Melburnians don’t really know what to do with rain. I presume that’s because it never rains for longer than a few minutes at a time, just enough of a delay to fill in with an espresso or a bit of recreational shopping. Melburnians can’t handle wet weather gear like raincoats and umbrellas: they assume the umbrella is some sort of thinking-ahead badge of status, they walk through arcades and covered areas with them still raised, shoving the less prepared out of the way. In other parts of the world, there’s an etiquette for who raises and who lowers their umbrella, who steps onto the pavement, when and where to furl and shake the water off so it doesn’t ruin the carpet or anyone’s trousers. Here umbrella-users are like novices with chopsticks: all bravado and clumsiness.
Our urban uniform is wrongly characterised as being all black: it’s true that solid, dark colours are a feature of the landscape, but that’s because it’s often cold, and brightly-coloured, patterned overcoats are (1) expensive (2) horrific (3) hard to accessorise. Black, navy, brown, grey, red, beige are the standard winter colours anywhere; no difference here. What probably makes visitors from other states notice the winter chic is that the locals are used to the old girl blowing hot and cold: layers and coats are the smart bet when you don’t know whether it’s a blast furnace or Siberia round the next corner.
Twice a year the smart bet backfires. Bennett celebrates this every September or so, when a surprise hot day comes out of nowhere. After months of careful selection of thermals, coats, scarves, a bit of sunshine has us abandoning discretion for the valour of showing ankles, arms and the inner layers that weren’t meant to be seen – T-shirts of bands nobody could possibly still like, washer-thinned polo shirts in faded colours, holey singlets, tiny tank tops, low-cut comfortable things. It appeals to Bennett because of the number of girls who don’t wear a bra under the winter rags. I like it for the way it strips away the pretence of clothes selected for appearance, and shows the clothes that are actually loved.
Down the other end of the year, a sudden cold blast empties streets and fills cafes with customers, orders for hot chocolate and a sense of being united by the capriciousness of the skies.
I like the way weather shapes the character of a people: Japan is the land of umbrella stands with locks, Darwin is a city without coat-hooks, Melbourne is the city of men with hands in pockets, girls with jackets tied around waists, and the mugginess and noise and cameraderie of a cafe crowded with refugees from the rain.
Hooray for B-Day!