Why bogans are the backbone of this country

They may be ridiculed in many ways but this type of Aussie is our most misunderstood.

I grew up in Queensland in a bayside place called Redcliffe, packed full (or as the locals would say, chockers) of bogans.

My husband however, grew up in the pish posh part of the UK on a steady diet of literature and political discussions and he would even go to the polo like a proper wanker.

They say the difference between the working class and the upper class is their TV is bigger than their bookcase. Only kidding. They don’t have a bookcase.

In contrast to my husband, I grew up with Friday night football, fishing and Red Rooter (that’s Red Rooster to the rest of you).

My husband and I have often been likened to Mr Sheffield and Fran Fine. A collision of cultures. He’d take me on dates to have tapas and see Nordic noir films and I taught him how to tie off ropes on a boat and how to catch a wave in the surf. As for catching spiders, well that’s still my jurisdiction.

However, while I did grow up among bogans, I also attended art classes and then went to drama school and became a full thespian much to my dad’s horror.

I then moved to Melbourne to pursue my career, met my fella and built a life in Victoria.

After 18 years, however, I was starting to pine for the warmer weather and the aqua beaches but my husband was genuinely fearful of the bogans.

Then Covid happened.

Nikki Osborne

We had a choice, Dan Andrews or move back to plugger country. So, we bought four one-way tickets to Burpengary. We arrived at Maroochydore airport to the dulcet tones of slapping thongs and guys named Brett yelling “yeeeeoooowwww” out the car window. I took a deep breath and smiled. I was home.

News travelled fast that I’d returned and my old school friends arranged a catch up. It wasn’t easy to arrange however as Sizzler no longer existed. Where the hell do you go if it’s not Sizzler?! Guzman y Gomez! Duh.

I decided to bring my husband along as part of his acclimatisation process. I explained to him my bogan friends are my rocks. They’re ALWAYS there for me. Why? Because they don’t have jobs. I’m kidding.

Generic bogan bloke giving thumbs up istock

Bogans are the most misunderstood folk in Australia. The uneducated would assume that because someone’s dressed in what I would call “homeless chic”, that they’re of low moral fibre and not bright. Quite the opposite.

I come from television land, where most friendships are shallower than Summer Bay at low tide and I can safely say that, from my experience, whenever you’re in a bind, it’s always a bogan who saves the day.

Your boat breaks down at the boat ramp? A bogan will wade out and fix the engine. Car breaks down? It’s always a bogan who’ll stop to help. Your dog runs away? A bogan will bring it back. Need a lift to the airport? Your bogan friend will take you.

While bogans are lacking in the fashion department, they are made of a fabric that never lets you down, it’s called substance. Bogans don’t “tap out”.

In short, bogans are the backbone of this country and everyone needs a bogan in their life. I mean they’re single-handedly keeping free-to-air television alive.

What do you think? Are bogans the rough diamonds in society?

Originally published as Why bogans are the backbone of this country