I’ve been living in Sydney for just over seven months now and I think it’s safe to say I’ve adjusted.  All the things that are oddly similar and yet totally different about Australian culture have become pretty commonplace to me now, even if the consumption of Vegemite is still the mystery of the ages.  But I realized the other day that there was one thing that I hadn’t immediately notice change with my move across hemispheres; an aspect of my former day to day life that was removed with such subtlety that I might never have noticed it’s absence.  I haven’t been hit on, whistled at, hollered at, honked at, commented about, obviously gawked at or even had kissy noises thrown in my general direction since I set foot on Australian soil.

You may be thinking, “Sheesh!  Does she think she’s so hot that men all over the world should be wiping away the drool as she walks by?” but if you ask any female whose ever lived in any urban landscape, they will all agree that it’s a pretty regular occurrence, regardless of age, body type, fashion sense and any other “hotness” defining factors.  New Yorkers (particularly New York construction workers) maintain their well deserved stereotype for this behavior with daily diligence.  In fact, on certain days the opinion of my appearance seemed so consistent that I would become convinced I must have suffered from some sort of wardrobe malfunction.  Nope, nothing fell off or out.  It must just be springtime again.  And my years in Los Angeles were no exception.  The only difference there was that most comments had to be shared from passing cars, so they didn’t have time to compose some of the poetic phrases used by the men passing down the NY avenues.  In LA you get a honk or two and occasionally animal noises.  I won’t even bother talking about my experiences in Italy.  There are plenty of movies, TV shows and even a pretty famous photograph that sum up how Italian men vociferously express their feelings.

So, why are the Aussie blokes so silent?  I’ve walked by plenty of construction sites, commuted on every mode of transportation the city has to offer and even carried around baked goods from time to time (which was a guaranteed conversation starter on the NYC subways) but only occasionally do I get a G’day.  Are they actually so dedicated to their work, so absorbed in their newspapers and so busy driving on the wrong side of the road that they can’t be bothered to appreciate the scenery?  I can’t help but wonder if this seeming lack of attention is any reflection of the reason Australian men have officially been declared both the worst husbands and (so I heard) worst lovers in the world.  Not that animal noises indicate your potential to be a good husband (quite the opposite I think) but at least they let you know he’s straight, interested and appreciative.

Or maybe the sheilas are to blame.  One thing I would never have guessed about Aussie culture before moving here, was that all the women would dress like they were extras on a combination of Sex and the City and Gossip Girl.  Somehow the young ones dress far too old, the older ones dress far to young, spike heels supposedly go with everything and every skirt comes within an inch of being mistaken for a long top.  This trend is actually so prevalent that an American marine who went to Darwin on shore leave was quoted as saying that Aussie women ought to leave more to the imagination.  He was on shore leave!  What does that say, ladies?  Maybe all the fashion that caters to hot summer nights (thought they dress the same in the winter) blew out all the synapses in blokes brains long ago, leaving only the portion that could still express excitement about beer.

Of course, that could work both ways.  I did find myself wondering a while back if tattoos were more prevalent in Oz, or if I just noticed them more because I was seeing people in cossies (and occasionally less) on an almost daily basis.  I adjusted to the speedo style cossie a long time ago, something I grew up believing was a fashion faux-pa and indication that you clearly wanted to “be seen.”  And I have definitely come to expect a certain build before I’ll say a guy is in good shape.  Sorry lads, but the competitions is tough out here.  So if you ever notice me passing right by a guy who resembles a young David Duchovny without so much as a head turn, you’ll know it’s because he’s simply wearing too much clothing.  Once adjusted to a Sydney summer, only the red speedo will do.