Mr Maylands

As the gentrification wave sweeps through a suburb you are left with an abudnace of new cafes, increased property value and of course, the trend-humping parasitic organisms flapping about on the shore of your once peaceful suburb. Toby is that organism.

Moving to Maylands was a no brainer for Toby – the area is now trendy and the house has a resident French Bulldog. Ticking a few boxes there.

His housemate is a fellow creative that has little ambition to break out of the tax free threshold realm. His parents bought him the apartment to make sure he stopped living with dudes like Toby. Snap.

Nevertheless, Toby isn’t one to turn down a free lunch and like a lifestyle parasite, he gorges himself on the generosity of his folks. He promises to pay rent once the year 11 dinner dance photography season kicks back up.

Until then, he spends his days carefully crafting his image to impress no one on the main strip of Maylands. He’s aiming for “sophisticated Euro artist” but falls short and lands at “backpacker who doesn’t know how you got that itch in Broome”.

He rocks an unnecessary pair of glasses, the latest from General Pants, a pubic beard and a well-greased cuntantenna beaming out the top of this hair.

It’s the winning look of a man who spends his day long boarding, vaping and posting black & white photos to his fashion blog with long, rambling captions that make American Beauty’s plastic bag guy seem down to earth.

He swaggers to a cafe and orders a coffee that spans 5 distinct breaths. He fiddles around with his Nikon D5300 and waits for all the chicks in the cafe to appreciate his beauty, style and artistic flair. He shoots a patron a fierce look. Lucky she has to social distance or she’d be all over him like COVID on a cruise ship.

In reality, his top knot serves a sleazy billboard that alerts everybody in its vicinity to Toby’s perfect storm of unenviable personality traits that only seem to be appreciated by other assorted wankers who share the common theme of making your skin crawl.

After he grabs a coffee he goes and sits on a bench and a quick DM slide. He’s not straying he’s just “keeping his game sharp”. He messages a chick with green hair and a Nirvana singlet on.

He initiates, “in Aboriginal culture they say a photo steals your soul, but I totally think it’s the photographer and subjects soul merging for a beautiful moment”. Laying it on thicker than Iain Hewitson buttering his morning toast.

She takes the bait, although, her interest in Toby is about as genuine as her appreciation of Nirvana’s body of work, nevertheless, she really wants to climb the fashion food chain, and this bloke has fooled her into thinking he has clout. A grand ruse.

After his 8th dog act for the year, he longboards off to a local barber. He has a choice use the last of his Jobseeker payment to chip in for the electricity bill or get a beard trim.

He ponders his decision for about 2 nanoseconds. He sits in the chair, “you gotta look fresh, man”. Priorities.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?