Last week, Melbourne was confronted with a 28 degree day.
For a spring that has featured plenty of umbrella weather – and a fair amount of trench coat weather, too – there was a mild sense of panic in the air.
“Where will we tan?” my flatmate quizzed me the night before. “Should we go to the beach? The gardens? A BOAT?”
I looked gingerly out the window to the vacant plot of land that sits next to our inner-city apartment building.
“Well, they have just mown the grass,” I said, before we both burst out laughing.
Tanning. It makes people do weird things.
Despite the fact we are a multicultural nation of people who overeat and rarely leave our office chairs, there is a general understanding that the classic ‘Aussie’ look for women is that of a lean, tanned, Ocean Girl goddess.
Um, yeah right. I lived in Bondi for years, and even in that neck of the woods the au naturale surfie girl look is reserved for but a handful of women.
The deep brown tan, for some obscure reason, remains the calling card of our wide brown land. It’s an obsession that has become so profound that for those of us who aren’t naturally bronzed, it’s a year-round effort to become so.
