitement, queuing up not behind a velvet rope, but a cattle race, in order to access the low-quality, high-turnover goods that Zara provide.

Because when examined more closely, Zara are perhaps the greatest bogan fashion label ever. More bogan than Tiffany & Co., more bogan than Pandora Bracelets. Even more bogan than, yes, Audigier. Zara’s business model is to offer the bogan maxtige at record pace. It can turn fashion from the catwalk or the drawing board to the shop floor in a blindingly fast two weeks. The bogan can now access the same clothes it bought at other stores faster and cheaper. This neatly fits in with the bogan’s two-week fashion gestation period between spotting a celebrity endorsed style and securing a new credit card in order to purchase it. Zara understand the term zeitgeist (luckily the bogan doesn’t speak Spanish) better than most people in the business of extracting bogan bucks, ensuring that nothing stays fashionable for more than a couple of weeks.  Luckily, the bogan was too distracted to care.