As a Perth filmmaker currently living in New York City, I was bemused by last week’s travel feature in The New York Times about Perth. Baz Dreisinger made out my home town to be some progressive urban utopia – in fact, the article read like a press release from Tourism Western Australia.



I am of course glad that the city I grew up in is receiving rave reviews in the world’s most famous newspaper. Unfortunately, the article is so keen to paint it as a paradise, it’s hard to even know where to begin to prove these delusions wrong. Despite some recent progress, Perth remains a frustratingly conservative, culturally-starved, unaffordable backwater – no matter how much I want for it to not be the case.

“I’d thought Williamsburg was hipster heaven; it pales beside Perth”, writes Dreisinger. Mate, I live in Williamsburg. I’m a bearded vegan so I know a “hipster” when I see one, and quite frankly, your statement doesn’t fly. Let me disprove your assumption with a simple comparison. The price of a pint of beer in those pretentious Perth places you mention can be as high as $13. Happy hour doesn’t exist. In contrast, my closest bar in South Williamsburg, serves $1 Pabst Blue Ribbon from 6-9pm. Now pretend for a second you’re not on an all-expenses paid junket and step into the shoes of this mythical Perth hipster. Which do you pick? The reality is that anyone slightly “arty” or “indi” can’t wait to GTFO, which explains the never-ending exodus of Perth’s most talented and creative young people to Sydney, Melbourne, London and New York.

Next, the author marvels at our “ultra hip central business district”. Mate! Past 7pm on a weeknight, the CBD resembles an apocalyptic wasteland. An hour or so later and I guarantee you won’t see a single pedestrian walking along St Georges terrace. Bars have to legally close at midnight – yes, midnight! In other modern cities, that’s when we leave for the bar. And of course, public transport stops running late at night anyway (don’t get me started on the elusive Perth taxi, either). And without bike lanes, or any sort of bike share system, it’s no wonder drink driving is rampant. That’s not to mention that some areas of the CBD have actually gone backwards. King Street, for example, used to host a dozen local boutiques and designers that have all been forced out by exorbitant rent costs.

Dreisinger paints Perth as if we are on par with Berlin, with its abundance of cultural and historic places of interest, but running businesses in pre-existing buildings with former uses is the status quo everywhere in the world. It’s only novel in Perth because we bulldozed most of our Edwardian and Victorian architecture during the first minerals booms between the 1960s and 1980s. To this cinéaste’s eternal shame, the movie complexes I enjoyed as a kid have all closed down. Today, the CBD doesn’t have a single operating cinema. We seem to develop the living bejesus out of a building and at best, if we’re legally obliged, keep its facade. That’s all we’re left with – a facade. Re-invigorating urban spaces and creating culture across the board requires us levelling-up to a whole new paradigm.

I’m pleased the New York Times visited my hood, and enjoyed our hospitality. I love that the writer gave attention to some of my friends’ innovative hospitality businesses. And if he’d stuck to what’s undeniable, like that Perth has the world’s most beautiful women, I wouldn’t have had the slightest problem with the piece. I wish Perth was the nirvana described in the article, but it’s not (yet), even if there’s no denying we have the potential.

That said, after writing this, I must admit to being more than a little homesick.