The Shoppers Down Under: a corporate goth adventure

My dream is to find a hidden shop called ‘Hocus Pockets’ where a magical seamstress would make all my sartorial wishes come true.

The only formal clothing I brought to Australia were my studded pink replica Birkin bag and the suit I wore for my job interview.

That was the same suit I wore for my very first interview in Italy. After driving for over an hour on the hottest Summer day I thought it was a good idea to wear heels for the first time. I stomped my sweaty butt into the building to meet with HR and did everything wrong.

I am not joking. But that’s a story for another time! Also, and I appreciate only those who speak English as a second language will get this, is it: replica-studded-pink bag (determiner, shape, colour) or pink-studded-replica bag (colour, material, purpose)?

Throwback to when I was grounded on St Valentine’s Day - A secret transcontinental phone call on why giving the present first may not work as intended.

Melbournians were pretty cool with their black attire and tattoos

I already got the vibe that the department dress code was smart-casual and black seemed to be the unofficial Melbournian uniform. I was ready to live my corporate goth fantasies.

Plus, the office was next to the morgue!

Throwback to when I helped in the family herbal shop, and the manager (aka my auntie) let me wear gothic-lolita dresses to lure customers in. I even suggested installing a living window with me drinking tea and reading about spices all day to stay ‘on brand’, but she said no.

The first work-appropriate outfit I bought, in Melbourne, was a black collar dress with pockets. I did a happy pocket twirl for the mere existence of pockets and thought that must be one of the few true joys in life.

From a young age, I learned to be selective with my life choices based on bag capacity and to rely on the pack to provide what was missing. Adding pockets to my outfits would give me ample room to carry things.

Don’t tell me those mockeries of pockets in girls’ jeans are functional. They contain only disappointment and self-doubt and I’d rather go about my life without that kind of negativity.

An ode to pockets

I wish for useful pockets that can hold a pen because I don’t want to forget anything I’ve been told. I want pockets because I care.

I wish for cheeky pockets I can hide my hands in as I do the ‘it has pockets’ dance. The fashion equivalent of showing off a new sparkle on your ring finger.

I wish for effective pockets because I can’t carry more than two things in my hands while focusing on a task.

I wish for fantastic pockets that hide my temporary worries so I don’t need to wear them as a badge.

I wish for magic pockets where I can find the courage and assertiveness to act like I know what I am doing. I couldn’t carry a team with skinny jeans pockets. Where was I supposed to put all my emergency confidence in those?

Let’s talk about shopping in Australia

While shopping for office-appropriate clothes, I thought my taste was impressive, warranting looks from everyone. Unfortunately, those were not impressed glances at the dress-with-pockets hanging over my arm, but rather annoyed. I wasn’t aware of the silent expectation of an organised queue waiting to pay. What novelty! In Italy, there was no such thing. Instead, arm-length proximity played a huge role: whoever could put the money on the counter first, would automatically be next in line.

Imagine the same wriggly approach to getting on a train, entering a cinema, ordering a drink, etc. In those situations, your elbows would be your best friends and remember to keep clear of bony old ladies.

We may seem a bit chaotic in our ways, but most of the time we simply don’t expect a rule for paying in a shop, other than giving money to someone who worked there. Anyone!

For one allegedly efficient Aussie shopping habit, like a queue, there was another that made little to no sense. In Australia, they didn’t have one-cent coins, so my total was rounded up. Forget the appeal of paying only $49,99 because that dress will total $50. At the same time, ironically, they would not trust you to walk out of a store without suspecting you’re a thief.

At the exit, I walked past a guard who pointed at my bag. I smiled and held it up, so proud of my purchase.

‘I just got it, it has pockets!’

‘Do you have the receipt?’

‘Yes, but I tried it on so I don’t need to return it.’

‘Not for the return. I need to check your bag and see the receipt.’

That sent me into all sorts of anxiety-induced sweats. I usually scrunch up the receipt and throw it in my handbag where it would exist and be lost simultaneously. After some rummaging, I found Schrödinger’s receipt and the guard let me pass.

And just when you think Australians were weird with their shopping habits, they pulled out of their magic hat fantastic return policies. Or any normal return policy, actually.

As a consumer, if you were unhappy with your purchase you could exchange it or get your money back. To understand why this was so exciting, you have to know that, in Italy, refund policies are an ethical matter.

They would rather fake their own death than give you your money back.

They would rather put pockets into things than give you your money back.

They would rather steal the Mona Lisa and let you take that as a voucher for your next purchase than give you your money back.

They would rather bring back time and don’t let you buy that item than give you your money back.

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Directly from the archives, please enjoy this authentic photographic evidence:

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