The kind of car you drive says a lot about you, and, who we are as people. We are, inescapably, a product of our environment. For the purposes of this article, I drove around Sydney in my grey Volkswagen Polo to find out what cars Sydney-siders drive in different areas.
Yes, I, me, Ben, a 6ft1 man-child, drives a zippy little VW Polo. Why? It’s cheap, safe, but also, I love the disappointment on the faces of horny young men, who manoeuvre through traffic like they’re going for the high-score on Frogger in an attempt to pull up alongside me at the lights, only to realise that I am not an attractive young woman (the usual type to drive this type of car), but a balding, twenty-nine year old male, his beer belly spilling over the seatbelt. Ha!
Anyway, let’s crack on. Here are the findings from the 2017 report: We’ll Tell You What Car You Drive By Which Sydney Suburb You Live In.
I am on one right now, this very second, as I attempt to write this article. A rickety 17th-century invention crammed with more people than a ride at the Royal Easter Show. The rides at the Easter show actually feel much safer than this train, despite being operated by carnival folk. I am currently listening to the squeaking of the suspension between the carriages, while I watch numerous people struggle to evade eye contact with a heavily pregnant woman out of fear of having to give up their seat. I’d give her mine, but this article is due tomorrow #Sydney.
Why, a Toyota Camry Hybrid of course, with fewer emissions than the average household kettle.
A metallic green Nissan Skyline with the vehicle identification number scratched off.
A second-hand Italian scooter, with a smashed side mirror, obvs.
Eastern Suburbs (Rest Of)
An Audi A5 with a Red P plate, because Daddy has gone to Hong Kong again for business and Mummy is whacked-out out of her head on prescription meds and chardonnay.
On Pennant Hills Road you will find lanes jam-packed with 4WDs, none of which have a speck of dirt on them. Family car stickers cover the rear windscreens.
Lower North Shore
A royal blue Jaguar, without a scratch on the paint job, or a single mark on the cream leather seats. Somehow it still has that new car smell ten years after purchase.
Hippies can’t afford cars. If you’re not pounding the pavement in your second-hand pair of Doc Martins, you are pedalling your arse off down King St. delivering other people’s food for Deliveroo or Foodora.
A shiny Jeep Wrangler with surfboards in roof racks that never get used.
A metallic blue Subaru WRX with a twin exhaust. Obligatory miniature boxing gloves hang from the rear-vision mirror.
Only a late 90s Holden Commodore, its ashtray overflowing with Horizon Blue 50s, will do. Triple M’s Rock Hits blare from the ancient stereo system.
I could not work out the make or model of any cars in Surry Hills, as they were not visible beneath thousands of parking fines.
Covered in concrete, the fleet of Toyota Hilux’ make their way home to God’s country after a hard days work. The drink consoles nurse half-finished bottles of V and the blue licence plates read, “2016 NRL Premiers.”
Upper North Shore
You can’t miss the silver Volvo with a driver’s seat that’s almost touching the steering wheel. The boot is packed with orienteering gear and a tent. The radio is permanently tuned to ABC702 – Sydney.
Any of the cars listed above recently reported stolen to police.
Late Night Sydney CBD
Sorry, I couldn’t resist. If you have found yourself in one of these you have:
(A) Lost your phone or the battery has died.
(B) Could not operate your phone after downing fifteen Espresso Martinis at Lil Darlin’.
Yes, you guessed it, the notorious Sydney taxi. Forget house-prices in Sydney, I took out a mortgage to cover the cost of a taxi-ride from Surry Hills to Bondi last weekend. It cost $52 and I wasn’t offered water or mints or the power to control the radio. I mean, come-on, the only time I would pay $52 to listen to Ray Hadley is if he was being boiled alive. Also, why am I directing the driver to Bondi Beach, one of Sydney’s most iconic locations? It’s the equivalent of going to the doctors and checking your own prostate.
Want to know why you're still single based on your star sign. Come right this way.
Image credit: Ben Tyers