Last weekend I went to a wedding in Gaylesford, sorry Daylesford, Victoria. Not even a symbolic lesbian ring-swap, an actual man/lady one. When my friends announced they were getting hitched in this glorious part of the world it made me chuckle.
I’ve been to Daylesford many times before – each time with a different girlfriend in tow, either for the awesomely daggy ChillOut queer festival or just a cosy, gay-friendly B&B escape. So I couldn’t wait to take my new girlfriend and celebrate the love of our straight mates in the land of lesbians. Seriously, win win.
The wedding was gorgeous – stunning outfits, moving speeches and heartfelt vows. Everything perfectly captured the love that connects our two good pals. Everything except the explicit Sapphic art on the walls of the venue, that is.
Yep that’s right. Vajayjays, boobs and military boots – a winning lesbian combination. In oil paint.
While that was the only thing that distracted from the occasion at hand, it was a definite reminder of whose turf we were on. The only place where lesbian commitment ceremonies outnumber actual weddings each month, I would think.
A walk through the streets of Daylesford only confirms which genre of tourist comes here. So much bad lesbian paraphernalia. I’m not ashamed of my homosexuality but surely I don’t need a rainbow doormat. Pride does not equate to people wiping their muddy feet on you.
Not only were there rainbow stickers on every door, but one shop catered exclusively for lesbians. Stock included the aforementioned doormats, furry lumberjack hats – a practical fashion choice for the chilly Victorian climate, as well as all manner of greeting cards, t-shirts and stubby holders with the lamest lesbian in-jokes printed on them.
They weren’t even your usual “comfortable shoes” or “short hair cut” gags, they were so niche I reckon the only folks who’d get the joke would be the shop owner, her girlfriend and the ex they both dated. Something about a butch dyke who gets her boobs out at every occasion. See? I dunno. Maybe it’s a rural lesbian thing.
The only thing Daylesford didn’t have was an Alpaca-wool waistcoat shop. Missed opportunity ladies.
As a returning visitor, I can certainly see Daylesford’s appeal. Hippy health spas, a gorgeous lake to walk the dogs around, plenty of quinoa options at the local cafés and a green, countrified vibe that justifies owning a ute. And all this only an hour and a half from Melbourne’s CBD.
No wonder the straights want in.