Sun, sand, and fancy garden sheds

Recently I embarked on what can only be described as a heroic quest, a journey fraught with the peril of overly enthusiastic seagulls and the siren song of artisan gelato shops. My destination? The celebrated Brighton Bathing Boxes of Melbourne, Australia. Well, Brighton, Australia. Well, Middle Brighton, Australia.

 

Wherever they are, they’re a technicolor dream splashed across the sands of Port Phillip Bay. These little wooden huts, which have been standing sentry over this small beach for more than 160 years, serve as a testament to...well, I'm not entirely sure because I've wandered off topic again.

 

Let's dive into the kaleidoscope anyway.

For those who don’t know, these are essentially beach sheds that have somehow ascended to the realm of cultural icons. They’re the Kardashians of the Melbourne shore—famous merely for being famous. Though their charm is, admittedly, even more wooden than the Kardashians’.*

 

Each box is painted a unique coat of vibrant hues and designs, soldiers guarding the sands from monochrome tyranny.

 

Legend has it** that these boxes date back to the Victorian era. Okay. It's not a legend. It's history. At least according to Wikipedia. But, yes, the same Victorians notorious for wearing more clothing into the water than to a debutante’s ball and covering up piano legs because they were “scandalous” decided that it was just fine to change clothes in a box on the beach within mere feet of other people who, while unable to be seen, were practically naked, too!***

In 1983, Melbourne’s Coastal Caucus Committee decided to phase out 2000 buildings around the bay, but owners of the Brighton Bathing Boxes fought the decision—and the boxes were heritage-listed 2000. So now you can’t touch them.

 

Meanwhile, owning your own bathing box is akin to holding a royal title, you know, less the palace and the ability to issue edicts and all. The boxes do change hands occasionally, but for amounts that would make your eyes water faster than trying to walk through a downtown Chicago wind in January. The average going price is $235,000. That’s American dollars, people! And what do you get for this princely sum? A box. A wooden box. Admittedly, a really big wooden box, but lacking electricity. And running water.

 

What do people keep in these enormous treasure chests? I wondered that, too. And I had to lurk an uncomfortably long time for the few people who’d opened up their bathing box so I could take a peek without incurring any restraining orders.

Here’s what I learned, so you don’t have to: The contents of each bathing box are as varied as their exteriors. From inflatable flamingos with existential crises to barbecues plotting their seaside escape, the inside of a box could contain anything. Except a sink or a bathroom or a bed—pretty much anything useful.

 

They are, in fact, glorified garden sheds. You can do anything you want with the limited amenities your personal bathing box offers. A changing room, a storage unit, a status symbol—or, if you're particularly inventive, maybe a cramped venue for high tea. The possibilities are endless, limited only by your imagination. Well, and the dimensions of your bathing box.

Now might be a fine time to confess that, honestly, there’s not a great deal to say about the Brighton Bathing Boxes that can't be conveyed more easily through an avalanche of photos.† Which is, in fact, the only reason I’ve even written this. So enjoy!



* Yep, I went there.

 

** And by “legend,” I just mean a quick internet search. You say cheating, I say expedient.

 

*** Which puts me in mind of the newscast by Sam the Eagle’s Discourse on Nudity on “The Muppet Show” in which he expressed his dismay and his disgust at the thought that nearly everybody, EVERYBODY, was, get this, NAKED underneath their clothes! Oh, the horror.

I would just like to say a few words about nudity in the world today. And I, for one, am just appalled by it. Why, did you know that underneath their clothing, the entire population of the world is walking around completely naked? Hmm? Is that disgusting? And it's not just people, although, goodness knows, that's bad enough, but animals too. Even cute little doggies and pussycats can't be trusted. Underneath their fur, absolutely naked! And it's not just the quadrupeds, either. Birds too. Yeah! Beneath those fine feathers, birds wear nothing. Nothing at all! Abs...o…lute…ly....(look of terrified realization followed by slinking offstage, covering himself with his hands).



† Though I seem to have found plenty to say. I guess that’s just part of my appeal. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

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