I don’t own a puffer jacket or drink coffee. But this is how I know I’m a legit Melburnian

As I was walking my dog this morning, I looked into my local cafe and saw every single person wearing black puffers. For a moment, I thought about pulling my phone out to snap a photo. But then who would need evidence? This is Melbourne.

It’s the cliche Melbourne scene; people in black puffers queuing up for coffee. Outside, I stood in the cold wearing a cream-coloured jacket, a cream-coloured beanie and a mustard-yellow scarf. I was a vision in a sea of black. Nearly five years after moving here, it made me wonder: When does someone become a legitimate Melburnian?

A magic coffee is poured at Bowery to Williamsburg cafe.Credit: Eddie Jim

I have done the quintessentially Melbourne things. I’ve queued along Russell Street for Lune croissants and at the Queen Vic Market for hot jam doughnuts. I’ve walked around the Tan. I’ve dined at my fair share of hidden laneway eateries. I meet up with my friends under the clocks at Flinders Street Station. I attend Philharmonic concerts at the Bowl during summer and bask in the illumination of the Royal Botanic Gardens’ Lightscape in the winter.

But does all this make me a legit Melburnian? I don’t know.

I can see the MCG clearly from my balcony, but I’m yet to watch a footy game there. (Full disclosure: the last footy match I saw was in 1994 in Perth.) When guys on Hinge or Bumble asked me who I barrack for, I was stumped. I don’t have a footy team. How do I even choose a team? When pressed to make a decision, I left the apps instead.

While many of my neighbours go crazy for the Dim Sims at the South Melbourne Market, I’m not a fan. I get frowned upon for drinking decaf coffee and am yet to try a Magic.

What I love most are my Melbourne moments. It’s impulsively heading to the NGV on a weekday afternoon to clear my mind and be surrounded by really great art. It’s finding an authentic Thai eatery tucked away in a CBD car park. It’s hopping on a tram to meet a friend at South Melbourne Beach in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the Aurora Australis. It’s going on a spontaneous road trip with a friend to Mornington just to have brunch and walk the dogs. It’s randomly bumping into the then-lord mayor at the Shrine at 7am.

While I didn’t think I’d ever get used to Melbourne’s cold and wet winter mornings, I no longer complain about them. Experience has taught me the weather changes so quickly here anyway. And even the rainiest day often ends with the most beautiful double rainbows. I’ve never seen as many rainbows as I have in Melbourne. And the coldest days gift us with the most spectacular sunrises.

There’s something about Melbourne that builds a person’s character and toughens you. After the past few weeks of waking up to single-digit temperatures, a clear day of 17 degrees practically feels like summer.

Three months ago, on a trip to Europe and the Philippines, I found myself talking to people a lot about Melbourne. Admittedly, most people are more familiar with Sydney, but I was quick to point out that Sydney is the prettier sister while Melbourne is the smarter and, shall I say, more talented, edgy one.

There is a palpable pride among Melburnians. Perhaps we’re toughened by shared experiences that build our collective character. Maybe the 262 days of lockdown we endured, or the absence of an airport train line, or the Russian roulette that is our weather? It’s hard to put a finger on what it is exactly, but as the hip kids say: “If you know, you know.”

One thing I am sure of is that I’ve met the kindest, most interesting, well-travelled, well-read, talented and diverse bunch of people living here. Maybe the black puffer jackets are just a disguise to keep people at bay until we earn our legit local status.

Recently I met Tim, a man born and raised in Melbourne. I probed him, asking: “So, when does one become a legit Melburnian?”

He smiled and said: “When you know what a failure Docklands is.”

Then he says: “When a tram hits your bike, and you get stuck.” He acts out a pained look on his face to explain further, but I can’t relate. I don’t own a bike either.

Maida Pineda is freelancer writer and author.

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