From Down Under to Down South

Tag: Australia

  • Can You Love Your New Country Without Loving Your Old One Less?

    Can You Love Your New Country Without Loving Your Old One Less?

    AUSTRALIAN EYES ON AMERICA

    There is a strange assumption that sometimes follows you when you move to another country.

    At some point, apparently, you are supposed to choose.

    If you say too many nice things about the country you left, someone wonders why you left it.

    If you say too many nice things about the country you moved to, someone wonders whether you’ve forgotten where you came from.

    I’ve come across versions of both.

    After eight years living in the United States, I’ve become very comfortable saying that I love America.

    I chose to live here. I became an American citizen. I’m raising my children here. I’ve built a life here. There are things about American culture that I’ve genuinely come to admire, and many of them have become the subjects of the videos and articles I make.

    None of that has made me less Australian.

    That’s the part I think people sometimes misunderstand. Loving one country doesn’t mean you have to love the other one less.

    I Didn’t Exchange Australia for America

    When you immigrate, there is a tendency for people to think about the move as a replacement.

    Old country out. New country in.

    But that isn’t how it has felt to me.

    Australia is still there in so much of who I am.

    It’s in my accent, despite whatever America has been doing to it lately. My sense of humour, the food I occasionally find myself desperately searching for. The expressions that come out of my mouth without me even noticing them.

    The experiences that shaped me long before I ever imagined living in Tennessee.

    America didn’t erase any of that.

    It added to it. I think that distinction matters.

    Canberra Australia and Lake Burley Griffin balloon festival
    Australia is still part of who I am, even after eight years of building a life in America

    Psychologists actually have language for this.

    In research on immigration, assimilation generally means adopting the new culture while gradually letting go of your attachment to the culture you came from.

    Integration is different. It means becoming part of your new culture while still maintaining your connection to the old one.

    Research from the American Psychological Association suggests the two identities don’t have to compete. Immigrants can adapt to life in a new country while maintaining a strong connection to their heritage, and research has found benefits to being able to maintain both.

    In other words, the science doesn’t require me to hand in my Vegemite before I’m allowed to enjoy biscuits and gravy. Which is quietly reassuring.

    Somewhere Along the Way, America Became Home Too

    This is where things become more complicated than simply saying, “I’m an Australian who lives in America.”

    Because America isn’t just where I live anymore.

    It’s home.

    That’s a surprisingly significant word for an immigrant.

    Home used to have a very obvious answer. Australia was home because Australia was where I came from.

    Then you spend years somewhere else. You work there. Make friends there. Raise your kids there.

    You stop having to think about where things are or how things work. The supermarket becomes your supermarket. The roads become familiar. Places that once felt foreign become completely ordinary.

    Eventually you return from a trip, walk through your own front door and think:

    It’s good to be home.

    Except you’re not in the country you once meant when you used that word.

    You’re in the other one.

    That has been one of the strangest changes for me.

    I don’t feel 50 percent Australian and 50 percent American.

    Identity isn’t a pie chart.

    I feel Australian.

    I also feel American. Those statements stopped contradicting each other a long time ago.

    Becoming American Didn’t Feel Like Rejecting Australia

    I remember standing in the courthouse on the day I became an American citizen.

    There were about 40 of us, from all over the world, standing together and taking the Oath of Allegiance to the United States.

    It was a proud moment for me.

    But there was one part of the oath that felt strange.

    I had to declare that I “absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity” to any foreign state of which I had previously been a citizen.

    In my case, Australia.

    I understood what the oath meant. I was choosing to become an American citizen and accepting the responsibilities that came with that.

    But standing there saying those words, I didn’t feel as though I was renouncing Australia.

    I certainly didn’t feel any less Australian when I walked out of the courthouse than I had when I walked in.

    Michael Saville holding his U.S. citizenship certificate beside an American flag after becoming a U.S. citizen.
    Becoming an American citizen didn’t make me feel any less Australian. It simply gave me another country to call home.

    If anything, becoming an American citizen felt like formal recognition of something that had already happened.

    America had become part of my life.

    I had a stake in this country.

    Its future mattered to me because my future was here too.

    So was my family’s.

    None of that required Australia to become less important.

    There is an interesting contradiction in the language of citizenship itself. For much of history, dual nationality was viewed with suspicion because governments worried about divided loyalties. Today, dual citizenship is far more widely accepted around the world, and both Australia and the United States allow people to hold more than one nationality.

    So I walked into that courthouse as an Australian.

    I walked out as an American.

    But I also walked out as an Australian.

    Maybe that’s the point. Becoming one didn’t require me to stop being the other.

    Sometimes Other People Want the Choice More Than You Do

    One of the interesting things about living between countries is how often identity gets defined from the outside.

    People like neat categories.

    Australian.

    American.

    Immigrant.

    Expat.

    Pick one.

    But people don’t necessarily work that way.

    Research into immigrant belonging suggests that the way newcomers are treated by the society around them can have a significant effect on whether they feel accepted as part of their new country. Research summarized by the Migration Policy Institute has found that public attitudes and political rhetoric can influence an immigrant’s sense of national belonging.

    That makes sense to me.

    Belonging isn’t only about deciding that a country is yours.

    Sometimes it is also about feeling that the country has decided you are one of its people.

    I’ve noticed something interesting when Americans meet me.

    Obviously, the accent usually gives me away pretty quickly. People ask where I’m from, how long I’ve been here and, occasionally, something involving kangaroos.

    But when they learn that I’m also an American citizen, something subtly changes.

    It’s difficult to describe because nobody announces it.

    The conversation just feels slightly different.

    There’s a sense of, Oh, you’re one of us.

    Maybe I’m imagining some of it. Human interactions aren’t exactly easy things to measure while you’re standing in the supermarket talking to a stranger.

    But I’ve noticed it enough times to believe there’s something there.

    My Australian accent still makes me interestingly foreign.

    My American citizenship seems to make me belong.

    The funny thing is, I don’t need one of those things to cancel out the other. I can be the Australian in the conversation and still be one of the Americans in the room.

    Loving America Doesn’t Require Pretending It’s Perfect

    There is another part of this that I think is important.

    Loving your adopted country doesn’t mean pretending everything about it is sunshine, roses and butterflies.

    I don’t believe that about America.

    I didn’t believe it about Australia either.

    No country gets everything right.

    You can love a country and still criticize it.

    Admire another country without declaring it superior in every possible way.

    You can even prefer different things about different places.

    There are things Australia does that I wish America would copy tomorrow. There are things about American life that I now genuinely prefer.

    That isn’t betrayal.

    It’s perspective.

    In fact, one of the unexpected gifts of immigration is that you begin seeing both countries differently.

    Distance makes you notice things about the country you left that you once took for granted.

    Living somewhere new makes you question things you once assumed were universal.

    Then you go back to the country you came from and discover that you’re looking at that differently too.

    I’ve experienced that with Australia.

    Things that were completely unremarkable to me when I lived there suddenly stand out. Some make me appreciate Australia more. Others make me wonder how I never noticed them before.

    You haven’t stopped being an insider.

    But you’re not entirely looking at it through an insider’s eyes anymore either.

    Somehow, you become both.

    It’s occasionally confusing.

    But it’s also fascinating.

    Maybe Belonging Doesn’t Have to Be Exclusive

    In some ways, none of this should be particularly unusual in America.

    Americans have been combining identities for generations.

    Irish American. Italian American. Mexican American. German American.

    For some people, the connection to the first country goes back generations. They may never have lived there, or perhaps never even visited, but their heritage can still be an important part of how they understand who they are.

    My version is obviously a little different.

    Australia isn’t where my ancestors came from several generations ago.

    It’s where I came from.

    It’s where I grew up and spent most of my life before moving to the United States.

    But maybe the principle isn’t so different.

    Becoming American doesn’t require everything that came before it to disappear.

    Researchers studying bicultural identity have found that people can identify strongly with both their heritage culture and their national culture. Research also suggests that seeing those identities as compatible, rather than in conflict with each other, can help people feel more connected to the society around them.

    That feels much closer to my experience than the idea that I must gradually become less Australian in order to become more American. America didn’t replace Australia.

    Family of four smiling together after building a life in the United States.
    Our family has built its life in America, but Australia remains part of our story.

    It joined it.

    I Still Know Where I Came From

    There are moments when the distance from Australia hits harder than others.

    One of the biggest for me came during the Black Summer bushfires of 2019 and 2020.

    I was thousands of miles away in America while fires burned up and down the New South Wales coast and surrounded the area where I grew up.

    Glued to Australian news reports. I listened to Australian radio from America trying to find out what was happening.

    These weren’t just names of towns appearing on a news report.

    I knew these places.

    Knew the roads.

    I knew the countryside.

    I was watching places I knew like the back of my hand burn. At one point, I watched as fire roared across paddocks towards a house I had once lived in and came frighteningly close to engulfing it.

    NSW rural fire services fight a large fire in Australia
    During the Black Summer bushfires, I watched from America as fires tore through parts of New South Wales I knew intimately.

    Being in America didn’t make any of that feel distant.

    If anything, being unable to physically be there made the distance feel enormous. The COVID years brought a different version of the same feeling. Australia suddenly seemed much further away than the number of miles between us.

    Those experiences reminded me that moving overseas doesn’t sever your connection to the place you came from.

    But neither does missing Australia mean I’m secretly waiting to leave America.

    That’s the false choice.

    I can miss one place while being happy in another.

    Be proud of where I came from while being grateful for where I ended up.

    Care about what happens to Australia and care deeply about what happens to America.

    I can watch Australia play sport and know exactly which side I’m supporting.

    Okay, some loyalties apparently do have limits.

    But for everything else, I’ve stopped feeling any need to choose.

    I’ve lived in America long enough now to understand that moving countries didn’t divide my identity.

    It expanded it.

    Australia gave me the foundations of who I am.

    America has shaped who I’ve become since.

    One doesn’t diminish the other.

    So can you love your new country without loving your old one less?

    After eight years of trying it, I think the answer is pretty simple.

    Yes. You just end up with more than one place in the world that feels like yours.

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    Sources and further reading

    The American Psychological Association’s work on immigration and acculturation explains the distinction between assimilation and integration, including the ability to participate in a new culture while maintaining attachment to one’s heritage culture.

    The APA’s more recent review of immigration research discusses evidence supporting bicultural integration and the psychological and sociocultural benefits associated with maintaining connections to both heritage and destination cultures.

    The Migration Policy Institute has examined both dual citizenship and immigrant belonging, including the historical shift away from treating dual nationality as inherently incompatible with integration. Research published in Cultural Diversity and Ethnic Minority Psychology has also examined dual identity among immigrants and the relationship between identification with both heritage and national cultures, belonging and psychological outcomes.

  • Why Do Australians Call McDonald’s “Macca’s”? There’s More to It Than Slang

    Why Do Australians Call McDonald’s “Macca’s”? There’s More to It Than Slang

    Why do Australians call McDonald’s “Macca’s”? Because we shorten everything. It’s just what we do. Afternoon becomes arvo, a service station becomes a servo, David becomes Davo and somewhere along the way McDonald’s became Macca’s. These days even McDonald’s Australia uses the name.

    If you go anywhere in Australia and ask someone where the nearest Macca’s is, almost everybody will know exactly what you’re talking about.

    McDonald’s.

    The strange thing for me is that I don’t remember it always being that way.

    I grew up in Australia in the 1970s and 80s, and in my childhood memories it was McDonald’s.

    Not Macca’s.

    McDonald’s.

    And going there was a treat.

    McDonald's Australia in the 1970s

    When McDonald’s Was Still McDonald’s

    One of my strongest childhood McDonald’s memories involves Sydney Airport.

    When relatives were visiting and we had to take them back to the airport, we’d sometimes stop at the McDonald’s at Sans Souci on the way home.

    For a kid, that was an event.

    I remember the foam containers the burgers came in. I remember the character pens and the promotions. I remember another McDonald’s at Figtree near Wollongong.

    Strangely, I don’t have the same childhood memories of McDonald’s in Nowra, where I grew up.

    The restaurants that stuck in my memory were the ones associated with going somewhere.

    McDonald’s wasn’t simply somewhere you stopped because you couldn’t be bothered cooking dinner.

    It was a treat.

    McDonald’s had only arrived in Australia in 1971, when its first Australian restaurant opened at Yagoona in western Sydney. From there, those Golden Arches gradually became part of the Australian landscape.

    But somewhere between my childhood and adulthood, something changed.

    McDonald’s became Macca’s.

    So Where Did “Macca’s” Come From?

    There doesn’t appear to be one magical moment when the entire Australian population held a meeting and voted to rename McDonald’s.

    It happened much more naturally than that.

    And by the time I was working, I remember Macca’s being completely normal.

    “Mate, let’s do a Macca’s run on the way home.”

    “Let’s stop at Macca’s on the way.”

    Nobody had to explain what Macca’s was.

    It was simply what we called it.

    The nickname fits perfectly into one of the great peculiarities of Australian English: we shorten absolutely everything.

    Afternoon becomes arvo.

    Service station becomes servo.

    Bottle shop becomes bottle-o.

    Breakfast becomes brekkie.

    Barbecue becomes barbie.

    David becomes Davo.

    McDonald’s?

    Macca’s.

    McDonalds signage in Australia rebranded as Maccas

    To demonstrate just how far this can go, here’s a perfectly reasonable Australian sentence:

    “Chuck a U-ey down here, we’ll grab some Macca’s and then hit the bottle-o before we go to Davo’s for a barbie.”

    To an Australian, there is nothing particularly remarkable about that sentence.

    To an American, I may have just suffered a stroke.

    Why Do Australians Shorten Everything?

    There are linguistic explanations for the Australian obsession with abbreviations, but I think there’s something cultural going on as well.

    Australians are generally pretty informal.

    There’s a laid back attitude to language and perhaps a little bit of cheekiness in taking the proper name for something and deciding we’re going to call it something else.

    Maybe there’s even a touch of our reluctance to conform.

    You can tell us the restaurant is called McDonald’s.

    That’s lovely.

    We’re calling it Macca’s.

    There’s also something strangely affectionate about an Australian nickname.

    We do it to our friends.

    We do it to our towns.

    We do it to occupations.

    We do it to everyday objects.

    So perhaps one of the signs that McDonald’s had truly embedded itself into Australian culture was that we stopped bothering to use its proper name.

    We gave it a nickname instead.

    McDonald’s Eventually Gave In

    This is my favourite part of the story.

    McDonald’s didn’t try to correct Australians.

    Eventually, it embraced the name.

    By 2012, research commissioned by McDonald’s found that 55 percent of Australians surveyed called the company Macca’s. The nickname was so recognizable that it ranked just behind “footy” among the Australian abbreviations included in the research.

    McDonald’s even pushed for Macca’s to be included in the Macquarie Dictionary.

    Then, in January 2013, it went considerably further.

    As part of an Australia Day campaign, 13 McDonald’s restaurants around Australia temporarily replaced their regular McDonald’s signage with signs saying Macca’s.

    Not just in an advertisement.

    On the actual restaurants.

    Locations including Bondi Beach, Engadine and other stores around the country suddenly had Macca’s written where one of the world’s most recognizable corporate names would normally be.

    The signs eventually changed back.

    The nickname didn’t.

    Today, McDonald’s Australia doesn’t merely tolerate Macca’s. It routinely uses the name itself.

    Its app is called MyMacca’s.

    Its Australian website has a section called Macca’s Story.

    Official press releases tell Australians to head into their local Macca’s.

    An Australian nickname for an American company effectively became part of the company’s Australian identity.

    Macca’s in Australia Isn’t Quite McDonald’s in America

    Living in America has made me notice something else.

    Macca’s doesn’t just have a different name.

    It tastes different.

    I find the Australian beef nicer, and overall the Australian product has always seemed fresher to me.

    There’s some substance behind the Australian ingredient difference too. McDonald’s Australia says its beef is Australian, and during its 50th anniversary celebrations the company said its beef, chicken, potatoes, wheat flour, lettuce and tomatoes were locally sourced.

    Australia has also had menu items Americans don’t necessarily recognize.

    The McOz, for example, arrived on the Australian menu in 1999. It’s the sort of burger that immediately announces where it comes from, most famously through that very Australian hamburger ingredient: beetroot.

    McOz burger from McDonald's Australia

    Breakfast is broadly familiar on both sides of the Pacific, although living in the American South has introduced me to something you won’t find on a normal Australian Macca’s breakfast menu:

    Biscuits.

    Not Australian biscuits.

    American biscuits.

    That’s an entirely different article.

    Biscuits are on the menu at McDonalds in the American south

    Some things, however, apparently transcend international borders.

    The ice cream machines break in Australia too.

    Humanity remains united.

    Try Calling It Macca’s in America

    Of course, the problem with Australian slang is that you don’t always realize something is Australian slang until you leave Australia.

    I remember Nikki and I talking about Macca’s in front of someone here in America once.

    We were happily having a conversation.

    The other person was looking at us blankly.

    Macca’s?

    What on earth were we talking about?

    That was one of those little expat moments when you suddenly realize a word that requires absolutely no explanation in one country can be almost meaningless in another.

    These days, living in America, I obviously hear “McDonald’s” far more than I hear Macca’s.

    My kids call it McDonald’s.

    They know perfectly well what Macca’s means because they’ve heard us use it, but it isn’t naturally the word they reach for.

    For me, it’s the opposite.

    In my head, it’s still Macca’s.

    The Funny Thing Is, Australians Barely Notice It

    When I go back to Australia now, hearing the word Macca’s doesn’t jump out at me.

    Neither does seeing it in advertising.

    It’s simply part of the scenery.

    That’s probably the best indication of how deeply the nickname has embedded itself into Australian English.

    It doesn’t feel like slang.

    It doesn’t feel like someone trying to sound Australian.

    It certainly doesn’t need translating.

    It’s just Macca’s.

    And I like that McDonald’s embraced it.

    One of the world’s biggest American brands arrived in Australia in 1971. Australians adopted it, grew up with it and eventually decided its name was too formal.

    So we gave it a nickname.

    McDonald’s could have spent millions insisting on consistent global branding.

    Instead, eventually, it effectively said:

    Fair enough.

    Macca’s it is.

    Modern Macca's McDonald's restaurant in Australia

    Macca’s Is One of Those Little Pieces of Home

    Living overseas changes your relationship with words like this.

    When you’re in Australia, Macca’s isn’t special.

    It’s a fast food restaurant.

    It’s somewhere you stop on a road trip. Somewhere you grab breakfast. Somewhere you swing through on the way home from work.

    It’s part of the background.

    But once you live somewhere else, these tiny pieces of language start to mean a little more.

    Macca’s reminds me of childhood trips home from Sydney Airport and stopping at Sans Souci.

    It reminds me of foam burger containers and character pens.

    Later, it became Macca’s runs after work.

    Today, my American kids know exactly what I mean when I say Macca’s, even though they’ll answer me by calling it McDonald’s.

    It’s a tiny difference.

    But that’s often how home works when you live overseas.

    Not through the enormous things you expect to miss.

    Sometimes it’s just a word you’ve been saying for decades.

    And somewhere in the back of my head, no matter how long I live in America, those Golden Arches will probably always be Macca’s.

  • The Moment I Realised My Children Belong in America

    The Moment I Realised My Children Belong in America

    One of the hardest parts of raising children overseas is realizing they may end up belonging somewhere different from you.

    Not because they’ve rejected where you came from.

    Not because they’ve forgotten their roots.

    But because their life happened somewhere else.

    After eight years in America, I’ve started to realize that’s exactly what’s happened with my daughters.

    And strangely enough, it happened without me noticing.

    What Raising Children Overseas Taught Me

    When we moved from Australia to America, I expected my life to change.

    I expected new roads.

    New customs.

    New ways of doing things.

    I expected to spend years learning the differences between the two countries.

    What I didn’t fully understand was that moving countries wouldn’t just change me.

    It would shape my children’s entire childhood.

    The friendships they would form.

    The confidence they would develop.

    The place they would eventually call home.

    Recently, that reality hit me harder than it ever has before.

    Daytona gave me more than a week of dance competitions. It gave me time to notice who my daughters are becoming.

    The Week That Made Me Notice

    We’d just come back from Daytona Beach.

    Like most dance trips, it was a blur of hotel rooms, elevators, airports, restaurants, competition schedules and far too little sleep.

    Parents were surviving on caffeine.

    Kids were surviving on excitement.

    Somewhere in the middle of all that, I found myself paying attention to my daughters in a different way.

    Not just watching them.

    Actually noticing them.

    The way they spoke to people.

    How they handled themselves.

    The way they moved through unfamiliar situations.

    And I kept finding myself thinking the same thing.

    I was never like that at their age.

    The Kid Behind The Couch

    When I was young, I was painfully shy.

    Visitors would come to our house and I’d disappear.

    Sometimes behind the couch.

    Sometimes into my bedroom.

    Anywhere that allowed me to avoid being noticed.

    Adults intimidated me.

    Groups overwhelmed me.

    Confidence wasn’t something that came naturally.

    It wasn’t until much later in life that I learned how to navigate those situations comfortably.

    Which is probably why my daughters stand out so much to me now.

    Because neither of them are that child.

    Watching Them Move Through The World

    Brianna will happily talk to almost anyone.

    She orders her own food.

    Asks questions.

    Investigates things she probably shouldn’t.

    She approaches the world as if it’s open until someone proves otherwise.

    Georgia is different.

    She’s quieter.

    More thoughtful.

    More sensitive.

    But she has her own confidence.

    She’ll walk up to a flight attendant and ask for help.

    Navigate an airport.

    Handle situations on her own.

    She’s not loud.

    She’s not pushy.

    Just simply capable.

    And that’s what struck me.

    Both of them are.

    In completely different ways.

    Watching them handle airports and travel on their own still catches me off guard.

    America Shaped Them Too

    When people move overseas, they expect the new country to shape them.

    You learn different customs.

    Different expressions.

    Different social rules.

    You learn that biscuits aren’t biscuits.

    That football sometimes involves very little foot.

    You learn that Americans consider a three-hour drive “close.”

    But eventually I realized something else.

    America wasn’t only shaping me.

    It was shaping my daughters too.

    Georgia Carries Two Homes

    Georgia was born in Australia.

    She still feels connected to that part of her story.

    She knows where she was born.

    Knows where her parents came from.

    She still spells “Mum” correctly, which I consider one of my greatest parenting achievements.

    But she has grown up here.

    Her school is here.

    Her friends are here.

    Dance life is here.

    And recently she started talking about her dream college.

    USC.

    The University of South Carolina.

    She’s only ten years old, so there is every chance she’ll change her mind another twenty times.

    But that’s not really the point.

    When she imagines her future, she imagines it here.

    Brianna Doesn’t Have The Same Question

    Brianna was born in America.

    And in many ways, America simply feels like home.

    Recently we watched Australia versus the USA on TV at the 2026 World Cup.

    When the Australian anthem played, Georgia and I stood up and sang along, hand over our hearts.

    When the American anthem played we did too, but Brianna absolutely lit up.

    She sang every word.

    Then started chanting “USA! USA!”

    Meanwhile I stood there having the complicated emotional experience of an Australian father watching his daughter enthusiastically support the opposition.

    That was probably the moment I should have figured it out.

    There has never been much doubt about where Brianna feels at home.

    Going Back Changed Something

    Last year we took the girls back to Australia.

    For Georgia especially, I think that trip changed something.

    She saw old friends.

    Old places.

    Parts of her earlier life.

    But she also discovered something many adults discover when they move away.

    Life doesn’t pause while you’re gone.

    People move on.

    Friendships evolve.

    Places change.

    And sometimes you realize the version of home you carried in your head no longer exists exactly the way you remember it.

    I think that trip made America feel even more like home for her.

    Not because Australia stopped mattering.

    But because she realized where her actual life was happening.

    The Quiet Realization

    As much as Nikki’s parents probably won’t enjoy reading this, I don’t think either of my daughters will move back to Australia.

    That feels strange to say out loud.

    It’s not sadness exactly.

    But it’s not nothing either.

    It’s pride mixed with a little grief.

    Because if you’re an immigrant parent, you want your children to belong.

    And then one day you realize they do.

    Just not necessarily in the place you expected.

    Pride and grief can sometimes exist in the same moment.

    We Didn’t Raise Copies Of Ourselves

    Nikki and I have always tried to let the girls become themselves.

    Not smaller versions of us.

    Not copies of our childhood.

    Their own people.

    Georgia’s dance dreams belong to her.

    Brianna’s interests belong to her.

    Our job isn’t to own those things.

    Our job is to support them.

    Guide them.

    Protect them.

    And occasionally pay ridiculous amounts of money for costumes covered in rhinestones.

    What America Gave Them

    America isn’t perfect.

    No country is.

    But one thing I’ve noticed is that American culture often encourages children to participate.

    To ask questions.

    Speak up.

    To feel like they belong in the room.

    And I think my daughters have absorbed some of that.

    Georgia absorbed it quietly.

    Brianna absorbed it like a bald eagle wearing glitter shoes.

    But they both absorbed it.

    And honestly, I’m grateful for that.

    Home Is More Complicated Than It Used To Be

    One daughter carries Australia within her identity.

    The other is deeply, proudly American.

    So how exactly am I supposed to turn that into a competition?

    I can’t.

    And I don’t want to.

    Australia shaped me.

    America shaped them.

    Both countries matter because both countries shaped the people I love most.

    Recommended Reading

    Home Isn’t Always One Place

    The biggest thing I’ve learned since moving overseas is that home isn’t always a country.

    Sometimes it’s a couch you used to hide behind.

    Sometimes it’s an airport gate.

    Maybe a dance studio.

    Or your daughter confidently ordering her own meal.

    Sometimes it’s hearing an anthem that isn’t yours somehow become part of your family story.

    And sometimes it’s standing there watching your children move through the world with a confidence you never had at their age.

    That’s what happened to me in Daytona.

    Not in one dramatic moment.

    Not during some life-changing conversation.

    Just in a hundred little moments.

    Georgia asking questions.

    Brianna talking to strangers.

    Both of them moving through the world with ease.

    And me finally realizing something I probably should have understood years ago.

    They’re not growing up overseas.

    They’re growing up at home.

    Some Great Reading About Home & Identity

  • Are Bogans Just Australian Rednecks?

    Are Bogans Just Australian Rednecks?

    If you ask an Australian what a bogan is, there’s a good chance they’ll immediately say:

    “Basically Australia’s version of a redneck.”

    And honestly… that’s not completely wrong.

    A bogan is usually someone seen as rough around the edges, loud, proudly uncultured, and deeply committed to their own style regardless of what society thinks about it.

    But like most Australian things, it’s a bit more complicated than that.

    Because in Australia, “bogan” can be:

    • an insult
    • a joke
    • a personality type
    • or something people weirdly become proud of once they hit their 30s.

    Especially once winter arrives and half the country suddenly looks like it’s preparing for a camping trip to Bunnings.

    So… What Actually Is a Bogan?

    The easiest way to explain a bogan to Americans is this:

    Imagine someone who:

    • drinks energy drinks like water
    • owns at least one pair of thongs specifically for the servo
    • thinks a loud exhaust adds horsepower
    • and has definitely said “yeah nah” during a serious conversation.

    That’s roughly the territory we’re working with.

    There’s also a decent chance they:

    • own a Holden Commodore
    • wear a flanno year-round
    • have strong opinions about meat pies
    • and know someone named “Dazza.”

    And before Australians start yelling at me…

    Yes, women can absolutely be bogans too.

    Women Can Be Bogans Too

    Important clarification here:
    bogans are not exclusively blokes.

    Australia has produced many female bogans over the years too.

    Usually identified by:

    • oversized sunglasses
    • aggressively highlighted hair
    • iced coffee
    • and the ability to yell across an entire carpark without moving.

    There’s also a strong chance of seeing:

    • fake leopard print somewhere
    • a cigarette being held with deep emotional commitment
    • and at least one sentence beginning with:

    “Listen here, hun…”

    Growing Up Around Bogans

    I grew up on the south coast of NSW in a town called Nowra, which Australians would politely describe as “a bit bogan.”

    And by “a bit bogan,” I mean there was a decent chance of seeing:

    • someone doing laps of the main street for three straight hours
    • someone arguing outside Centerlink before 9am
    • or half the Bomaderry Pub carpark filled with Commodores held together by stickers and optimism.

    Australian country towns also have a long tradition where young people simply drive up and down the same street repeatedly for entertainment. (I may have done that myself in my yellow Datsun 180b years ago too).

    Which sounds ridiculous now that I say it out loud…

    …but honestly, we all did it.

    But Not Everyone in a Flanno Is a Bogan

    This is where Americans can get confused.

    Because Australia has a lot of overlap in clothing.

    Tradies wear flannos.
    Farmers wear flannos.
    Half of Canberra wears flannos once winter hits.

    Wearing one doesn’t automatically make you a bogan.

    Otherwise half the country would qualify by July.

    My wife loves calling me a bogan because I wear flannos around the house, but honestly, if you’ve spent a winter in Canberra you realise the entire city starts looking like a camping catalogue.

    UGG boots everywhere.
    Flannos everywhere.
    People scraping ice off their windscreen holding servo coffees the size of paint tins.

    Canberra might be Australia’s capital…

    …but there’s a strong argument it’s also the flanno capital.

    And regional Australia is different again.

    You’ll see plenty of farmers in old flannos and muddy boots, but that doesn’t make them bogans. That’s just practical country Australia.

    A farmer with an Akubra and an old ute is not the same thing as a bloke doing burnouts outside a kebab shop at midnight while blasting AC/DC through a cracked Bluetooth speaker.

    There are levels to this.

    Bogans Exist in New Zealand Too

    Australians don’t fully own bogan culture either.

    New Zealand absolutely has bogans too.

    Slightly different flavour…
    same overall energy.

    More likely to involve:

    • rugby
    • old Falcons
    • stubbies
    • and someone named “Gazza” yelling across a backyard.

    Australians and New Zealanders may disagree on many things…

    …but both countries can instantly recognise a bloke wearing a flanno carrying a box of beer like it’s an Olympic event.

    Bogans and Eshays Are Also Different

    Now before Australians start another argument in the comments…

    Eshays are a completely different category again.

    Different haircut.
    Different posture.
    Different soundtrack.

    Usually found travelling in packs near train stations while wearing enough Nike gear to qualify as sponsored athletes.

    A bogan might own a Holden Commodore on purpose.

    An eshay is more likely to ask if you’ve got a spare vape.

    Australians know these are completely different subcultures, even if they occasionally overlap in the wild.

    Famous Australian Bogans on TV

    If Americans want a rough cultural reference point, Kath & Kim is probably the best introduction to suburban Australian bogan energy.

    Not every bogan looks like Kim Craig…

    …but every Australian knows someone who reminds them of her.

    Housos is what happens when you turn the dial all the way to maximum.

    Australia’s greatest cultural achievement might honestly be our ability to create entire TV shows based around people yelling in thongs outside a servo.

    So… Are Bogans Australia’s Version of Rednecks?

    Kind of.

    But Australian bogans usually feel a bit more suburban than rural.

    Less camouflage.
    More flanno.
    Less pickup truck.
    More Holden Commodore with one mismatched door.

    And unlike America, Australians tend to joke about bogans constantly — including themselves.

    That’s probably the biggest difference.

    Deep down, most Australians know they’ve got at least a tiny bit of bogan in them somewhere.

    Usually it appears:

    • at Bunnings
    • during summer cricket
    • or while wearing UGG boots to the shops pretending it’s acceptable.

    Which, to be fair…

    it absolutely is.