6 Months in Melbourne, Lets Talk About It.

 Hello dear friends and welcome back to Drunk on Couture. This week we’re talking about the last six months of my life and let me tell you… it’s been absolute fucking chaos in the best way possible. About six months ago my best friend Steele who we’ve just started introducing as my sister here in Australia because honestly explaining gay male/female best friend dynamics gets annoying woke up one morning and announced she was moving across the world to Australia. Craving a new dating pool, better shopping, warmer weather, and frankly needing to remain attached to my sissy at the hip I decided to tag along.

Three months later I had dropped out of school (whoops, but honestly finance was never going to be the right option for a homo like me), packed up my wardrobe which was less throwing clothes into suitcases and more clearing out a small boutique. Attended approximately 47 farewell parties, and suddenly we were boarding a flight to Sydney. At this rate I’ll need a climate-controlled storage locker by 30. Which honestly? Kind of hot. Nothing sexier than a financial irresponsibility man in archival Tom Ford era Gucci (my fav btw).

I remember the move not feeling fully real until we got on the plane from Vancouver to Sydney. Suddenly I was 40,000 feet in the air, sleep deprived, emotionally unstable, and halfway through my third tiny airplane wine staring into the void thinking:
“Am I about to meet the love of my life…? Or am I going to find my dream job?

Both felt equally possible.

I went into this move fully delusional in the best way possible. In my head I was either going to:
A) meet some gorgeous Australian man with a mustache.
B) land a fabulous fashion job surrounded by handbags I couldn’t afford,
or
C) the most probable scenario, return to hospitality because me and restaurants go together like cigarettes and bad decisions.

Steele, her parents, and I spent our first five days in Sydney doing all the touristy things. We explored, drank, shopped, ate, and slowly everything started feeling weirdly… right. Like for the first time in a long time my life actually felt exciting instead of repetitive. Every day felt like the opening montage of a rom com staring Sandra Bullock or Cameron Diaz.

Originally we thought we’d move to Sydney permanently, but quickly we realized Melbourne made way more sense for us. Sydney is gorgeous don’t get me wrong, but it’s very hot finance bro who runs and may hate crime me. Meanwhile Melbourne felt artsy, alternative, slightly hungover, and aggressively gay.

Which was perfect for us.

Also runners weren’t flooding the streets at 6am while I was still doing the walk of shame home in yesterday’s outfit looking like a whale. Huge plus.

For two gays from Winnipeg, Melbourne felt like exactly what we needed.

Now the first week in Melbourne is honestly a little blurry. Partially because of the jet lag, partially because my brain was overloaded with adrenaline and anxiety, but mostly because I was technically on vacation which meant I was “casually drinking” every day. And by casually drinking I mean treating wine like water just like Jesus intended.

After setting up our bank accounts, Aussie phone numbers, and finding the homiest apartment in Fitzroy, we began job hunting.

And let me tell you right now:
finding a job here humbled me.

I was applying everywhere. Designer boutiques, luxury stores, restaurants.

Part of me REALLY wanted a luxury retail job. Dior, Chanel, Gucci, Bottega… honestly, I’ve been a designer whore since childhood. Some kids wanted to be astronauts. I wanted to be surrounded by Chanel.

Unfortunately, most luxury stores either wanted Australian citizens or Mandarin speakers. And while I do possess incredible charisma and the ability to identify a fake classic flap from 40 feet away, apparently that wasn’t enough.

So hospitality it was.

Now buckle up and protect your pussy because this next part genuinely feels like workplace trauma.

I got a trial shift at a brunch restaurant in Fitzroy I will not name because unlike them, I actually believe in human rights.

Now back home in Winnipeg, I LOVE my restaurant job. I’m good at it, my coworkers feel like family, my boss is amazing, and I know a lot of people that come in. My naive little Canadian pussy genuinely thought hospitality in Melbourne would be exactly the same.

Wrong.

So incredibly wrong.

The first red flag? The trial shift here was unpaid, which are kind of like an interview but your doing the job, great idea but most places pay for this.

The “training” consisted of someone rapidly explaining table numbers once, shoving a POS system into my hands, and basically saying:
“good luck babe.”

And somehow… I got through it.

Which in hindsight should’ve terrified me.

Almost instantly I noticed I was constantly being given sections twice the size of everyone else’s. Not one or two extra tables either. Like DOUBLE. TRIPLE.

And normally I wouldn’t care because I can handle volume. I’m good at my job. But here’s the fucked up part, we share what little tips we get.

So while I was running around sweating through my shirt, disassociating beside the espresso machine, and carrying enough plates to qualify for Olympic weightlifting, everyone else was outside vaping and gossiping like Mean Girls.

The environment was unbelievably toxic.

And babe… I cried.
Multiple times.

Which NEVER happens to me at work.

I’ve worked insane restaurant shifts before. I can handle pressure. I can handle rude customers. But this was diffy, I would go in the washroom and stare at myself and think what the fuck is going on.

The craziest part was when I finally quit.

I told them I’d found another job, and when they asked if there were “any other reasons,” I was too scared to fully unload because one of the main culprits was on the other line

So instead I politely mentioned that maybe it wasn’t fair I was constantly being given significantly larger sections than everybody else.

And this person said,
That’s because you’re the best babe.

HELLO???

So because I’m good at my job I have to do twice the work for the same shared tips and wage, while everyone has fun and I get yelled at by a chef for something I didn’t even do.

Absolutely fucking not. The craziest part the more people I talked to about this place, said they had or knew people that had the same experience or even worse.

I left professionally and without major drama, but honestly I wish I’d quit sooner. That job made me feel miserable, exhausted, and weirdly behind in what was supposed to be the most exciting chapter of my life.

 Thankfully though… things did eventually get better.

One particularly soul-sucking afternoon after a shift at The Restaurant That Shall Not Be Named, I was wandering around Fitzroy trying to clear my head. That’s when I stumbled across a small fine dining restaurant I’d actually seen on TikTok. Now normally I’d tell you that I carefully researched the venue, studied the menu, and strategically planned my next career move. What actually happened was I got a good vibe. And as history has proven, my life decisions are almost exclusively based on vibes. So I sprinted home, grabbed my résumé, threw on my lucky interview shirt (yes ive had it for almost 7 years) and marched back. The second I walked through the door I could feel the difference. The staff were warm. The atmosphere felt welcoming. Nobody looked like they wanted to publicly execute me over a cappuccino order. Weirdly, it reminded me of my restaurant back home. Within ten minutes of dropping off my résumé I got a callback for a PAID trial shift. Paid. Imagine that. A revolutionary concept.

This restaurant was exactly what I needed. The service was far more elevated than what I was used to, but at the same time they encouraged staff to actually have personalities. I got to challenge myself, learn new skills, drink wine "for educational purposes," and still be my loud, and silly self. I learned more about food, wine, and hospitality in a few months than I had in years. Suddenly I was discussing obscure wine regions, why oysters from different lakes and rivers tasted different, meats I’ve never even heard of. It was a great learning environment.Before long I was working full-time hours and genuinely excited to go to work again.

 One thing that surprised me over the 6 months was how difficult I found making friendships. Don't get me wrong, I met some incredible people and a few friendships I'll absolutely carry back to Canada. But compared to Winnipeg, it felt different. Back home I can meet someone on a night out and by midnight we're planning a trip to Kelowna, trauma dumping in an Uber, and posting each other on Instagram stories. In Melbourne? Not so much.

People were friendly. They just seemed... established. Everyone already had their groups, their routines, their people. Which sent me into a full spiral of questions.

Is Melbourne so big that everyone's a little disconnected?

Are people content with the friendships they already have?

Did I not put myself out there enough?

Was I going to the wrong places?

Or and this was the darkest possibility am I actually just a fucking weirdo?

At home that thought never crosses my mind. Winnipeg is small enough that I always feel like I'm on the inside of things. Melbourne was the first place in a long time where I occasionally felt like I was looking through the window instead of standing in the room. And honestly? It made me appreciate my village back home more than I ever expected.

Now friendships may have been harder to find... Love affairs? Baby. Absolutely not. Every second person in Fitzroy is some variety of queer. I was basically imported Canadian Angus beef and apparently everyone wanted a sample.For someone who tends to like slightly (not slightly) more masculine men the type that are usually hiding in the shadows of Winnipeg pretending they are straight but slide into my dms, Melbourne felt like Disneyland.

There were dates.

There was flirting.

There were butterflies.

There was dancing.

There was ghosting.

There were situationships that lasted approximately the shelf life of a banana.

Nothing serious ever materialized, but for the first ever I got to experience the kind of dating life straight people take for granted.

And honestly? It was fun. Messy. Occasionally humiliating. But fun.

Fitness also became a much bigger part of my life than I ever expected. Back in Winnipeg my exercise routine mostly consisted of carrying shopping bags and speed walking to a happy hour. In Melbourne I somehow transformed into one of those people….. You know the ones, the strava people. I started attending Pilates four to five times a week and running over ten kilometres a day. Ten. Kilometres. A sentence that would've made me physically ill six months earlier. The Pilates studios felt challenging without feeling intimidating, which was refreshing because some fitness spaces back home can feel like Joan Rivers is in the front row. I also had a lot of free time. Steele worked during the day. I had approximately four friends. And Melbourne is one of the most expensive cities on earth. So when your options are either spend $18 on a coffee or go for a run, suddenly running starts sounding pretty sexy. Those runs ended up becoming one of my favourite parts of my day. I explored neighbourhoods I'd never visited, found hidden cafés, wandered through parks, and slowly fell in love with the city. More importantly, I felt physically better than I had in years.

I've always been someone who adapts quickly to change. At the drop of a pussy I've packed up my life and moved more times than I can count. Some people call it adventurous. Others call it concerning. Australia was different though. It's easy to forget just how far away it is until you want to call someone from home and realize it's 3am in Canada. That's when it hits you. You're really on the other side of the world. This experience taught me a lot.

How to be alone.

How to put myself out there.

How to start from the bottom again.

How to survive uncomfortable situations.

How to advocate for myself.

And perhaps most importantly, how much I took certain things at home for granted like

My village, my incredible job and much more. The comfort of walking into almost any room in Winnipeg and knowing somebody.

The truth is I came to Australia looking for adventure. And I found it. I found incredible experiences. I found growth. I found confidence. I found a healthier version of myself. And occasionally I found men who looked like they'd just stepped out of a Bondi firefighter calendar.

Will I miss Melbourne?

Absolutely.

Will I be back?

Without question.

Australia and I aren't done with each other yet. But for now, I'm excited to head home, reunite with my people, and begin what I fully intend to be the most successful Winnipeg HDS in recorded history.

For those unfamiliar, that's Hot Dude Summer. My calling.

Thank you for reading, my dear friends.

Chat very soon.

XX,

Pey