Since I moved to Melbourne a little over three years ago, my family in Adelaide have made recurring jokes about how my new home city has changed me.
In their eyes, I continuously compare Adelaide unfavourably to Melbourne: The city’s food, its coffee, the architecture and most importantly, fashion. They say that since moving here, I’ve started dressing like a “Fitzroy boy”.
Troye Sivan in a trademark cropped shirt.
Personally, I don’t believe my style has changed that radically. I’ve always been into fashion and followed trends. I started reading GQ when I was 15, OK?
But after years of denial, when I returned to Adelaide for Christmas, I saw clearly for the first time that they were right. I do dress like a Fitzroy boy now.
People in Melbourne dress radically differently to people in Adelaide. Depending on which part of the city you live in, it’s not uncommon to see men in their 20s wearing short shorts. And I mean short shorts. Tennis shorts. Shorts that Armie Hammer’s character wore in Call Me By Your Name. Footy shorts. Booty shorts.
And thanks to celebrities like Troye Sivan and Paul Mescal, the perfect accompaniment to the short shorts has become the short T – AKA the male crop top, a current staple of Melbourne’s men’s fashion scene. I’ve begun dabbling in the crop-top and, if I’m being completely honest, I’m addicted to the sensation of it. I despise how long the average male T-shirt runs these days.
So, a couple of weeks ago I found myself in Adelaide’s Rundle Mall one morning wearing my Melbourne clothes – a black crop-top and white booty shorts. I knew I had a one-year-old’s birthday party later that day, but figured there would be enough time to go home and change into a more Adelaide-appropriate outfit (full-length pants, a T-shirt with a hemline that stretched to the hips) before then.
That did not happen. Instead, my 20-year-old brother joined me, we got a little distracted (looking at comic books and action figures) and time disappeared.
I arrived at the one-year-old’s birthday party as blissfully unaware as a lamb waltzing toward its slaughter. From the street, I could make out an array of Ralph Lauren polo shirts and a sea of beige chino pants. Even before stepping into the backyard being filled out by my extended family I realised that my little outfit would cause a stir. I just didn’t know to what extent.
My uncle remarked in his signature, radio-style voice, “Mate, you look like one of the Village People!”
In a bid to look less YMCA and more Adelaide, I pulled my shorts down a little. But in doing this, my crop top appeared even more, well, cropped and suddenly, my belly-button was out, which led to even more commentary.
My conservative aunty pulled me aside to question my choice of clothing. “Roby, you do know this is a one year-old’s birthday party and not Studio 54! Have you no shame?”
Then I was stopped by the mother of the one-year-old who got straight to the point.
“Roby, what the hell are you wearing?”
I attempted to explain the situation to her, but to no avail. She rolled her eyes and asked, “Do they even make shorts any shorter than that?” “They don’t. I already asked,” I replied. She didn’t find this at all humorous.
The other mothers at the party, all with small children of their own, just stared and whispered among themselves.
In a way I never intended, I became the talk of a child’s birthday party. I felt as if I was Cinderella, except in this reinterpretation she’s wearing vintage Adidas shorts instead of a ball gown.
In an odd way, I didn’t mind that this happened. Though I had sensed that I’d changed in some ways since moving to Melbourne (my interests have evolved, my sense of self has grown), I’d never had a physical moment that really epitomised my transition. Suddenly, I could see how radically different I was.
Maybe “Fitzroy boy” is a shorthand way of saying that within my extended family, I’m the alternative one. Yes, I live in the inner city, I have tattoos and I study creative writing and film. In that sense, the short shorts and crop top is just the icing on the cake.
And at the very least, it will give them something to talk about until my next visit.
Roby D’Ottavi is a Melbourne writer/director.
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